Page 14 of Love Me Stalk Me
I groan, dropping my head to my desk, the cool surface a small relief against my flushed skin.
I am so screwed.
DINNER. DESSERT. AND UNRESTRICTED ADMIN ACCESS.
CAL
Izzy's phoneburns a hole in my pocket.
I know exactly what I'm going to do with it.
And I know exactly how wrong it is.
As I make my way through the corridors leading to the food court, I try and talk myself out of it. I could just check her email settings like I said I would, hand it back, and pretend I never even thought about doing more.
But I already know that's not going to happen.
Because the second I have access to her phone, I'll know her entire digital life. Every message, every call, every time she leaves Monarch. The weight of the device in my pocket feels heavier with each step, a constant reminder of the line I'm about to cross.
And I know I won't be able to stop myself.
I shove my hands into my pockets, pushing that thought down as I approach one of the takeout spots near the main entrance of the mall. It's late, the crowd thinning out, but the smell of grilled meat and frying oil clings to the air. The last few shoppers drift past me, bags in hand, eager to head home after a long day. I step up to the counter, scan the menu, and order quickly.
Izzy said she didn't want food.
I don't believe her.
She seems like the type of woman who says she's going to eat dinner but then goes home too exhausted to actually take care of herself. The kind who spends all day making sure everyone else is okay but never stops long enough to check in on herself. I recognize the signs from countless deployments—the way she rubs her temples when she thinks no one's looking, the slight slump of her shoulders as the day wears on.
I've seen it before.
And I don't like it.
So, I order for her anyway.
The cashier hands me the bag a few minuteslater, the warmth of it seeping through the paper, and I make my way back through the quiet halls. The store is locked up for the night, only a skeleton crew remaining inside—maintenance, overnight stocking, and, of course, security.
I let myself in through the staff entrance and head straight for the security suite. The soft beep of the door unlocking is the only sound in the otherwise silent corridor.
The room is small but efficient, lined with monitors that display every angle of the store. I drop into the chair in front of the main desk, my gaze automatically tracking to camera six—Isabella's office.
She's still there, sitting at her desk, rubbing at her temples like she's been staring at the screen for too long. The warm light from her desk lamp casts a soft glow over her features, softening them in a way they weren't during the day.
I exhale slowly, pulling her phone from my pocket. The screen lights up, displaying a photo of her with who I assume is her family—all smiles, all together.
This is it. The moment I decide just how far I'm willing to take this.
I hesitate for half a second.
Then I plug it into my own.
The connection is instant. My software syncs in seconds, feeding me her digital footprint. Texts. Emails. Location tracking. The data flows across my screen, giving me unprecedented access to her private life.
If I wanted to, I could tap into her microphone, hear each conversation around her. If I pushed further, I could access her camera, see exactly what she sees.
I sit back, jaw tight, staring at the screen.
What the fuck am I doing?
