It started with a dropped dress. That simple moment revealed a nightmare – a phone hidden among my shoes, silently recording my most private moments. The discovery sent me spiraling: who had been in my apartment? How long had this been going on? And most terrifying of all – why?
The video footage showed mundane moments made sinister by their intimacy – me singing off-key while getting ready, talking to my cat, wrapped in just a towel. Then came the whisper: “You think nobody sees you… but I do.” A voice I didn’t recognize, yet somehow knew was meant just for me.
My cousin Zaria became my partner in this unwanted investigation. Together we pieced together the clues – the wiped phone that had clearly been used before, the barely noticeable disturbances in my apartment, the shadowy figure in one restored video that made my blood run cold.
Lachlan. The ex who sent roses for months after I ended things. The one who showed up at my workplace “just to talk.” I thought he’d moved on. I was wrong.
When the police couldn’t help, we took matters into our own hands. Our hidden cameras captured Lachlan himself placing another device in my closet in the dead of night. The evidence led to his arrest and revealed his accomplice – a maintenance worker in my building who’d been bribed for access.
The aftermath left me with upgraded locks, security cameras, and a lingering unease whenever I open my closet. But it also gave me something unexpected – clarity. I learned that danger often comes from those we’ve already let in, that persistence can be a warning sign, and that trusting your instincts isn’t paranoia – it’s protection.
