So you're telling me I overreacted because I saw a picture of me peeking out from an album!?
I felt a rush of embarrassment flood through me, mingled with relief that my paranoia had been unfounded. I had let my fear get the best of me, jumping to conclusions and assuming the worst of Simon.
But as relief washed over me, I couldn't help but notice the way Simon's smile seemed to hold a hint of triumph, of satisfaction at seeing me flustered and off-balance. It was almost as if he had anticipated my reaction, had counted on it.
Simon's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Why? What did you think it was?" he asked.
"I… I don't know," I stammered, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I just… I thought…" I struggled to find the right words, my mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions.
Simon chuckled softly, "That what, I was stalking you?"
I felt a knot of unease twist in my gut at his words, the casual amusement in his tone sending goosebumps up my skin. I forced a laugh. "Of course not, that would be ridiculous."
But Simon just continued to watch me, his gaze penetrating, assessing. It was as if he could see through the facade I was desperately trying to maintain.
I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way I couldn't quite articulate.
Simon's smile grew wider, a predatory glint entering his eyes. "You know, paranoia isn't always a bad thing. Many times, it's your body's own instincts telling you when something is wrong."
Before I could process his cryptic words, Simon leaned forward, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race. "But may I ask you something, Norman?"
"What is it?" I asked, my voice betraying a hint of nervousness despite my efforts to keep calm.
Simon's eyes bore into mine, his expression unreadable. "If you thought I was stalking you, why did you come back to my home with me? Why did you accept clothes, a drink?"
The question made my stomach drop.
I could feel the weight of his words bearing down on me, the implication behind them heavy and suffocating. Why had I come back with him? Why had I allowed myself to be lured into this luxurious trap, despite every instinct telling me to run?
My mind raced with a thousand different responses, excuses, justifications.
Simon leaned back in his chair, watching me closely as if he could read the turmoil churning inside me. His smile was knowing, almost smug, as if he held all the answers and was waiting for me to catch up.
Finally, I managed to croak out a response. "I... I don't know. I was just... scared, confused. I didn't know where else to go."
"So your first instinct was to come to me?" Simon asked.
Wait, what?
But you found me.
Right?
No-
No, that's not what he's talking about.
He's not talking about when he found me, he's talking about when I went to call him.
But- but maybe it's just the wording…right? Maybe he's talking about how I came with him.
I opened my mouth to ask for clarification but Simon's hand shot out, silencing me with a single gesture. His smile had vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating look in his eyes.
"Don't overthink things. I know that's a bad habit of yours." He said, his voice softening. "Why don't we go to bed? You're probably tired. I will inform the staff that you will not be available tomorrow."
I nodded weakly, unable to find the words to protest as Simon stood up and gestured for me to follow him. My mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion, each step I took feeling heavier than the last.
The bedroom we entered was opulent, with heavy curtains drawn shut against the night outside. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and something underlying that I couldn't quite identify.
Simon stood by the bed, watching me with laser focus. "You can sleep here," he said, gesturing towards the large, plush bed.
I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest as I weighed my options. But my body had already become heavy with fatigue and my mind foggy with the whiskey I had consumed earlier. The room seemed to spin around me, the shadows dancing in the dim light.
Without a word, I moved towards the bed and sat down on the edge.
"Good boy," Simon said almost gently, taking a step closer. His presence seemed to fill the room, suffocating me with its intensity. I could feel his eyes on me, boring into my skull with a weight that I couldn't shake off.
My body felt heavy then, as if weighed down by invisible chains. The room seemed to grow darker, the air colder.
Simon's hand reached out, his touch cold against my skin as he brushed a lock of hair away from my face. But through the haze of my exhaustion, I couldn't bring myself to react. Instead, I found myself slumping forward.
Before everything went black I heard a voice, gentle and indulgent, whispering, "Sleep well, dear."
When I awoke, the room was bathed in pale morning light, casting long shadows across the floor. My head throbbed with a dull ache as I slowly sat up, trying to make sense of the disorientation that clouded my mind. And then the memories flooded back – Simon, the whiskey, his unsettling questions.
Forcing myself to my feet, I stumbled towards the door, my heart racing with each step. As I reached for the handle, a piece of paper caught my eye on the bedside table. With trembling hands, I picked it up and read the scrawled words:
"Dear Norman,"
"I hope you had a restful night. You are quite the lightweight! I had to step out early for a meeting, but please make yourself at home. There is breakfast in the kitchen if you're hungry. I have already informed the office of your absence."
"PS. feel free to do your laundry, I laid out some new clothes for you."
"Simon"
As I finished reading the note, a wave of relief washed over me. Simon's casual tone in the letter did little to dispel the doubts that had begun to fester in my mind, but for now, at least, I know that nothing happened.
I turned to the bed, finding a fresh set of clothes neatly folded on the plush duvet. Simon had indeed laid out an outfit for me, a comfortable looking yet stylish ensemble that seemed to fit me perfectly. As always, his attention to detail, the way he seemed to anticipate my needs, only served to unsettle me.
Without wasting any more time, I quickly changed into the clothes Simon had provided and made my way to the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted me as I entered the spacious room, sunlight streaming in through the windows and casting a warm glow over everything.
I found a covered plate of eggs and bacon laid out on the marble countertop, along with a note that simply read, "Help yourself."
After taking a few moments to eat and gather my thoughts, I decided to explore the house while Simon was away. The luxurious yet cold and sterile atmosphere of the house gave me an eerie feeling, as if it was watching me, judging my every move.
I started with the living room, where expensive artwork adorned the walls and plush furniture filled the space. Everything seemed meticulously arranged, as if no one actually lived in the house but rather posed for a magazine shoot.
As I made my way through the house, I came across a room that piqued my curiosity. The door creaked open to reveal a study, lined with bookshelves filled to the brim with leather-bound volumes. A large mahogany desk stood in the center of the room, papers scattered haphazardly across its surface.
I couldn't help but be drawn to the desk, my eyes scanning the documents left out in the open. Most were mundane – expense reports, business contracts. If there was any evidence I can find of Simons true motives, it would be here.
But as I sifted through the papers, my fingers brushing over the crisp pages, I became more and more skeptical. There was something off about the way the documents were arranged, as if they were intentionally left for me to find.
A sound from the corner of the room made me freeze, my breath catching in my throat.
"I can see you poking around in my study, Norman." I heard a voice, distorted by electrical interference, say.
I spun around in alarm, my heart pounding as I searched for the source of the voice.
In the corner was a small nanny cam, its red light blinking ominously. My blood turned to ice as I realized I had been caught red-handed. Simon was watching me, he knew I was digging through his personal belongings.
A distorted chuckle came through the camera's speaker. "Don't worry, I'm not mad. Feel free to look around, you'll find I have nothing to hide."
"Oh, but- please clean up after yourself when you are done, dear."
I blinked.
What was that?
Did he just call me "dear?"
No- no I must've heard wrong, right?
The camera was distorting his voice.
There's no way Simon would refer to me as "dear."
I quickly gathered the papers back into a neat pile on the desk, my hands shaking with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.
Feeling defeated and more confused than ever, I reluctantly straightened up and turned away from the desk.
"I'm sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom," I called out to the camera, trying to keep my voice steady. "This house is so big, I got turned around."
Simon's distorted chuckle once again crackled through the speaker. "Come on, Norman. We both know that's not true. But I admire your quick thinking."
I felt my face flush, caught between embarrassment and indignation.
Making my way back to the kitchen, I tried to calm my nerves. I needed to find concrete evidence of Simon's true motives, something to justify my suspicions and fears.
My heart pounded as I crept down the hallway towards Simon's bedroom. Every creak of the floorboards made me flinch, certain that Simon was about to walk in and catch me. I scanned the walls and corners for any sign of cameras, paranoia making my skin prickle.
Finally, I reached the door to Simon's room. My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob, indecision paralyzing me.
What if I found something I couldn't unsee? What if this was all in my head, and I was about to violate Simon's privacy for nothing?
No, No- I have to trust my instincts.
I've been ignoring them for far too long.
Just as my fingers brushed the cool metal of the handle, a violent, repeated ringing of the doorbell shattered the silence. I jumped, barely stifling a yelp of surprise.
The ringing continued, insistent and aggressive.
I stood frozen, torn between the urge to flee and the desperate need to know what lay behind that bedroom door. The doorbell kept ringing, each chime feeling like a sting to my already fractured nerves.
The insistent doorbell quickly gave way to frantic pounding. "Simon! Open up, I know you're in there!" a woman's voice pierced through the door, demanding entry.
My heart raced as I approached the entrance, curiosity warring with caution.
Peering through the peephole, I saw a strikingly beautiful woman - slender, elegant, dressed in what looked like designer clothes. She could have stepped off a magazine cover. I swallowed hard, my perpetual nervousness around women flaring up even in this tense situation.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I opened the door. The woman's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with suspicion.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her voice sharp.
I fumbled for words, caught off guard by her intensity. "I'm... I'm Norman. I work with Simon. He's letting me stay here for a bit because of some issues with my apartment."
She looked me up and down, skepticism clear on her face. "Really? Simon's never mentioned you. And he doesn't usually let his... employees... stay at his home."
The way she said "employees" made me feel small, insignificant. I shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
"It's a recent arrangement," I managed to say.
She studied me for a moment, then pushed past me into the house. "Where is he?"
"He's not here," I said, closing the door. "He left for a meeting early this morning."
"Of course he did," she muttered. She turned to face me, arms crossed. "So, Norman, how long have you been working for Simon?"
"About five years now," I replied, confused by her interrogation.
"And in those five years, has he ever invited you to his home before?"
I shook my head. "No, never. This is... new."
She nodded slowly. "I see. And what exactly do you do for Simon?"
"I'm just an assistant," I said, growing more uncomfortable. "Look, who are you? Why are you asking me all these questions?"
The woman ignored my questions. "An assistant? Interesting. And Simon just decided to take you in out of the goodness of his heart?"
"I guess so," I mumbled, still unsure myself about the answer. "I'm sorry, but who are you? How do you know Simon?"
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, Simon and I go way back. But right now, I'm more interested in you, Norman. What makes you so special that Simon would break his own rules for you?"
I stood there, mouth slightly agape, my mind racing to process her rapid-fire questions. Why was she so interested in me? And more importantly, who was she?
"I... I don't know," I finally managed, running a hand through my hair nervously.
The woman's eyes narrowed, studying me intently. She took a step closer, her perfume wafting over me. I instinctively took a step back, bumping into the wall behind me.
"Interesting…" she mused, tapping a manicured finger against her chin.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry.
She paused for a moment, then let out a small laugh. She extended her hand, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I'm Evelyn. Simon's ex-girlfriend."
Evelyn nodded, moving to perch herself on the arm of Simon's expensive leather couch. "We dated for a few years. I still stop in to check on him from time to time."
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to do with this new information.
As I studied her face, I noticed her brow furrow slightly, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me more closely.
"You know," she said, tilting her head, "there's something familiar about you. Have we met before?"
I shook my head. "No, I don't think so. I'm sure I'd remember."
Evelyn hummed noncommittally, her gaze still fixed on me in a way that made me squirm. After a moment, she seemed to shake off whatever thought had captured her attention.
She hummed, her tone suddenly brisk and commanding, "Would you mind making me some coffee? Simon always keeps the good stuff in the top left cabinet."
Without waiting for a response, she sauntered over to the living room and settled herself elegantly on the couch. "I'll just wait here for Simon to return. I'm sure he won't be long."
It wasn't a request, but a statement of fact. I stood there for a moment, caught off guard by her casual commandeering of the situation. But something in her tone made it clear that arguing wasn't an option.
"Right," I muttered, turning towards the kitchen. "Coffee. Of course."
I was measuring out coffee grounds when I heard the front door open. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Simon freeze in the doorway, his briefcase slipping from his hand and hitting the floor with a thud.
His eyes darted between Evelyn on the couch and me in the kitchen, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room seemed to thicken instantly.
Evelyn sat up, smoothing her skirt. "Simon, darling," she said breezily, as if her presence was the most natural thing in the world. "How was your meeting?"
Simon didn't answer. Instead, he strode towards me, his face a mask of calm. I felt his hand on the small of my back, causing goosebumps to fly up my spine instantly.
"Norman," he said softly, "why don't you go sit down? I'll take care of this."
Before I could respond, Evelyn called out from the living room. "Oh, just let Norman do it, Simon. He doesn't mind."
Simon's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I don't make my guests do the work, Evelyn," he replied, his tone polite but with an underlying edge. "Norman, please. Go relax."
I nodded, unsure what else to do. As I moved towards the living room, I could feel the weight of both their gazes on me.
I settled into an armchair, watching as Simon efficiently worked the coffee maker. The air crackled with unspoken tension, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was witnessing a power play I didn't fully understand.
Simon approached with two steaming cups of coffee. He made a beeline for me, pointedly handing me a cup first. "Here you are, Norman," he said with a small smile.
Evelyn leaned forward, reaching out for the other cup, but Simon turned away slightly. He only offered it to her after she had settled back into her seat with a barely concealed look of annoyance.
Simon nodded curtly, then came to sit next to me on the couch. He loosened his tie, his shoulder brushing against mine as he settled in.
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. I shifted awkwardly, acutely aware of the tension between Simon and Evelyn. Seeking to break the quiet, I turned to Simon.
"Aren't you going to have any coffee?" I asked, immediately feeling foolish for such a mundane question in this charged atmosphere.
Simon's lips quirked into a small smile. "No, thank you, Norman. I don't drink coffee, actually. It makes me quite jittery."
I blinked, suddenly remembering the half-pot of coffee Simon had prepared this morning.
Evelyn's eyes darted between Simon and me, clearly noting our interaction. Her perfectly manicured nails tapped against her cup, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo the tension in the room.
"Now," Simon said, his voice calm but firm, "Evelyn, to what do we owe the pleasure of yet another one of your unexpected visits?"
As Evelyn began to speak, I could feel Simon tense beside me. The shift in his demeanor was subtle but unmistakable.
"It's your mother." Evelyn began her voice honey-sweet, "She's insisting you come home for the holidays this year."
I glanced at Simon, and what I saw made my breath catch in my throat. His face had become a mask of cold indifference, but his eyes... There was a dangerous glint in them that I'd never seen before.
"Did she now?" Simon's voice was calm, but there was an underlying edge to it that sent a shiver down my spine.
Evelyn nodded, seemingly oblivious to the change in Simon's mood.
His voice, when he spoke, was perfectly level and polite, yet carried an undercurrent of ice that made me shiver. "Nora should know better than to involve you in this, Evelyn."
I blinked, surprised to hear Simon refer to his mother by her first name. There was no warmth, no familial affection in the way he said it.
Evelyn, however, wasn't backing down. She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with frustration. "You can't keep avoiding your family forever, Simon."
Simon's polite smile never wavered, but I saw his fingers tighten slightly on his knee. "I appreciate your concern, but my familial relationships are my own business."
The tension in the room was palpable. I sat rigidly, acutely aware of Simon's silent anger radiating beside me.
Suddenly, Evelyn turned her piercing gaze to me. "Norman, what do you think? Don't you agree that family is important?"
I froze, caught off guard by being directly addressed. Simon tensed beside me, but his voice remained calm as he interjected, "Norman isn't involved in this, Evelyn."
Evelyn's gaze remained fixed on me, completely disregarding Simon's attempt to steer the conversation away. "But come on, don't you think he should at least consider reconciling with his family? When Nora and I-"
"ENOUGH, EVELYN!" Simon's voice suddenly thundered through the room.