Chapter 4The Streamer's Final Show

The landlord had the first key. He claimed he didn't keep spares, but I knew he was lying. He has a history of letting himself into female tenants' apartments. But with me, he’s still observing, biding his time.

When I go out, I leave a spare key under the doormat. My neighbor and the water delivery guy didn't miss the opportunity; they took it, copied it, and put it back.

But none of them have dared to enter while I’m home.

Looks like I need to add some fuel to the fire.

I picked up my phone and spoke loudly, pretending to be on a call.

"Yeah, this place isn't working out."

"I'll probably move soon."

"When? Not sure yet, maybe next week..."

I put the phone down, smiling. The bait is set; now I just wait for the fish to bite.

Time ticked by. At 4:00 AM, I heard a soft click at the door.

Who would it be?

The lock turned, and the door pushed open silently.

Light footsteps approached the bedroom.

The door creaked open, and I saw his face in the dim light.

It was the neighbor, the freelancer.

He stood by my bed, his glasses reflecting a predatory gleam. His hand reached out, trembling, hovering inches from my face before pulling back.

Instead of touching me, he pulled out a camera and started taking pictures from every angle.

I imagine my photos will soon be added to his wall of trophies. Among his collection, I’m sure I’m the crown jewel.

He took photos for a full thirty minutes. He stared at my exposed arm for a long time before finally leaving.

Once he was gone, I finally let myself sleep.

I slept until noon. After washing up, I went out for lunch.

While eating, I pulled up the live feed of my apartment on my phone.

Hehe. They don't know that I have way more cameras hidden in my house than they do.

The landlord appeared on the screen.

He seemed impatient. He’d entered shortly after I left. He marched into the bathroom, grabbed my underwear, and... relieved himself.

I watched with interest, my lunch forgotten.

Soon, he groaned and closed his eyes in ecstasy. When he was done, he put the underwear back and left.

I finished my meal and strolled back.

On the stairs, I ran into Julian.

Julian lives upstairs. He’s a writer. He always wears turtlenecks and silver-rimmed glasses—very clean-cut and handsome.

I know Julian likes me. Every time he sees me, he gets this shy smile. If I hold eye contact too long, he blushes.

He knows my schedule and manufactures "chance encounters." He knows I'm a streamer; he's my top moderator, "SimpleJay," always tipping and chatting. He even brings me homemade red date soup, claiming he "made too much."

Honestly, I kinda like him too.

Unlike the three creeps with their cameras, Julian looks at me with pure affection, no lust. In this society, a pure boy like him is rare.

So, I flirt back. I nurture the relationship.

After all, killing him will be so much more satisfying when he's deeply in love with me.