The house was wired.

Roman Armstrong had no idea.

I was never one for the spotlight, but after spending so many nights in that cavernous, empty house alone, the installation was a matter of basic security. I wanted to know who—or what—was creeping around when I wasn't there.

The security cameras caught everything that night.

It started with Roman walking in with Sabrina Cole, demanding I brew a pot of sobering tea for her. It ended with me standing feet away from her, never making contact, only to watch Sabrina climb onto the windowsill and jump of her own accord. Then came the sharp sting of Roman’s palm across my face.

The footage went viral, and the entire military command was reeling.

"Look at this," Howell muttered, scrolling through the comments on her screen, her voice dripping with venom as she read them aloud to me. When she wasn't cursing Sabrina, she was tearing into Roman. When she finally stopped, she looked up, her expression unreadable.

I offered a weak smile. "It doesn't matter anymore. We’re finished."

Sabrina, of course, was quick to pivot. She released a carefully crafted 'clarification' on social media within the hour:

*That night, Roman was celebrating my promotion. I was so overwhelmed with joy that I had a bit too much to drink. Fearing for my safety, Roman took me to his place for the night, only for us to run into Genevieve. She seemed disoriented, insisting the house was hers and demanding we leave. We realized she might have been under some kind of psychological distress, so Roman asked her to make some tea—a gentle attempt to give her a chance to cool off and clear her head.*

*I distinctly remember a force pushing me toward the window. I thought it was Genevieve. It was clearly a misunderstanding, and I sincerely apologize to her for the confusion. However, we never could have guessed that she had been secretly recording us in her own home the entire time.*