Page 101 of The Owner's Temptation

And whatever line I’d been hoping we hadn’t crossed—we’re miles past it now.

War isn’t looming.

It’s fucking here.

Something’s off at The Ledger.

It’s been three days since I’ve seen Lucian. Three days of silence. No messages. No instructions. No sponsor-led training.

It’s like he vanished.

The first day, I was honestly relieved. I didn’t know how I was supposed to face him—not after what happened in his office. Not after the spanking. Not after I bent over his desk, dripping wet and panting like a sinner in confession.

Not after I went home, and put on a show just for him… right forhiscamera.

Because once I spotted the first one, it wasn’t hard to figure out there were more.

It was like a game.

A very twisted, voyeuristic game and I played it willingly.

I’ve found six so far.

The first one was in the vent above my bed. That stupid vent has always bothered me—it’s been slightly crooked since the day I moved in. I used to ask Ben to fix it. Told him it gave me the ick. That it looked wrong.

He never did.

But after I came home to new locks and a fresh security system, I laid on my bed, furious at Lucian and glaring up at the ceiling, and that’s when I noticed it.

The vent wasn’t crooked anymore.

Not only was it perfectly straight, but the two tiny screws on either side were lined up… too perfectly. Like someone took the time to tighten them with exact precision. The thin lines on the screw heads pointed directly up and down. Aligned like clock hands.

Lucian.

It had to be.

He didn’t install them because I was with him all day at The Ledger, doing all I could to piss in his espresso. But he was responsible for it.

I know it.

He would probably spank me again if he knew how I got up there to check it. I didn’t have a ladder, so I dragged my dresser across the room, set a chair on top of it, and climbed up like some short DIY spy.

And there it was.

A camera. Small. Black. Barely visible.

Pointing directly at my bed.

I should be scared. I should report it. Have someone come in and sweep the place. Rip them out and run.

I should quit. Walk away from this whole twisted, gorgeous mess.

I could. I’ve paid off my credit cards, redecorated my entire apartment and I’m stockpiling a good savings.

I should walk away.

But I’m not going to.

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