Watching You: Part 3 – Chapter 21 – New Rules

Monday happened. 

I found myself hating Mondays that day – just like any other ordinary person. Annoying.

Mia didn’t have breakfast. She didn’t have time for it.

I drove her to work, a habit I’d quietly established over the past week. As she was reaching for her bag, I told her I’d take her out for lunch.

She offered a small, slightly awkward smile. 

“I’m probably just going to order delivery and eat at my desk. I have a project I need to finish – I got so muddle-headed this weekend trying to resolve my apartment issue.”

I nodded once.

She opened the car door. Her side window was rolled down, and before she could offer another excuse, I cut in.

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

I started the engine before she could answer. 

Too many refusals for one morning, and I don’t like refusals.

To an outsider, I was moving too fast. 

After all my initial self-reminders to go slow, to make her comfortable, I was burning through the stages. But they wouldn’t understand.

I’d been living with Mia in my head for nine years.

A single real weekend didn’t feel like a beginning to me; it registered with the density of something I’d rehearsed a thousand times. The speed wasn’t because everything was new – it was because none of it was.

 I wasn’t discovering her.

 I was simply, finally, taking possession of what I’d already fully modeled in my mind. 

Reality was just catching up to the blueprint I’d built years ago.

At the office, I ate at my desk.

 Already irritated.

She hadn’t answered my text since noon.

Did you have lunch?

At 2:00 PM, a response finally flashed on my screen:

Just ordered. A lot of work today.

That was it. No questions. No follow-up. Nothing to keep the line open.

I stared at the screen, forcing myself to stay calm, forcing my hands not to clench.

When I picked her up after work, she slid into the passenger seat and gave me a quick, light kiss – like nothing had changed. Like everything was normal. 

Mia being Mia.

I played my role, keeping my expression smooth, keeping up the facade.

Back at my place, she moved into the kitchen to make a salad while the steaks I’d had delivered rested on the counter.

 She chatted idly while she chopped, casually mentioning her apartment.

“The manager said everything should be ready by Wednesday for me to move back in,” she said, her tone light.

What the hell, Mia.

I wanted to scream. 

I wanted to grab the glass bowl right out of her hands, shatter it against the tile, put her on her knees, and make her suck my dick until she forgot what her old address even looked like.

Instead, I said nothing. 

Just hummed a vague sound of agreement.

Back to the plan, Jared. 

I thought I had her locked down. I thought it was a done deal.

Not yet.

That night, she lay in my bed, exhausted. 

I was gentle with her – so gentle I didn’t even know where I found the patience inside myself to pull it off.

I didn’t sleep a wink. A new plan was needed.

I need more time.

The call was made early the next morning. It took five minutes to ensure her apartment building hit another unexpected delay. One more week of inspections.

When she told me the news that evening, she didn’t look as upset as I thought she’d be. 

She just apologized for taking up my space.

I didn’t let her finish the sentence. 

I made her apologize with her mouth without her ever saying another word.

The second part of the strategy was simple: make her comfortable, but make her feel tethered.

I helped her unpack a few of her boxes, quietly cementing the implicit promise that I would be the one helping her pack them back up when the time came. 

She agreed without a fight.

Next step: make her feel like she wasn’t a burden, that her presence here wasn’t just granted out of my generosity. She needed to feel useful. She needed to feel needed.

I racked my brain and played a sudden stomachache – which wasn’t entirely a lie, given the sheer volume of acid her talk of moving out had pumped into my system.

It worked instantly.

 She asked me to stop at the grocery store on the way home, bought simple ingredients, and spent the evening cooking for me.

 Plain, light food. I didn’t care what it tasted like.

The goal wasn’t gratitude.

Gratitude ends.

Dependence lasts.

The work was in progress.

You’re not leaving, Mia.