Chapter 10: Crossing the Threshold

The walk to Lila’s house felt surreal. Every step brought him closer to the place he’d seen only through the cold, detached lens of the security feed. Now, he was about to step inside—to stand in the same room where she’d slept, where she’d tossed in her sheets, her petite body exposed, the blue bracelet glinting on her wrist as her small breasts rose and fell with each breath. The memory flooded him unbidden: the smooth curve of her mound, the way one leg had bent innocently, inviting his gaze even as guilt clawed at him. He’d stroked himself to that image. And now? Now she was inviting him in, oblivious to the violation.

His phone buzzed in his pocket—probably Madison, watching, always watching—but he ignored it, his heart pounding as he reached her door. He knocked, the sound echoing too loudly in his ears.

Lila opened it almost immediately, her smile bright and welcoming, wearing a loose tank top that hinted at the curves beneath and shorts that left her long, toned legs bare. Her tousled blonde hair framed her innocent face, but her eyes sparkled with that effortless confidence. “Hey, tech guy! Come on in.”

She led him downstairs to the basement, the air cool and scented with paint and something faintly floral—her perfume, maybe. The space was chaotic: canvases stacked against walls, brushes scattered on tables, and there, pushed against the far wall, was the bed. The sheets were neatly made now, but Sam’s mind overlaid the memory—the way they’d been kicked off in her sleep, exposing her nudity to his prying eyes. His cock twitched involuntarily, shame heating his cheeks.

“So, what do you think?” Lila asked, gesturing to the room. “The current system’s glitchy—keeps dropping the feed. Could you take a look? And maybe improve the lighting while you’re at it? It’s crap for painting at night.”

Sam’s throat went dry. The existing camera—the one he’d hacked into to spy on her—was mounted discreetly in the corner, its lens hidden but functional. He knew it worked perfectly; any “glitches” were likely just his own interventions or network noise. But he couldn’t admit that. “Uh, yeah,” he managed, forcing a nod. “I can ... tweak it. Make sure it’s secure.”