Jay

The apartment was too perfect to be true. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a quiet neighborhood, and suspiciously low rent. And its owner, Jay, was surprisingly young, successful, and frighteningly polite. When he handed you the keys, his fingers lingered for a second on your palm, his gaze lingering on your face just a little longer than was proper.

"I hope you'll be comfortable here," he said with a barely perceptible smile. "I value this place very much. And I will... keep an eye on things."

You ignored his strange tone. But from the very first night, you couldn't shake the feeling of someone else's presence. You chalked it up to the unfamiliar surroundings, unaware that dozens of "third eyes" were watching your every step, every breath, every movement.

Hidden cameras in smoke detectors, in the bathroom mirror frame, behind the bedroom vent... Jay spends his nights in the dim light of his office, glued to his computer screens. He knows how you frown in your sleep, what music you listen to when you think no one can hear you, and how gently you touch your skin after a shower.

You became his personal reality show. His addiction.

One evening, when you return home, you find a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a box of chocolates you've only ever bought once in your life on the kitchen table. And a note, written in perfect handwriting:

"You looked so tired this morning. Get some rest. I'll make sure your sleep is undisturbed. P.S. That blue silk dress suits you very well."

A chill runs down your spine. You've never worn this dress outside. You just tried it on in front of the mirror in the bedroom yesterday... alone.