I nodded.

“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

Linda was a single mother raising a daughter who had just started college.

I knew money was tight for them, so I had helped out when I could over the years.

She was grateful, and every week she came by to clean my apartment, refusing to accept payment no matter how many times I offered.

As I watched her bend over to wipe down the hardwood floor in the living room, I casually asked, “Linda, have you noticed anyone coming into my apartment while I was away?”

“No,” she said right away. “Since Professor Bennett left for his trip, I haven’t seen anyone else come by. Why? Is something wrong?”

There was genuine concern in her eyes.

I smiled faintly.

“No. Just asking.”

Before she left, I slipped a tube of hand cream from Dubai into her palm.

The weather had been getting colder, and hands that worked as hard as hers deserved a little mercy.

If no one had come in…

Then was the mattress really defective?

But that mattress had been delivered only three months ago.

If there had been a system issue, the brand’s monitoring platform should have flagged it much earlier.

I was sanitizing the bed while turning every strange detail over in my mind when the smart lock beeped.

Door unlocked.

A cold jolt ran down my spine.

I had not even had time to hide when someone lunged at me and pinned me down on the bed.

“Surprise!”

It was Noah.

I was still half in shock when I looked up at him.

“I thought your teaching program in Australia was supposed to last a full week. Why are you back early?”

“Because I missed you.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “The university had a state-funded project they needed me to oversee in person, so I had to come back ahead of schedule.”

His eyes were so soft, so warm, that something inside me loosened despite myself.

The suspicion that had been clawing at me started to wobble.

Noah Bennett was the youngest tenured professor in the state.

Women liked him. Eighteen-year-old students liked him. Eighty-year-old donors liked him.

He was charming, easygoing, and rumors circled him the way moths circle porch lights.

But every time I looked into those eyes…

I could never quite bring myself to distrust him.

“But babe,” he said, brushing his thumb across my cheek, “why did you come back early too?”

I answered honestly.

“I got an alert that the mattress was being violently shaken while I was in Dubai. Since no one was supposed to be home, I got worried and flew back.”

He pulled me against his chest and said in a low voice, “It was just a system glitch. A technician was adjusting the settings.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to distract you from work.”

He even opened the maintenance log in the app and showed it to me.

I let out a breath.

Relief spread through me, warm and quiet, and my smile finally softened.

But after dinner…

I turned on the TV because I wanted to rewatch The Affair,

and discovered that the viewing history showed twenty full episodes of Heartland.

I stood there for a very long time in silence.

Then I asked, almost absently, “Did you watch TV while I was gone?”

“No,” he said lightly. “You probably turned it on by accident.”

The answer floated out of him so easily it almost sounded believable.

But my heart tightened again.

Twenty episodes.

At least ten hours.

Which meant…

Someone had been in my house that whole time.

So why was Noah lying?

And why had the cameras recorded nothing?

Could it be…

No.

The thought that crossed my mind was so ridiculous and so chilling that I hated myself for even having it.

Could something have already been inside the house before I left?

I could not stand it anymore.

I rushed downstairs and demanded building management pull the footage.

I sat in front of the monitors and scrubbed through frame after frame.

But there was no one.

Not one person entered my apartment.

A colder thought slid into place.

What if whoever it was had never left?

I went back through a full month of recordings.

My eyes turned red.

My head throbbed.

My vision blurred.

Still nothing.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing I could prove.

By the time I got back upstairs, my eyes were rimmed raw.

Noah was waiting for me in the apartment, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers.

“Happy anniversary,” he said softly. “To the woman I love most.”

I froze.

Only then did I remember.

Today was our anniversary.

From inside the bouquet, he pulled out a car key and placed it in my hand.

“A limited-edition Hello Kitty McLaren,” he said with a smile. “I preordered it three months ago.”

“Whatever happens in the future, I’ll always be by your side.”

The tenderness in his voice hit me with embarrassing force.

My nose stung.

I leaned against his chest and suddenly felt ashamed of myself.

This man…

This man always put me first.

And I had been doubting him.

As for the TV…

Maybe I had accidentally left it running in my sleep before the trip. Maybe the system had glitched. Maybe stress was turning my thoughts poisonous.

“Come on,” he said gently. “There’s another little surprise waiting in the car. Let’s go take a look.”

Inside, the car smelled faintly sweet, expensive, unfamiliar.

“Sweetheart, don’t forget your seat belt,” Noah’s recorded voice said through the car’s audio system, warm and smooth as velvet. “No matter how rough life gets, your husband will always stay by your side.”

My eyes blurred with tears.

I was so moved I could barely breathe.

“Navigate to Brookfield Place,” I said.

I had not prepared a gift for him, and I wanted to buy him a watch.

“Of course, sweetheart,” the system replied. “Your hubby is escorting you all the way.”

Then it continued in the same intimate tone.

“Coming up ahead is Henry’s Steakhouse, your favorite restaurant. The place where you and I had your first date.”

I froze.

I do not like steak.

Our first date was not there.

And Noah…

had never called me sweetheart.

A chill slipped straight into my chest.

So now the car system was malfunctioning too?

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and asked, each word sharp, “When was the last time ‘I’ drove this car?”

The system answered immediately.

“Two days ago, sweetheart. Destination: Victoria’s Secret, NorthPark Center.”

I pulled the car over so hard the tires squealed.

Then I started searching the interior with shaking hands.

Console.

Glove box.

Door pockets.

Back seat.

And there, wedged deep in the crease of the rear seat, I found it.

A pair of used stockings.

Lying there quietly.

Like a confession that no one had needed to speak out loud.