Chapter 3: Secrets Never Stay Buried

3

If only that had been the end of it.

But half a month later, my best friend suddenly called me:

"Morgan, did you mess with the security cameras at my place the last time you stayed over?"

My mind went blank:

"You have cameras at your place?"

She said, "I’m living overseas, so of course I installed cameras in my empty apartment here. Today I randomly checked the footage, and all the cameras were working except for the night you stayed—those videos were deleted."

My scalp tingled.

My mind raced—did I snore? Did I drool? Or worse, did she see... that?

Could her brother have deleted them?

Did he check the footage after waking up, see what happened, and hurriedly destroy the evidence?

My heart leapt into my throat.

I had to get to the bottom of this.

"Did you install cameras in every room?"

She answered confidently, "Yes, everywhere except the bathroom. But that night, all the footage was deleted. I’m not blaming you—I just want to be sure. If it wasn’t you, and a hacker copied a video of you sleeping, that would be a big problem."

I jumped up in shock.

I pictured my face as a meme in some family group chat—kill me now.

Could her brother have copied the video for himself before deleting it?

I wished I could find a hole to crawl into.

But I couldn’t let my friend go and ask her brother.

I could only swallow the bitter pill in silence.

So I brushed it off: "Uh, haha, you caught me. It wasn’t a hacker—I deleted them. I didn’t want you to see my embarrassing sleeping posture."

My friend laughed and cursed on the phone: "Get lost! As long as it wasn’t a hacker. Actually, I opened the videos today to help you delete them, so it’s fine."

I forced a laugh, playing it cool even though my heart was still pounding. At least she seemed convinced.

After hanging up, I stayed anxious for a long time.

I found myself double-checking the locks, pulling the curtains tighter at night, as if that would somehow make the whole thing go away.

Afraid her brother would come find me.

I imagined him showing up at my door, phone in hand, video queued up. Every time I heard a text ping, my stomach twisted.

Luckily, nothing happened after that.

As time went by, I gradually forgot about that night.

The sharp memory faded, replaced by the humdrum routine of work, friends, and new dramas. But every now and then, the heat of that night crept back into my dreams.

Only occasionally, when I saw a male and female lead kiss in a TV show, I’d remember that indescribably wonderful night.

Blushing, I’d secretly reminisce for a moment.

I’d hug a pillow to my chest, feeling like a teenager all over again, before shaking it off and getting back to reality.

It felt so embarrassing, I’d quickly snap out of it.

Sometimes, when chatting with my friend, I’d hear news about her brother.

I always listened carefully, but never dared ask too much.

She’d mention his new job, or how he’d grown up, or the wild parties he threw. I’d nod along, pretending I didn’t care, but I hung on every detail.

I never thought that after six years, I’d see him again in the infusion suite.

Lucas Landon strode toward me.

No, to be precise, he strode toward the guy across from me.

As if he had just noticed me by accident.

He looked at me in surprise and wonder:

"Morgan, why are you here getting an IV all by yourself?"

His eyes locked on mine, and for a split second, it was like that night all over again—dangerous, electric, and impossible to forget.