He slammed the laptop shut and said, “It’s not what you think.”
The plastic casing of the MacBook snapped with a sharp crack that echoed through the quiet living room. For a second, neither of us moved. The rain lashed against the very same windows I had just seen documented in those hidden digital files.
“Not what I think?” My voice was barely a whisper, trembling as the adrenaline hit my bloodstream. “Caleb, those files were dated 2023. You were in my rhododendron bushes three years ago. We only met last year.”
Caleb took a slow, deliberate breath, his hands resting flat on the closed laptop lid. The warm, goofy guy who had charmed me at the local dog park—the man who always knew exactly how I liked my coffee and remembered the obscure indie bands I loved—seemed to physically melt away. In his place sat a stranger with cold, calculating eyes.
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its usual playful lilt. “I had to learn about you first, Maya. I had to know if we were truly compatible before I made an approach.”
I stumbled backward, my legs suddenly feeling like lead. My mind raced, frantically connecting dots I didn’t even know existed. Our “accidental” meeting. How he had swooped in just as my ex moved out. How he shared my highly specific, unusual allergy to lavender. How he had convinced me to upgrade the security system on this house—my house—and make him the primary account holder.
“You stalked me,” I choked out, my back hitting the edge of the kitchen island.
“I studied you,” Caleb corrected gently, standing up. He didn’t look angry; he looked disappointed, like a teacher dealing with a slow student. “Do you know how hard it is to find perfection in this world, Maya? Most people just stumble blindly into relationships. They guess. I didn’t want to guess. I watched you read on the couch. I learned your routines. I saw the way you cried when you thought no one was looking. I tailored myself to become exactly what you needed.”
“You’re out of your mind.” I reached behind me, my hand blindly searching the countertop for my phone. It wasn’t there. I remembered, with a sickening jolt, that he had asked to borrow it to order takeout twenty minutes ago.
“I’m perfectly sane. More sane than most.” He took a step toward me, the hardwood floor creaking beneath his weight. “We are happy, aren’t we? Everything I did, I did to build this life for us. The life you always wanted.”
“Where is my phone, Caleb?”
He smiled—a thin, tight stretch of lips that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t need to call anyone. We’re just having a conversation.”
I glanced toward the front door. It was deadbolted, the electronic keypad glowing a faint, mocking red. I knew the code, of course, but he was closer to the hallway than I was.
“You loved the grand romantic gesture when I proposed,” he whispered, taking another step closer, trapping me between the kitchen island and the stove. “You told your friends it was like I could read your mind. I did read your mind, Maya. Every night, through that glass.”
He reached out, tracing a cold finger down my cheek. I flinched, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“I built this perfect life for us,” Caleb murmured, leaning in close enough for me to smell the spearmint on his breath. “And I’m not going to let you ruin it just because you peaked behind the curtain.”
