Page 179 of A Smile Full of Lies
Unpolished. Unfiltered. Not curated for a public thirst trap feed. Not made for the algorithm.
These wereraw.Some were just test clips — camera angles, lighting tweaks, sound checks.
But others?
Others made my breath catch.
File: 2019_07_NextDoor.mov
File: 2020_01_CurtainsOpen.mov
File: 2021_09_StudyLight.mov
I clicked the first without thinking, and what I saw on the screen made my stomach drop.
The camera was pointed through a bedroom window next door to Knox’s modest house on the other side of town. The camera was pointedat Gran’s house…at my bedroom. The blinds were open. I was sitting on my bed, reading. Fully dressed. Nothing suggestive.
But the way the camera lingered… zoomed in on my face, the curve of my smile when I laughed at something on the page?
He had filmed me.Years ago. Before the haunted house. Before the kitchen kiss. Before the hospital, the book, the wedding, the vows.
Beforeeverything.
Another click.
CurtainsOpen.mov
I was in Gran’s kitchen this time. Dancing. Barefoot in pajama shorts and a tank top. Stirring something on the stove, singing into a wooden spoon.
I remembered that night. It had been raining. Gran had been alive. And I’d felt… watched. Just for a second.
I’d written it off as anxiety. But he’d been there. Recording. Not for the internet. Not for anyone else. Forhimself.
Because he was alreadyobsessed.
My hands shook as I clicked the third video.
StudyLight.mov
It was grainy. Low-lit. A timestamp from four years ago.
I was crying. Sitting at my desk, head in my hands, shaking shoulders. A failed assignment? A fight with Gran? I couldn’t even remember. But the video didn’t zoom in this time. It just… watched. Waited.
The sound of his breath came through the mic. Steady. Deep. And then, in the faintest whisper, almost lost to the static, he spoke.
“You’re not allowed to give up, sweetheart.”
I slammed the laptop shut. My heart was racing. My skin flushed hot, then cold. He had watched me. Foryears.
Before I knew him as anything other than Thayer’s friend and my new neighbor. Before I let myselfseehim. Before I ever told him that I wanted him.
He’d already decided I was his. And he’d been documenting it. A history of want. A film reel of obsession.
Not staged. Not scripted and perfectly curated like his MaskTok thirst traps.
Real.
I stood, my knees weak, my thoughts spinning. The door opened behind me. Steam rolled in.
