Under Surveillance

Morning arrived without mercy. There was no clinking of Vanessa’s coffee cup, no muted morning radio humming from the penthouse kitchen to mark the quiet onset of a normal day. Only the harsh, white glare cutting through the bare windows of my room, paired with the cold, familiar bite between my thighs.

The padlock had remained untouched overnight. The rigid resin cylinder pressed like stone against my groin; every slight shift across the thin mattress dragged dryly over raw skin.

Seven sharp, and the door flew open.

Loona stood in the frame. She was wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt falling barely over her upper thighs, bare-legged, her long dark hair pulled into a severe ponytail. Her tablet was tucked under her arm. Her expression was entirely clinical, as detached as if she were stepping into an examination room.

“Out of bed. Ten minutes for the bathroom and teeth. Then the kitchen.”

She offered no pause for a reply, turning on her heel and leaving the door wide open.

I staggered out of bed, the resin fixture swinging heavy beneath my boxers. Splashing cold tap water over my face in the stark bathroom and sliding my glasses on, the mirror threw back the dark circles beneath my eyes—set against the increasingly defined contours of my shoulders. I didn't waste a second. Right on time, I walked into the open-plan living and kitchen area.

Loona sat atop one of the high barstools by the kitchen island. A steaming black espresso sat before her, right beside my unlocked smartphone, where her fingers were rapidly tapping across the display. She motioned with her chin toward the hardwood directly beside her stool, pointing straight at the baseboard.

“Kneel right here.”

I lowered myself onto the bare, white-oiled boards, knees set shoulder-width apart. On the hard timber, I made a quiet attempt to settle into an endurable posture beside her feet, but every minor adjustment of weight ground the resin hard against my pubic bone.

“No excuses starting today,” she began, eyes never leaving my screen. “No stepmother to hide behind. This apartment operates under defined structure. Rule one: I just installed Kidslox on your phone. Unrestricted access, continuous tracking. Workout intervals, caloric intake, pedometer, sleep phases, and app permissions. If you fall short of the thresholds by five percent, the cage stays locked through the weekend. Miss them by ten, and you take on extra conditioning. Beyond that, surveillance cameras are going up in the hall and the living room. I want eyes on your routines at all times.”

Setting my phone face down, she looked down at me with cool scrutiny.

“Rule two: the upkeep falls to you. Laundry, dusting, cooking, floors. This flat stays immaculate, without exception, in case guests come by. I have zero interest in finding your sweaty workout clothes abandoned in the kitchen whenever Nadja drops in. She needs to feel comfortable and see an orderly place.” At the mention of Nadja’s name, a strange flutter tightened in my stomach; the memory of her bright, easy smile from yesterday took the sting out of the commands. “And rule three: you assist with my secondary channels.”

Picking up her own smartphone, she pulled up an active chat thread and angled the screen downward for me to see.

“Three clients have been waiting on confirmation since yesterday evening on my secondary feed. Fifty euros per image set. If one attempts to negotiate, dismiss him, but don't block him. Feed this directly into the thread: instruct him that he should consider himself fortunate I spare him any portion of my attention at all.”

I kept my neck rigidly still, reciting back the suggested phrasing without a stammer, pulling myself closer against the stool leg on my knees. To lock me in place, Loona lifted her right foot, pressing her smooth, cool sole flat against the nape of my neck. The added weight pinned my gaze to the grain of the floorboards, while trapped, suffocating pressure surged beneath my running shorts, relentlessly hot and unforgiving.

Just then, her phone vibrated violently in her grip, accompanied by the bright chime of an incoming video call.

On the screen flashed the smiling profile picture of Nadja.

A spike of raw panic surged through my veins. She couldn't see me like this—hunched on the floorboards, pinned beneath Loona’s bare sole, encased in resin, completely subservient. Every muscle in my back coiled to pull away, but the downward pressure on my neck doubled instantly, unforgiving as iron.

“Don't move,” Loona hissed down at me, her voice razor-sharp with warning. “Not a sound. Not a breath. If you flinch even once, that padlock stays sealed through next month.”

With steady deliberate motions, she smoothed her sweatshirt, raised the phone to chest height so the front lens framed only her face and the upper room, and swiped across the glass to answer.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Nadja’s lively voice chimed through the speaker.

From my angle on the floor, the screen remained out of view, but every breath came through with crystalline clarity. She sounded rested, vibrant, and completely at ease.

“Morning,” Loona replied, her voice smooth and entirely composed while her foot maintained its heavy balance over my neck. “Sleep well after all that heavy lifting yesterday?”

“Completely out cold, I was utterly wiped,” Nadja laughed warmly. “So, how does day one in the new nest feel? Unpacked yet? Where’s your dutiful assistant hiding, by the way? John was honestly adorable yesterday, seeing him put so much effort into hauling those boxes.”

My entire body locked rigid. I held my breath, pulse drumming wildly in my ears. The terror of a single rustle of fabric or an uneven exhale hitting the microphone made my throat close up.

“Oh, John has been busy since early,” Loona answered, an almost imperceptible lace of mockery threading her tone as her toes pressed pointedly into my trapezius. “Doing precisely what I asked of him. A remarkably obedient housemate.”

“That’s great, exactly how it should be,” Nadja giggled, oblivious. “Send him my best. I’ll swing by for coffee this afternoon to give you a hand with the book collections, alright?”

“Sounds like a plan. See you shortly, hon.”

Loona ended the call.

A crushing silence settled over the kitchen. The weight lifted from the back of my neck, and I let out a trembling, shallow breath of air.

“You see?” Loona breathed down from the stool, a cruel satisfaction curving her mouth. “She thinks you’re adorable. She looks forward to seeing you. And this afternoon, you will stand right here, dressed cleanly, playing the model host—while this tiny brass lock reminds you with every step who you truly are.”

The sharp sound of the front door latching cut through the thick air of the kitchen like shattered glass.

Nadja turned away in one fluid motion, pushing herself lightly from the kitchen counter. Her bright, easy smile returned instantly, as though the intense physical proximity of the preceding seconds had been the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Finally,” she called toward the corridor in high spirits. “I was beginning to think I’d have to finish off all of John’s water by myself.”

I seized the opening to set the glass down against the counter with an unsteady hand. My fingers were icy from the tap water, while perspiration prickled hot beneath the stiff denim of my jeans. The metal shackle of the lock dug like a silent, cutting reprimand into the skin of my pubic bone with every small shift.

Loona stepped into the open kitchen. Her hair remained tied back tightly, paired with fitted black trousers and an understated charcoal tank top. In her right hand she carried a crisp white paper bag from an electronics shop; in her left, a heavy ring of keys whose metallic jingle echoed up toward the high ceilings.

Her gaze shifted first to Nadja—warm, radiant, and sisterly. But the instant her eyes crossed to me, those emerald irises narrowed into two razor-sharp blades. She took in everything: the distance between us, my rigid posture, the condensation on the glass, and the half-cleared packing cartons in the corner.

“Traffic down Tauentzienstraße was impossible,” Loona remarked, placing the shopping bag onto the dining table before leaning in to give Nadja a brief hug in greeting. “At least I picked up everything on the list.”

“Perfect,” Nadja replied, glancing over the bag with keen interest. “The surveillance equipment?”

The word sent a heavy knot straight down into my gut. I stood rooted to the sink. Surveillance equipment? Had Loona briefed her on this already?

“Two compact wide-angle lenses for the living space and the entryway,” Loona explained casually, sliding a pod into the espresso maker. “Ground floors and fourth-story flats always require caution. Simple security measures.”

“Completely sensible,” Nadja agreed, stepping up to the table to run a hand over the glossy packaging. She pivoted halfway, flashing a warm smile over her shoulder directly at me. “And John has been putting in serious labor already. Take a look at the hallway. There’s hardly any cardboard left in the way.”

Loona turned around slowly, a steaming cup balanced in her fingers, studying me with clinical cool. Her eyes traveled down deliberately, settling on the dark denim and the flat line of my waistband, concealing the unyielding resin beneath.

“He made an effort,” Loona observed, her tone devoid of praise. “Though he is far from finished. John, take the remaining cartons from the corner into the storage room. After that, bring the tools from the corridor and mount both cameras over the lintels. Nadja and I will be out on the balcony.”

“Shouldn't I give him a quick hand?” Nadja offered gently, her soft tone laced with pity as her brown eyes met mine. “Those boxes look pretty hefty.”

“No, leave him to it,” Loona dismissed, a subtle, sharp edge touching her lips. “He needs the physical work. My stepbrother has taken a sudden interest in staying in shape lately. Isn't that right, John?”

The words hit like a blunt edge. She knew down to the millimeter how the locked shackle would grind against my skin each time I lifted a heavy load.

“Yes,” I managed tonelessly. “I can handle it.”

“See? A true gentleman,” Loona purred softly, picking up her espresso and linking her arm smoothly with Nadja’s. “Come on, let’s sit outside. I still have to fill you in on what happened at the department today.”

As the double doors swung open to the balcony, the warm afternoon glow catching the lines of their figures, I leaned heavily against the kitchen worktop for a brief, breathless second. Nadja’s delicate scent lingered in the room, cutting through the sharp citrus of Loona’s perfume.

Exhaling an unsteady breath, I reached for the camera boxes, feeling the searing plastic bite under the stiff fabric with every single stride. The nest was sealed. And while their easy laughter drifted in from the balcony, I quietly began mounting the very eyes that would watch me day and night.