The evening settled over the mansion in a quiet shade of gold, the curtains breathing gently with the cool breeze drifting in from the balcony. The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp. Sylvia was pacing slowly across the rug, one hand on her waist, the other holding her phone close to her ear. Her voice was low… too low… almost like she didn't want the walls to hear her.
She was deep into the call when the doorknob turned.
Thompson stepped inside, looking exhausted but relieved to be home. The moment Sylvia saw him, her expression shifted instantly—quickly cutting the call and dropping the phone on the bed as if it had suddenly caught fire.
"Baby!" she exclaimed, forcing a smile and rushing toward him.
Thompson opened his arms and hugged her, inhaling her hair, but something about the embrace felt… off. Sylvia's shoulders were stiff, her hands too cold.
Thompson pulled back slightly and looked at her face.
But before he could ask anything, she rushed into her words.
"Baby, I think you have to change some certain things here," she said quickly, circling him and pretending to adjust his collar even when nothing was wrong with it.
Thompson blinked, confused.
This wasn't her usual greeting. No 'How was work?' No warm smile. And her eyes were restless, flickering like someone hiding a burning secret.
"Some certain things?" he repeated, setting his bag down on the chair. "Like what exactly?"
Sylvia sighed dramatically, folding her arms.
"Baby… so many things," she started, pacing again. "Why exactly are there cameras all around this house? I mean, seriously? What's the point? It's not like this environment is dangerous."
Thompson raised his brows, confused even more.
"And why is there a camera in our room?" she continued, tapping her feet anxiously. "Baby sometimes I need my privacy. Every woman deserves that. Don't you think so?"
Thompson stared at her.
He had known Sylvia for years… but never had she mentioned the cameras. Those cameras had been installed long before she ever came into the picture—by his late mother, mostly for safety and monitoring household activities.
Why suddenly today?
Why this tone?
Why this urgency?
He rubbed the back of his neck slowly.
"I don't get it, baby. What does privacy have to do with anything? And this camera issue… why now?" he asked gently.
Sylvia sighed sharply, almost angrily. "Why now? Because… because sometimes I feel watched! I just want to be able to relax without feeling someone is monitoring me. Is that too much to ask?"
Thompson looked at her again—closer this time.
Her hair was rough, almost in knots at the back.
Her robe was slightly displaced, not the neat way she usually ties it.
Her makeup was smudged at the corners of her eyes, like she had wiped them multiple times.
He stepped a little closer.
"Baby… have you taken your bath?" he asked quietly.
Sylvia's eyes widened—for just a split second—before returning to normal.
"What do you mean?" she snapped.
"And why is this room a mess?" Thompson continued, his voice calm but pointed. "The bed looks like someone fought with a ghost on it."
Her shock intensified.
She swallowed hard.
"Baby what are you even saying? I've been at home resting," she said with a shaky laugh. "I was sleeping, that's why everything looks scattered. You know how I sleep na."
She forced another laugh.
Thompson didn't smile.
He kept staring.
"Baby," she rushed again, touching his chest nervously. "Let's not make this a big deal. The room… the bed… all is just normal. Besides, I mistakenly slipped and fell earlier. And in the process… the camera you placed in this room broke."
She swallowed and looked away, pretending to fix her robe.
"I didn't know how to tell you," she added softly.
Thompson blinked slowly.
"You slipped," he repeated quietly, watching her face. "And the camera broke?"
"Yes," she replied too quickly. "Yes—exactly."
He looked at her for a long moment… a very long moment.
Something wasn't right.
Her voice was trembling underneath.
Her fingers kept rubbing each other.
She couldn't even maintain eye contact.
"Sylvia…" he said slowly. "Are you even listening to yourself?"
She stiffened.
"Just say you didn't want the camera here. That's all," Thompson continued, shaking his head. "These excuses… they don't sound like you."
She kept quiet.
He sighed heavily, removing his wristwatch.
"It's okay," he muttered quietly. "The camera isn't that deep. If you want it gone, it's fine."
He headed toward the bathroom, stopping at the door.
"But I hope you're telling me the full truth," he said, not looking back.
Sylvia froze.
"I—I am, baby," she whispered.
He nodded once and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind him.
Sylvia stood still for a few seconds—her chest rising and falling rapidly.
The moment the water started running in the bathroom, she exhaled sharply and grabbed her phone from the bed.
Her hands were shaking.
She switched the screen on.
A message appeared immediately:
"You almost got caught."
Her throat tightened.
Another message came in:
"Delete the footage before he checks."
Sylvia looked toward the bathroom door again, fear clouding her eyes.
Then she quickly deleted the messages, switched off the phone, and sat on the bed, hugging her knees as her mind raced uncontrollably.
The camera wasn't her problem.
Her secret was.