The Me You Can't See (H.S)

11

Unknown POV:

I watched her from afar. Close by yet miles away. Once again she walks around naïve to the cruel workings of the world. She thinks a couple of beatings here and there, a few bullets over the years, means she understands how cruel the world can truly be.

She knows nothing.

As the daughter of a man who practically runs the world through his cartel, she was bound to experience more shit than a regular 25-year-old woman. But she made her bed and now she must lay in it. The consequences she will face are just the effects of the choices she's made.

My assignment was to watch her, to make sure that Malcolm is the one who gets to decide her fate. She knows too much, she has always known too much.

Today's assignment specifically was an easy one. I stayed parked outside her house and waited for her to make her way to Fleurs before heading home to change for work at Nympho.

I didn't wait too long for her to leave her apartment, and thankfully so. It's getting hot as fuck in London.

I waited until she walked around the corner and walked quickly into her building. Thankfully Malcolm bought out the building the same day she contacted the landlady here. How he figured out she was coming to London is beyond me, but you can't put anything past him.

He was able to get me a key and told me the number of her apartment so I just walked right in after climbing the multiple flights of stairs. This is definitely why her ass is so nice.

Walking into her apartment, what I saw was not what I was expecting to see. I expected a slob, the bed unmade with clothes littering the floor. But no, her apartment was almost spotless, minus the exception of a couple of shirts that have been carelessly thrown on the floor by her bed.

Her shoes were lined up nicely and her bed made, a book from the series of unfortunate events laid casually across the comforter. Fuck do I love those books.

I get sidetracked and find myself thinking about what she does when she's alone. Does she dance in her underwear to music, smoke cigarettes on her balcony, or even drink her sorrows away in the kitchen.

I don't understand why I think these things but I do. I catch myself and get back to why I was sent here in the first place.

I moved quickly, hiding the recording devices underneath cabinets and in plants. I made sure that she would never find them.

It was quick and easy and I thought I was gonna get away with it.

Well, I hoped it would be quick and easy. But then I heard the sound of someone fiddling with the lock of the door and I swear to God, at that moment, my heart fell to my ass.

I panicked looking for a place to hide until I chose the cliché spot underneath her bed. I somehow managed to shuffle my big ass body underneath the bed made for her tiny ass one and I swear to god, if I was any bigger or this bed was any smaller, it would be permanently moulded to my back.

Fuck I left the cabinet open.

But what I heard next was enough to make it all worth it. She seemed to be leaving someone a voicemail and I was very excited to hear who she was talking to.

"Hey Zayn, I know you probably haven't checked your voicemail but I just want you to give me a call back whenever you can. I miss you soo much bubs. I had a dream about Leo a couple of days ago. . .it was pretty bad and some stuff happened afterwards and I really want to talk about it. I know shocker. . .so just call me back whenever you can. Even if it's at 3 in the morning, I just wanna hear your voice again. In actuality, you probably won't even hear this for several months but that won't stop me from sending you a voicemail, so yeah. I love you and please just let me know you're ok. . .I'm sorry I know I sound like a broken record. Bye and I know, fuck you too. I'll talk to you later bubs. See you soon and call me the fuck back Zayn fucking Malik or so help me God."