The House That Watches

Nova woke to silence.

Not the peaceful kind. The eerie, all-consuming kind made Nova question whether she was alone in the house, or if someone was just very good at staying hidden.

The bed was too soft, and the room was too still. Nova sat up slowly, adjusting her eyes to the faint light seeping through the sheer curtains.

That’s when she saw it. A single crystal vase sat on the nightstand beside her. Inside, a small cluster of pale wildflowers stood fresh and undisturbed. Soft blue and white, delicate, a little imperfect. Like something that had grown free instead of being arranged.

She stared at them for a long time.

She didn’t remember ever telling anyone they were her favorite. It was the kind of detail most people didn’t know, something she barely acknowledged.

Her fingertips grazed a petal. Something in her chest tightened.

The house was massive. Elegant. And wrong.

Nova explored barefoot, wrapped in a robe she hadn’t packed, the silk too smooth against her skin. Every step echoed faintly against polished floors. The place was spotless, soulless, and designed like a catalog. There were no scuffs on the baseboards, no fingerprints on the doorknobs, just curated perfection.

Nova passed rooms she didn’t remember from yesterday. A music room with a grand piano. A sitting room lined with books, half of which she already owned. A stairwell that led nowhere.

Cameras were tucked into the molding. Nova spotted one above the hallway light and another hidden near the corner of the ceiling. They didn’t blink. But she could feel them watching.

The kitchen was already stocked.

Fresh fruit, almond croissants, and her favorite yogurt brand were in the fridge. The mug beside the electric kettle was the exact shade of green as her old college set.

Nova stared at it for several seconds before picking it up. Not once did she mention that color to Damian. Or anything about the mug. Or the way she liked her tea brewed just shy of boiling.

She didn’t feel comforted. She felt... catalogued.

Someone had compiled everything she’d ever liked into a neat, sanitized version of home.

She didn’t see Damian all day.

Which made it worse.

She might have felt something closer to control if he had been there, hovering, pacing, or playing house. But his absence left space for the house to breathe around her. And she didn’t like how it exhaled.

By late afternoon, the air felt thick.

Nova passed a narrow and dark hallway she hadn’t noticed before. At the end of it stood a single black door. There was no handle, just a small fingerprint scanner glowing faint red.

She stopped.

Her pulse fluttered.

This was it. The one-room Nova wasn’t supposed to enter.

Rule #7 on the contract had been clear: Do not attempt access to restricted areas of the estate. Breach of this rule voids your protection.

“Void my protection,” she muttered. “From what, exactly?”

The scanner didn’t respond. Neither did the door.

Nova stepped back slowly and kept walking like she hadn’t just found a locked secret waiting to be broken open.

Back in her bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed.

The wildflowers were still there.

Still perfect.

Still unexplained.

And now, she noticed something new.

The petals were facing her. Tilted ever so slightly toward the pillow she’d slept on, like they’d turned in the night.

Like they were arranged that way.

“There was only one vase of wildflowers. Nova didn’t remember telling anyone they were her favorite—because she never had.”

– Married to My Stalker