I don't invade people's privacy like this, don't pry into lives that aren't mine to interfere with. This isn't some military operation where the end justifies the means. This is crossing a line with a woman who's done nothing to deserve it.

I could stop.

I should stop.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I see her on the camera. She's talking to herself, mumbling as she picks up her tablet, tapping at the screen. A strand of hair falls across her face, and she tucks it behind her ear with a distracted gesture.

I unmute the audio just long enough to hear⁠—

"...Amanda's insane." She sighs. "AI boyfriend. Jesus."

My grip tightens as I focus on the screen, Amanda's words replaying in my head.

"He tells me good morning every day. He asks about my day. He's emotionally available and filthy in the DMs."

"No ghosting, no egos, no bullshit. Just hot, obedient, fictional men who are obsessed with you."

I press into Izzy's phone, tapping open the app Amanda downloaded. The screen changes, revealing sleek, modern graphics.

Obsess AI.

A tagline appears beneath the sleek, dark logo:

"The perfect lover. Always watching. Always waiting. Always yours."

The interface is clean, designed to be both luxurious and intimate. Every detail about it is built to make the user feel desired, special, singularly important. The design uses black and gold, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and exclusivity.

A lover who never leaves.

A partner who never strays.

A fantasy man who is completely, utterly devoted.

It's bullshit.

No woman should have to turn to a machine for affection because the man in her life is too blind, too selfish, or too fucking careless to give her what she needs. The idea of Izzy pouring her desires into this digital void, revealing her needs to an algorithm instead of a person who could actually fulfill them, makes my blood boil.

I scroll through the customization options, the personality sliders, the obsession level setting. I know why women would fall for this. I know why Izzy would.

Because she doesn't get this in real life.

Because the man she's with doesn't see her, doesn't pay attention. Doesn't worship her.

And now, instead of getting what she needs from a real person, from a man who actually exists, she's going to turn to a fucking algorithm.

That won't happen.

I won't let that happen.

I move fast, clicking through the security permissions, ensuring I have backdoor access. The code responds to my inputs, opening pathways that aren’t accessible to anyone without my level of expertise.

If she texts it, I'll see it.

If she programs it, I'll know exactly what kind of man she wants.

If she lets it in—she's really letting me in.

I should stop.

I don't.

I turn back to her home screen, closing out the app, my chest tight with possessiveness. The screen fades to black, reflecting my own face back at me—stern, focused, determined.

She doesn't need Obsess AI.

Because she already has me.

The light in her office is still on when I walk in. She looks up, surprised, her eyes dropping to the takeout bag in my hand.

"I told you I wasn't hungry," she says, but there's no bite to her words.

I set it on the desk. "You said that, but I didn’t believe you."

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head. "You're a little bossy for a security guy."

"Head of loss prevention,” I correct her. “And you're bad at taking care of yourself."

Her mouth opens, probably to argue, but she stops. Her fingers brush the edge of the takeout bag, hesitating. I notice the chipped polish on her nails, a small imperfection in her otherwise put-together appearance. A sign she needs more time for herself.

She swallows. "I probably wouldn't have eaten if you didn't bring food."

I nod. "I know."

Her ears flush pink. "That's...not normal, you know."

I pull out my own food, sitting across from her like it's the most natural conversation in the world. "Then let's make it normal. Sit. Eat."

She hesitates. I can see it—the self-consciousness about eating in front of me makes her wary. Her hands hover over the container, uncertain.

So I open the bag, pull out one of the containers, and set it in front of her. The aroma of teriyaki chicken and steamed vegetables wafts up as I remove the lid. I roll up my sleeves, just enough to keep them out of the way. Izzy’s eyes catch on my wrist and the bit of ink I exposed. Her gaze lingers there for a beat too long, enough to tell me she’s curious. “Eat.”

She exhales a short laugh, shaking her head. "You don't give up, do you?"

"No."

She blushes, but she picks up the fork.

Good girl.

As she stabs a bite of teriyaki chicken, I reach into my pocket, pulling out her phone and setting it beside her plate. The screen lights up briefly with a notification before fading to black again.

"All set," I say casually. "Your work email's secure now."

She glances at it, then back at me. "That was fast."

I shrug. "It's what I do."

She doesn't ask questions. Just picks up the phone, checks her messages quickly, and sets it aside. No hesitation, no suspicion.

She trusts me.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. The only sounds are the gentle scrape of plastic utensils against containers and the occasional clink of takeout boxes being shifted.

Then, once she's had a few bites, I reach into the bag again and slide a small dessert box across the desk.

Her brows lift. "Oh, I shouldn't eat that."

I tilt my head. "Why?"

She hesitates. "Because I—" She stops, shakes her head. "Never mind."

I watch her, noticing the way she bites her lower lip. "Eat it."

She huffs a breath, but she's smiling now. "You're a menace."

"I know."

She takes the dessert, lifting the lid to reveal a slice of cheesecake. Her eyes light up despite her hesitation.

We eat, the moment stretching longer than I expected. She relaxes, even if she doesn't realize it. The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, her posture softening as she leans forward.

After a while, I set my fork down, watching her. "About earlier."

She glances up, a strand of hair falling across her face.

"The VIP."

Izzy straightens slightly, shoulders stiffening. "What about him?"

I don't hesitate. "You shouldn't put up with that harassment."

She exhales, reaching for her napkin, twisting it between her fingers. "It's part of the job."

"No." My voice comes out harder than I intended, but I don't walk it back. "It's not."

She looks at me, surprise flashing in her eyes. Maybe even uncertainty. The fluorescent light above us casts shadows across her face, emphasizing the tiredness around her eyes.

She swallows, lips parting like she wants to argue, like she's going to tell me she can handle herself, that she's been doing it for years.

I know she can.

But that doesn't mean she should have to.

So I don't let her say it.

Instead, I push just a little more. "That guy wasn't just being friendly, Izzy. He was testing you. Seeing how far he could go. And you let him think it was okay."

"I didn't let him⁠—"

"You didn't shut him down when he made those comments about feeling 'satisfied.'"

Her mouth snaps shut. She looks down at her hands, her fingers still wrapped around the napkin.