1 After graduation, I moved to Seattle to start my career. To save on the city’s astronomical rent, I called my brother, Jason, asking if I could crash at his place.

He was away on a monthlong business trip but told me I could move in immediately.

There was just one condition: I had to look after his "new addition." "I got a new little black dog," Jason told me over the phone, his voice distracted. "He’s a bit antisocial, so I’ve got him tethered inside.

He can be a real brat. If he doesn't listen, don’t be afraid to be firm with him." I arrived at the old brick apartment building in the Hilltop district.

I’d visited once years ago, so I remembered the trick to the place. I found the spare key tucked under a chipped ceramic planter and let myself in.

The layout was exactly as I remembered, but the atmosphere felt heavy, almost stagnant. "Hey, puppy!" I called out, clicking my tongue. "Where’s the little troublemaker?" Hearing a faint rustle from the master bedroom, I smiled and pushed the door open. "Who’s a bad boy?

Who wants a belly rub?" The room was shrouded in dim light, the heavy curtains drawn tight. A man was standing by the window.

He was wearing a thin, wrinkled white shirt, his frame lean and sharp. Around his ankle, a sleek, black electronic monitor pulsed with a faint red light.

His eyes were vacant, staring into a void I couldn't see.

His dark hair fell over a pale, aristocratic face—the kind of face that belonged on a billboard, cold and unreachable. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice a low, jagged rasp.

I slammed the door shut, my heart hammering against my ribs. I pulled out my phone and pulled up Jason’s last message. New addition. Black hair. Tied up. Everything matched.

It took me exactly thirty seconds to accept the horrifying reality: my brother was a psychopath.

He had kidnapped a grown man—a beautiful, blind, broken man—and was keeping him like a pet. 2 But Jason was my brother.

He was my only family, and I had already signed the contract for my new job in the city. I couldn't run, and I couldn't call the police—not yet.

I decided the only thing I could do was care for this poor soul in the meantime. As the sister of a kidnapper, I didn't dare reveal my identity.

I told him I was the new housekeeper. His response was a cold, "Get out." A temper. Well, who wouldn't have a temper if they were being held captive in a dingy bedroom?

I called Jason, trying to keep my voice steady. "Hey, about the... guest in your house. What’s his name?

I want to make sure I take care of him properly." "Are you losing it?" Jason barked. "His name is Dog. Don't start treating him like a person.

You call him 'Dog,' and he’ll come wagging his tail. Don't be a weirdo, Sophie." I felt the blood drain from my face. Jason had even stripped him of his name.

I couldn't fathom how my brother—the boy who’d worked his way out of our small town into the big city—had become this twisted. Was the city really this soulcrushing?

I’d have to wait until Jason got back. Then, I’d find a way to get him professional help—or turn him in myself. "Jason," I choked out, "he has dignity!

How can you call him that?" He hung up on me, telling me to just feed the "mutt" and stop being dramatic.

I couldn't bring myself to call a human being "Dog." I searched through the hallway cabinets until I found a discarded wallet. Inside was an ID card.

The man in the photo had piercing, soulful eyes and an air of quiet power. His name was Elias Hawthorne. According to the ID, he was from Chicago.

Jason had snatched him from halfway across the country.

My brother was more dangerous than I’d ever imagined. 3 Ever since I’d claimed to be the housekeeper, Elias stopped asking questions.

He spent most of his time sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the dark. He looked like a man waiting for the end. I went to make dinner, but the fridge was a wasteland.

All that was there were a few bottles of expensive red wine. No wonder he was so thin. Beneath that shirt, his collarbones looked like they could cut glass.

The vibrant man from the ID photo had been hollowed out. I wore a mask and a hoodie to the grocery store, avoiding every security camera I could.

If Jason eventually went down, I needed to make sure I wasn't caught in the blast radius. I came back and whipped up a hot, threecourse meal.

I invited Elias to the small dining table. He walked out, his face like a thundercloud. The monitor on his ankle was flashing red.

The display on the wall—part of some hightech security system Jason must have installed—showed his status: Irritated. "Didn't they tell you the rules?" Elias said, his sightless eyes fixed on a corner of the room. "I didn't ask you to cook.

Get out." "...They?" I whispered. He didn't answer, as if my stupidity wasn't worth his breath. My hands shook as I held the tray.

My brother wasn't just a kidnapper; was he part of a syndicate? Was "they" a whole organization of psychos? 4 In the dim light, I noticed the scars on Elias’s arms.

Some were old bruises from bumping into furniture, but others were sharp, thin nicks. Jason was a monster. Elias didn't notice my scrutiny.

He smelled the food, but instead of eating, he lashed out, sweeping the plate off the table with a violent crash. "Are you deaf?" he snapped. "Leave." Despite his blindness, his presence was suffocating.

I felt myself trembling under his glare. My brother’s debt was now mine to pay.

I thought about the brother I used to know, and I decided I would save him from himself by saving Elias first. "Just eat something," I said softly, my voice firm. "If you don't, you won't have the strength to run when the time comes." The monitor on his ankle flickered.

His health vitals were at a critical low. The "Mood" light was a solid, angry red. Hostility. Disgust. I was out of options. I called Jason again.

He was going to be gone for a month; if his "pet" died on my watch, I didn't want to know what he’d do.

I told him the "dog" refused to eat and was acting out. "Then force his mouth open!" Jason shouted. "When I’m home, he’s a angel, wagging his tail at my feet.

Why is he giving you such a hard time? He’s testing you. He’s a highmaintenance breed, Sophie. Don't let him get skinny.

If I come home to a bag of bones, I’m taking it out on both of you!" 5 I went back to Elias with a fresh plate. He moved to swat it away for the sixth time.

He was starving, his skin a sickly, translucent grey. It looked like he was trying to commit suicide by hunger. Something inside me snapped.

I grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the table. "Eat," I growled, "or I’ll start hitting." Elias tilted his head, his blind gaze somehow projecting a terrifying authority.

He let out a low, dark chuckle. "You really have no idea who you're talking to, do you? What exactly do you think your 'position' is here?" I laughed, a jagged, bitter sound.

Jason said he was a "good boy" who wagged his tail. This man was a captive with the ego of a king. I pinched his chin, forcing his mouth open. "The puppy is being naughty.

The puppy needs to be punished." He froze, clearly never having been treated with such blunt, physical force.

In his shock, I managed to shove a few spoonfuls of risotto into his mouth.

His throat worked as he swallowed. "You...!" I softened my grip and brought a glass of warm water to his lips, patting his back gently. "There we go. I’m not going to hurt you.

I’m not like them. I’m the good one." In our struggle, some of the water and food had spilled onto his dark shirt, clinging to his skin.

Elias couldn't see the mess, but he could feel it.

His face was a mask of shock and lost control. "You're a mess," I said. "Go clean yourself up." I watched him stumble back to his room.

I went to the guest room to unpack and look over my new hire paperwork. I’d been recruited by a branch of the Hawthorne Group.

I knew my immediate manager, but I hadn't bothered to look up the Csuite execs. I’d never be in the same room as people that powerful anyway.

I stretched and called Jason for my daily report. "The brat just threw a fit, but I got some food in him. Sent him to the shower." Jason screamed through the phone. "Are you insane?

He can't shower by himself! He’s terrified of water! The idiot is going to drown! Get in there and save him!" 6 I realized the bedroom had gone silent.

I sprinted down the hall and burst into the master bath. A silhouette was slumped in the garden tub, submerged. He wasn't moving. My career! My life! My brother’s soul!

Everything was flashing before my eyes. I lunged forward, slipped on the wet tile, and went flying. I ended up landing right in the tub, splashing down directly into his lap.

I scrambled to grab his head, pulling him above the surface. "Please don't die! Please don't die!" Elias sputtered, coughing violently as he took in air. His chest heaved.

His eyes, clouded with water and confusion, locked onto mine. Thank God. My life wasn't over. Ignoring every social boundary, I tried to haul him out of the tub. "It’s okay, baby.

From now on, we’re doing sponge baths." But he was slick with soap and water. I couldn't find a grip, my hands sliding over his damp skin. My hand landed on something... firm.

Elias shoved me away, his face turning a deep, burning crimson. "Get out!" he rasped. "I'm fine!" "You almost died!" I yelled back, refusing to budge.

We sat there in the tub, a standoff in lukewarm water. Then, I sneezed. Elias took a ragged breath.

He braced himself against the wall, his hands trembling as he felt for the edge of the tub, carefully stepping around my legs to get out.

He stood in the center of the bathroom, dripping, trying to reclaim some shred of dignity. "I don't know who sent you," he said, his voice shaking with fury, "but leave.

Now." The cold air hit him, and he realized he was completely exposed. He froze. "...Can you see me?" he asked quietly.

I looked him up and down, my voice flat. "Don't flatter yourself. I grew up with a brother. It's nothing I haven't seen before. Now, finish up.

I'm staying right here to make sure you don't sink again." The monitor on his ankle began to chime a warning. The red light was strobing. Rage. Humiliation. Mortification.

The words cycled rapidly on the wall display.

I played dumb until he grabbed a towel, fumbling his way back to the bedroom. "I’m going to make sure they fire you," he hissed as he left. I just rolled my eyes.

I’d already hidden the landline and cut the WiFi. Jason was an amateur; he’d forgotten to sever the "pet's" connection to the world.

Luckily, I was there to fix his mistakes. 7 Deprived of a phone and full of carbs, Elias finally slumped onto the bed. He glared into the darkness, hurling insults at me.

I started singing him a lullaby Jason had taught me for the "dog." "Go to sleep, little puppy, close your eyes..." The sheer absurdity of the song seemed to break him.

He pulled the covers over his head and went silent. Jason had mentioned the "puppy" had some breathing issues at night, so I didn't dare leave him alone.

I dragged a chair to the corner of the room and watched him until his breathing evened out. The next morning, before work, I threw open the curtains.

Sunlight flooded over his brooding form.

He was staring at the ceiling, his eyes rimmed with red. "Morning, sunshine," I said. "Get some Vitamin D." Elias stiffened, clutching the duvet. "You... you slept in here?

Are you a psychopath?" He reached for something on the nightstand to throw at me, but I’d already padded every sharp corner with foam and cleared away anything dangerous.

He was fragile. He was blind. He needed protection. His hand landed on a plush toy I’d bought—a squeaky purple eggplant. He squeezed it, and it let out a pathetic wheeze.

His face went cold. "What is this?" "A toy," I said encouragingly. "Do you like it? I’m here to give you the love the others didn't." He ripped the toy in half.

He stood up, looming over me. "Get out of my house. Right.

Now." "It's our house now," I said with a sigh, reaching up to pat his cheek. "We're both just lost souls here." My work alarm went off.

I ducked under his arm and headed for the door. "I’ve set up a camera. Behave yourself.

No 'accidents' on the rug, or I’ll have to put you in timeout when I get home." The monitor on his ankle flashed a violent, blinding red. 8 During my lunch break, I checked the feed.

I’d bought a cheap, $9.99 robotic camera ball that rolled around the floor. On the screen, Elias was sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked defeated.

He’d punched his pillow a few times, but now he was just staring.

I toggled the remote and bumped the camera into his foot. "Lunchtime," I said through the speaker. "I left it in the microwave.

Go heat it up." "Go away," he muttered. "Eat, or I’ll come home and make a scene. Be a good boy. Please?" I rolled the camera over his toes. He looked like he wanted to scream.

Finally, he stood up, feeling his way along the wall toward the kitchen. He managed to eat his first full meal without a fight. I hit the "Applause" button on the app.

A burst of canned cheering filled the apartment. "You fed yourself! Look at you! Such a big boy!" Elias’s voice was like ice. "Shut.

Up." After lunch, he felt his way to the bathroom. Jason had told me the "dog" was still working on "potty training" and needed encouragement.

I rolled the camera right into the doorway. "Aim true, honey. Hold on tight.

If you mess up the floor, I’m kicking you." Elias: "..." 9 There were two weeks left until Jason was supposed to return.

Because of the steady diet, the hollows in Elias’s cheeks were filling out. His health index was climbing.

Aside from the moments I "supervised" his private time, his mood was surprisingly stable. I couldn't help but brag to Jason. "The guest is doing much better.

He’s up to 155 pounds now." "What?" Jason yelled. "You’re turning my dog into a pig! He’s supposed to be lean! If I come home to a fat dog, you’re in trouble!" Weight management.

Right. I found the muzzle I’d bought at the pet store. I went into the bedroom and strapped it onto Elias’s face. He looked up, stunned. "It’s 2 AM," I whispered. "Owner’s orders.

It’s time for a walk." "Who gave you orders?" I didn't say Jason’s name.

I just tugged on his arm. "Don't make me get the belt." I couldn't take him to the park—someone might recognize him. So, I made him walk the stairs of the apartment building.

Eighteen flights, up and down. By the second round, we were both gasping for air. When we got back, Elias went straight to the shower without a word. He seemed genuinely angry.

But since he’d learned the layout of the bathroom, I wasn't worried about him drowning anymore. I fell asleep on the sofa, exhausted.

In my halfsleep, I felt something warm and wet on my hand. My fingers felt itchy. I opened one eye. Elias was kneeling beside the sofa.

His hair was damp, and his vacant eyes were fixed on my lap. He reached out, tentatively finding my hand.

He pressed it to his lips, then, dissatisfied, gave my knuckles a sharp, tiny nip. I stayed still, pretending to sleep. He whispered to himself, "Why are you mad?

Why... didn't you watch me wash?" 10 Hearing him say something so bizarre made my skin crawl with secondhand embarrassment. I rolled over, pretending to wake up.

Elias froze, then silently felt his way back to the bedroom. I immediately texted Jason, panicking. The "pet" was getting weird. He was crossing boundaries! Your dog bit me.

What do I do? Get a tetanus shot! Don't die in my apartment! Jason replied. Was human saliva even that dangerous? I was close to tears. Jason, please, just let him go.

This is wrong. Think about your future, your degree... Jason was so angry he called me on FaceTime. "What do you mean 'let him go'? It's a dog, Sophie!

A toy poodle can't survive on the streets of Seattle!" He looked at the background behind me and paused. "Wait. Where are you? That’t not my place." I thought he was joking.

I panned the camera around the room. "Jason, you’ve been gone three weeks. You don't recognize your own living room?" Jason let out a shaky breath. "Oh, no. Sophie...

I moved last month.

Didn't I tell you?" A cold realization washed over me. "Jason... if this isn't your house... whose house is this?" "Sophie," he whispered, "I think you’ve been breaking and entering." 11 After a frantic halfhour of "debriefing" with my brother, he was the one crying. "Sophie, you just started a job at a Fortune 200 company!

That’s the Hawthorne Group! Your life, your career... it’s all over!" "How was I supposed to know?" I wailed. "You told me the dog was black and tied up!

He was wearing a shirt!" "Why would a dog wear a shirt?!" We made a plan. Jason, who was apparently a better hacker than he was a brother, would scrub the local security footage.

I just had to stay calm, stop treating Elias like a pet, apologize, and disappear. "He's just a vulnerable, blind man," Jason sighed. "You'll never see him again.

It's not like his sight is going to miraculously return. I heard the Hawthorne heir went blind in an accident and disappeared from the hospital because he couldn't handle the pity.

If the guy you've been torturing is just some random shutin, he's probably too traumatized to even report you. You're a literal homeinvasion lunatic." 12 I decided to make amends.

That night, I didn't sleep in his room. I stayed in the guest room, but at 3 AM, I heard him coughing. I ran in instinctively and rubbed his back.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his silk pajamas rumpled, exposing a shoulder. I handed him some warm water.

He couldn't see it, so he reached for my hand, his fingers interlacing with mine. He gripped me like a drowning man, so hard it hurt.

He drank slowly, droplets of water falling onto his chest. He looked so cold, so I draped a cardigan over him. "I called for you," he rasped. "Many times.

You weren't there." "I was in the other room." "Why? You're supposed to be right here. Is this how you 'care' for me?" He still thought I was the housekeeper.

I couldn't tell him the truth—that I was a criminal. I had to be a "reformed" criminal before I left. "I’m sorry, Mr.

Hawthorne," I said politely. "Is there anything else I can get for you?" He turned his head sharply toward my voice. "What did you just call me?" "Mr.

Hawthorne?" "Before... you called me 'sweetheart.' You called me 'good boy.'" I bowed my head in a silent apology. "I was being unprofessional.

I'm sorry." Elias let out a sharp, cold laugh. He pushed the water away and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers over his head. The monitor on his ankle was strobing red.

Anger. Extreme Agitation. It made sense. A sane man who had been treated like a poodle for two weeks was finally getting the apology he deserved.

He was rightfully pissed. "I’ll be going now, sir," I said. "Please don't... report me." Silence from the bed. The monitor light cycled from red to blue to red like a traffic light.

I went back to my room and fell into a deep sleep. Around 4 AM, the room felt hot. I hung my hand over the edge of the bed, and suddenly, I felt something wet and warm lick my palm.

I mumbles, thinking of Jason’s dog. "Not now, Shadow. It tickles." I heard a low, soft, "Woof." Wait. There wasn't a dog here. I snapped my eyes open. The room was pitch black.

I saw a flash of pink light from a monitor disappearing through the doorway.

I must be dreaming, I told myself, and fell back asleep. 13 The next morning, I was rushing to make breakfast. My phone, sitting on the coffee table, started ringing.

Elias was sitting there, his hands fumbling over the device. To my horror, he managed to answer it. "Hello? Is this Sophie Turner?" a loud voice asked. "I'm the realtor.

Do you want to see that studio apartment today?

Your boyfriend mentioned you wanted something close to the Hawthorne Building." "You have the wrong number," Elias said, his voice cold. "She already has a home." He hung up.

He turned toward me, his vacant eyes narrowed. Before he could speak, the realtor called back. "Look, my time is valuable! Is this Sophie?

Your boyfriend’s number is dead, so I called this one..." Elias interrupted. "What is her last name?" I lunged for the phone and cut the call. "Wrong number! My name is... Mary.

Mary Smith." My heart was beating so hard I thought it would explode. Jason, that idiot, had used my real name with the realtor.

To distract Elias, I clicked my tongue and tapped the table. "Breakfast time!" I’d made two different meals. Elias was usually a picky eater—oatmeal and nothing else.

I’d been forcing him to eat eggs and bacon.

Elias usually resisted, sometimes to the point of tears and soaked shirts, which I’d then make him "clean up." But today, he sat down quietly. He put on his napkin.

He felt for the bowl. He took a sip and his face fell. "Oatmeal?" He felt around the table. There was only one bowl. "Mr.

Hawthorne," I said professionally. "I realized your previous palate was much more refined. I’ve returned to your original menu.

You seem much happier." I had to get to work. "I’ll be back later to clean up.

Please don't touch the dishes, I don't want you to get your hands dirty." He looked confused, but then a look of realization dawned on his face. 14 At lunch, I couldn't help myself.

I opened the camera app. Elias was sitting at the table like a statue. When he heard the camera move, he tilted his head. "You're late.

I finished my lunch." The dishes on the table were my leftovers from breakfast. The milk was gone. The plate from my sandwich was licked clean. Not a crumb remained. "Elias!

That was trash! Your lunch was in the fridge!" "You told me to 'handle the leftovers,'" he said simply. Did I? I couldn't remember. "I need to use the restroom," he added.

Jason had complained the "dog" was messy, so I’d made him report every time he went.

I rolled the camera into the bathroom, then turned it away to give him privacy. "You're really not going to... supervise me anymore?" he asked quietly. "You're just... leaving me alone?" The cheap speaker was fuzzy.

I thought he said, "You're leaving me, aren't you?" "I’m done controlling you!" I shouted at the phone. "You're free!" Something crashed in the bathroom.