Jhio – When Watching Becomes Devouring
I noticed her every time before she noticed me. Our first official encounter in this country happened on a sunny day. We entered the hotel, flanked by security as always. She moved through the lobby like a ghost—almost invisible to the crowd. A perfectly rehearsed disguise. But not to me. My eyes found her effortlessly. She lowered her head, whispered an apology, and disappeared toward the restrooms.
So shy.
It amused me.
How she thought she could hide.
Our managers continued talking, briefing us on the day's schedule—words that meant nothing to me. Words that meant nothing to me.
"Jhio? Are you ready?" I nodded slowly, without even glancing at the speaker.
Ready? No.
Interested? Maybe.
That evening, I sat in my suite. A file lay open in front of me. It had been delivered discreetly in the afternoon. Discretion was always a requirement. Especially when it came to gathering information. My intermediaries knew this. And they valued my generosity enough not to make mistakes. A photo was attached to the file. Slightly blurred—taken under pressure and secrecy. She stood behind the reception desk—uniform crisp, hair loose, gaze locked on something I couldn't see. I ran my fingers across the image, as if I could understand her through the touch.
There was something about her.
Not her innocence.
Not her looks.
Her drive. Somehow... fascinating.
"So you're not just another spectator?" I murmured.
Her social media profile gave me nothing. She wasn't stupid enough to leave traces. Sparse bio. Nearly empty. A life without highlights. But I knew better. Lives like that often hid the most dangerous truths.
I let myself fall into the couch. Dim lights. Untouched glass of whiskey in front of me. My mind was clearer than ever. A smile crept across my face—cold, empty.
"Let's see how long you think you're hiding… before you realize you've already been found."
The keycard was a simple trick. Gaining access to her little apartment? A joke. Modern security always had a gap. I just knew how to use it. How? It's a stupid question. Money. That's the answer to everything. A discreet smile, the right contacts—and you get access to anything. In our world, everything is for sale. And I mean everything. Those who speak of loyalty and trust? They've just never owned enough. Some forbidden things were even cheaper, if you knew where to look. And how to ask.
I stepped inside. I knew exactly where she was. Far away. Even if she had left work early—she would've been delayed. Planned, meaningless encounters. A safety net.
I looked around. Small but tidy. Just a few items that gave her away. A pile of books in the corner. A half-drunk cup of tea on the coffee table. A few framed photos. No people. Just places. Landscapes. Tell me... did you visit them all? Or did you hang them to pretend the world outside isn't cold as fuck?
"You're not hiding from me. You're hiding from your own life," I whispered.
I wore gloves. Not to avoid leaving prints. But because I didn't want to infect her little world. Not yet. My movements were precise. I opened drawers. Cabinets. Paused when I found her underwear. Let my fingers drift across the thin fabric. Not out of lust. But for that feeling of control it gave me. I considered smelling it. Decided against it. Left it exactly where I found it.
Then I smiled. A small notebook, hidden under her socks. I opened it. Nothing world-shattering. Fragments. Thoughts. Places I frequented. She was trying to play a game… A game whose rules she didn't even know.
I sat down in front of her laptop. She wanted to analyze me. Break me. Understand what lay beneath the surface. She had no idea how much I enjoyed the thought of it. Of her trying so hard. Lists. Things she had already bought—or still needed. Wigs. Contact lenses. Even a bathroom rug. I took photos. Placed the notebook on the table next to her laptop. My finger brushed over it again. Her thoughts. That made it valuable.
The laptop was locked. Cute. Boot menu. USB stick. Virus installed. It mirrored everything. I would know it all. Simple. Expensive. Efficient.
Then came the real reason for my visit. I placed a tiny camera behind her books. Invisible. Unless you knew it was there. Two more. One under the kitchen hood. One behind a framed photo in her bedroom. A cold smile settled on my face. I slid the notebook back. Moved to the bathroom.
Toothpaste. Razor. Shampoo. A used hair tie, hidden in the mess. She wouldn't notice. And if she did—she'd think she lost it. I rolled it between my fingers. Then slipped it on my wrist. I closed the mirror.
I had seen the shrine. Hidden deep in her wardrobe. But I hadn't touched it. Not yet.
When I left, I left no trace. Nothing. No one had seen me. But I would see everything.
My kingdom was hidden. In the suburbs of Seoul. Protected. Shielded. State-of-the-art systems. No one would even dare to try. And if they did? They'd never get past the first step. The villa was cold. Minimalistic. Elegant. A reflection of me, as some shrink would probably say.
I stood before the steel door. It opened at my touch. Fingerprint. The room inside was my real world. Futuristic. Clean. Silent. Screens lined every wall. Each one showing a different angle of her apartment.
I leaned back in my chair. Fingers steepled. Eyes locked. The monitors cast a ghostly light. A half-full glass of red wine stood on the desk. Untouched. And I watched her.
She wore sweatpants. A loose shirt. Hair in a bun. Microwaved noodles. Steam curling from her tea. She sat. I glanced at the other feeds. Kitchen—tidy. Bedroom—half-unpacked bag on the floor. A dress draped over the chair. Kindle on the nightstand. So... ordinary. That's what fascinated me.
She pretended to be normal. But the mask slipped. That shrine. The notes. The files. Others might believe her. I didn't.
She was innocent. Or pretended to be. Why me? Why choose me? Was it fate? Coincidence? Or was she just as broken as I am?
There was something inside her. A seed. Not yet deep in the soil. Still easy to tear out. But I wouldn't. I'd water it. Feed it. Watch it bloom.
She stood. Took her bowl to the kitchen. On her laptop—An interview. Me. Her spreadsheet open. Names. Places. Details. All about me. Obsessive. Meticulous.
I reached out. Fingers brushing the screen.
"You think you're the hunter?" I smiled. Cold. Joyless.
"Let's see what happens when you become the prey."
I took a sip of wine. Her life—laid out before me. Purchases. Habits. Insignificant routines. She went to bed. Laid down. Picked up her Kindle. Fingers twisted a strand of hair. So soft. So delicate. I could break her. Just like that.
"Goodnight."
The monitors went dark. But in my head, the images played on. A plan was forming.
She wanted to be part of my world?
Let's see how long the little hunter survives—once the real predator begins to hunt.
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Guys. We did it.10K views in two weeks.Thank you for every read, every comment, every whisper in the dark.I see all of you. Even the quiet ones. Especially them.
It's fine to hide in the shadows. Just don't forget— I'm watching.
Last week, I promised daily updates. And I delivered.
Now we return to our regular rhythm: New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday. Twice a week. Steady. Controlled. Just like him. Just like us.
Ready for what comes next? You should be. He is.