My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom - Chapter 16: Chapter 16
You are reading My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom, Chapter 16: Chapter 16. Read more chapters of My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom.
Luna Valentine didn't spend the night at my place.
The next day, her usual knock never came.
By midnight on the third day, I had finished the best work I'd ever done.
Ten minutes later, the shrill scream of police sirens shattered the neighborhood's silence.
I opened the door without a flinch, watching as bleary-eyed neighbors spilled into the hall, buzzing with hushed speculation.
And there, standing among them—Luna Valentine.
Our eyes locked, and in that instant, we saw right through each other.
Then came the cold, hard bite of metal around my wrist.
Handcuffs.
The crowd surged forward, their hushed whispers swallowed by the strobing red and blue of police lights.
I stood there, watching as Tristan Langley was manhandled into the back of the squad car, the air thick with wild theories and half-baked rumors.
"Word is he kidnapped his neighbor—then executed him in cold blood."
"Victim was some big-shot art dealer. Bet it was a botched deal."
"Doesn't change a damn thing. Only a sick bastard could pull off something like this."
And just like that, the world had its story: Tristan Langley, the man who'd walked into the precinct and confessed.
Once the cruiser disappeared around the corner, I melted into the crowd, my face a perfect mask of indifference.
Back in my apartment, the deadbolt clicked shut behind me.
I leaned against the door, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across my face.
Now that was a clean exit.
Bringing the knife to his place was no accident.
I wasn't planning to kill him—that would've been reckless.
No, I just needed this pathetic little voyeur to play his part as my fall guy.
I even let the knife slip from my fingers right in front of him, putting on my best damsel-in-distress act just to see how he'd react.
And in his eyes? Something unexpected—hunger.
So I leaned into it. Started lingering around Tristan Langley more, and the effect was immediate.
Those dull, dead-fish eyes of his lit up with something wild, something desperate.
When the timing was perfect, I let every last stitch of clothing drop and asked him to paint me.
Then, casual as you please, I named my price.
I'd give him a masterpiece.
And in return? He'd walk straight into the police station and set me free.
That was the deal—simple, clean, and utterly ruthless.
The next day, her usual knock never came.
By midnight on the third day, I had finished the best work I'd ever done.
Ten minutes later, the shrill scream of police sirens shattered the neighborhood's silence.
I opened the door without a flinch, watching as bleary-eyed neighbors spilled into the hall, buzzing with hushed speculation.
And there, standing among them—Luna Valentine.
Our eyes locked, and in that instant, we saw right through each other.
Then came the cold, hard bite of metal around my wrist.
Handcuffs.
The crowd surged forward, their hushed whispers swallowed by the strobing red and blue of police lights.
I stood there, watching as Tristan Langley was manhandled into the back of the squad car, the air thick with wild theories and half-baked rumors.
"Word is he kidnapped his neighbor—then executed him in cold blood."
"Victim was some big-shot art dealer. Bet it was a botched deal."
"Doesn't change a damn thing. Only a sick bastard could pull off something like this."
And just like that, the world had its story: Tristan Langley, the man who'd walked into the precinct and confessed.
Once the cruiser disappeared around the corner, I melted into the crowd, my face a perfect mask of indifference.
Back in my apartment, the deadbolt clicked shut behind me.
I leaned against the door, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across my face.
Now that was a clean exit.
Bringing the knife to his place was no accident.
I wasn't planning to kill him—that would've been reckless.
No, I just needed this pathetic little voyeur to play his part as my fall guy.
I even let the knife slip from my fingers right in front of him, putting on my best damsel-in-distress act just to see how he'd react.
And in his eyes? Something unexpected—hunger.
So I leaned into it. Started lingering around Tristan Langley more, and the effect was immediate.
Those dull, dead-fish eyes of his lit up with something wild, something desperate.
When the timing was perfect, I let every last stitch of clothing drop and asked him to paint me.
Then, casual as you please, I named my price.
I'd give him a masterpiece.
And in return? He'd walk straight into the police station and set me free.
That was the deal—simple, clean, and utterly ruthless.
End of My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom Chapter 16. Continue reading Chapter 17 or return to My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom book page.