Page 83 of The Guru: Shadow

He guided her through the entrance to the staircase, to the first of the lower levels. While they walked, he said, “Ed, put it on, all of it, study.”

What the fuck?

“He listens?”

She asked incredulously, all of her hoping he’d deny it.

“They all listen, always.”

“Who is they?”

“Security.”

She stopped in her tracks. This was like a prison. Only the billionaire edition.

“Did they listen in Central Park, too?” And she stared at him standing right in front of her. She knew the answer before he said it. But when he did, hearing it, hearing that god knows how many others heard everything, he pulled the rug under her. The violation of privacy was beyond measure.

“Partially. But they are sworn to secrecy,” he said. And as he must’ve seen the revulsion in her eyes, he added, “They have seen and heard worse, believe me.”

What could be worse? Nothing, absolutely fucking nothing.

“Deis, this is sick. Like end-level sick. That’s not security, that’s prison, supermax-like.”

He did not answer immediately, instead, he stripped her bare with his piercing look.

“The difference is, this is by choice, and I have all the power and control.”

“Do you?”

His eyes flashed intensely at her.

“I mean, is it truly control, if you always need others to control what’s happening to and around you? Sounds like an illusion to me.”

“You’ll get used to it, now come.”

The fuck I will.

And he pointed towards a door on her left.

Entering, a scent of old books and whiskey went up her nose. Breathing it in, the lump in her throat loosened a bit, as there was nothing more soothing to her than the scent of old books.

Glancing around, she took in the same grandiosity the whole penthouse had, but this study – or should she say, library – was somehow different. There were no windows here, and it had a soothing warmth about it. It wasn’t just as clean as the rest of the penthouse. Here, stories existed, and books of all sizes and colors gave the room a wilder touch. This room lived, truly lived, while the rest of the penthouse was as clean as a whistle.

Deis went over to the old wooden desk, with beautiful carvings and opened the MacBook that lay on it.

“Turn around,” he ordered her.

But he didn’t need to say it. She had heard the humming sound next to the shelves on her left. A huge display automatically came out of the ceiling; it was so massive, the height measured more than her whole body was.

“This-” a dozen live feeds appeared on the screen, “-is live footage from outside. The main entrance, the garage, and as you can see, they are even at your address.”

Her stomach sank to the ground. There were people watching, cameras ready. Some even trying to enter the apartment building. Heavy breaths issued from her throat and there it was again, that tingling sensation as the world zoomed in.

I have nowhere to go anymore.

What if they break in?

Go through my stuff?

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