Leo froze. Curiosity warred with dread. He shouldn't look. It was another violation, another trespass. But the pull was magnetic. He leaned closer. The wallpaper wasn't a cityscape or abstract art. It was a photograph, stark and intimate. *Him.* Naked. Not posed, not performing. Captured unaware. He recognized the angle – the dim light of his own shabby room above the laundromat. He was sprawled asleep on his narrow bed, sheets tangled low on his hips, the sharp lines of his hipbones visible, the vulnerable curve of his spine exposed. One arm was flung above his head, fingers loosely curled. The image was raw, private, stolen. A predator's trophy.
Leo recoiled as if burned. The sterile penthouse walls seemed to close in, trapping him. He stumbled back, bile rising in his throat. Thorne hadn't just watched him at Azure; he'd been watching him *before*. This wasn't lust; it was surveillance. Obsession. The borrowed clothes suddenly felt like a hunter's net. He fled back to the elevator, down to the street, the stolen image burning behind his eyelids. He walked for hours, the city's indifferent noise a dull roar against the panic in his skull. He finally collapsed onto his narrow bed, exhaustion dragging him into a shallow, dreamless sleep haunted by grey eyes and the click of a hidden shutter.
( SORRY FOR THE EXTREMELY SHORT CHAPTER, PLEASE I NEED REVIEWS ON THE STORY, SO IF YOU HAVE ANY CONTRIBUTION, OR QUESTION, SHARE THANK YOU) - AUTHOR