Emily passed ouf on the Couch and someone in the Guest room

Stretched out on his couch, dead to the world, was Emily. A soft snore rose and fell with steady indifference, the kind that only came from someone who had decided the night was finished hours ago. From the look of her clothes, she had dressed to be seen. Carefully chosen, deliberate. Whatever plans she had last night, they had not included an early one.

Simon stood there, the scene settling into place. A flicker of bitterness surfaced before he bothered to stop it. Emily had always had strong opinions about him going out dressed up without her, about appearances and expectations and respect. Seeing her like this made the imbalance hard to ignore. The rules, apparently, bent when they belonged to her.

That conversation was overdue. He knew it the same way he knew when a situation on the job was heading south. The signs were all there, whether he wanted to deal with them or not.

Still, staring at her sprawled across his couch, Simon felt no urge to launch into it now. Words had weight today. More than they ever should. And if the letter was even partly true, he did not need many of them at all.

It was not only Emily’s snoring that reached him.

From down the short hallway, beyond the guest room door, came another sound entirely. A muted rhythm. Breathing that rose and fell too fast. Low, indistinct noises that did not belong in a quiet apartment at midmorning.

Simon froze, listening more carefully.

Recognition settled in with slow, unwelcome clarity.

No struggle. No raised voices. No panic.

Just two people, very much occupied with each other, in his guest bedroom.

He closed his eyes for a brief second, jaw tightening.

That left only two explanations. Either Emily had invited them in. Accident or intention hardly mattered. That someone was either otrturing someone in his guest room or that someone was having sex in his guest room..

Both crossed lines.

Seventeen years in security had taught him to keep his reactions measured, to breathe before acting. Even so, irritation burned through his usual restraint.

In his apartment. On his couch. In his spare room.

Not acceptable.

Simon stood in the narrow space between the living room and the hallway, weighing his options the way he had been trained to do. Calmly. Methodically. Strip the situation down to its parts and decide what mattered.

The simplest choice was to tell them to leave. Legally, that was enough. One clear instruction from the person on the lease, and anyone who ignored it became a trespasser. After that, the police could handle the rest. Clean. Documented. Boring. The way problems were supposed to end.

He could skip that step and make the call now. Let uniforms and paperwork replace awkward conversations. It would take time, but at least it would not involve him standing in his own hallway listening to strangers breathe through thin walls.

There was another option, one he dismissed almost as soon as it surfaced. He had the training. Years of drills, certifications, and real world confrontations. Two distracted people in a confined space would not be difficult. The problem was everything that came after. Reasonable **** was a flexible phrase, stretched and twisted in courtrooms every day. They would say they were invited. Guests of his girlfriend. Innocent. Unaware.

And that brought him back to Emily.

The spare key. The unspoken permission. The quiet assumption that she could come and go as she pleased. In his line of work, that alone counted as a failure. Access was access, no matter who held it. And permission, once given, could always be taken back.

A gratuitous license. That was the term. Temporary. Revocable. No guarantees.

Another option surfaced, uninvited and impossible to ignore.

Simon’s gaze drifted back to the folded letter still clenched in his hand. The words felt heavier now, less like a joke and more like a loaded weapon he had not asked for. He had already tested it once, spoken into empty air and felt his exhaustion vanish. That alone should have been enough to dismiss coincidence.

Seventeen years on the job had taught him to distrust shortcuts. Anything that promised clean results without effort usually hid consequences somewhere out of sight. Even so, the possibility sat there, waiting.

He could end this without raised voices, without police, without explanations. A few carefully chosen words, spoken loud enough to carry through the apartment.

The thought made his stomach tighten. Power, real power, rarely announced itself with fireworks. It arrived quietly, offering to make things easier.

Simon did not like easy solutions.

Still, the noise from the guest room continued, unbothered by his hesitation. He watched the hallway, weighing restraint against curiosity, experience against temptation.

For the first time since finding the envelope, he seriously considered opening his mouth and seeing what happened next.

Simon stopped outside the guest room door, listening for half a second longer than necessary. The rhythm inside continued, careless and unbothered.

He straightened.

“Both of you, stop,” he said, his voice firm and level. “Remain quiet. Not a word until I tell you to speak.”

The command carried down the hallway with the same authority he used on shift.

The sounds cut off instantly.

Silence rushed in to fill the space they left behind.

Simon waited, watching the door, assessing. No voices. No movement. Just stillness. That, more than anything, told him the letter had not been lying.

“Make yourselves presentable,” he went on. “Get dressed. If you are not wearing clothes, fix that. Then come out here when you are done.”

He did not raise his voice. He did not need to.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the sound of fabric being shifted. Sheets whispered. The awkward, hurried sounds of people realizing they were no longer in control of the situation.

Simon leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded, expression flat. Years of breaking up fights and clearing rooms had taught him patience. This was no different, just stranger.

Finally, the door creaked open.