Chapter 45: False Refuge
Caleb’s eyes locked on the screen. Mona’s bubble blinked, then finally appeared:
...Okay. I get it. I’ll stop streaming. Please, don’t leak that.
A slow grin stretched under his mask. His thumbs moved quickly.
Good girl. Didn’t think it would be this easy to break a rising star.
Another reply flashed back almost instantly:
Please... don’t ruin my life.
Caleb leaned back, a low chuckle slipping out. This wasn’t about sex anymore. This was about control—the raw thrill of making someone submit, watching their pride collapse with just a few words. It was intoxicating.
His pulse raced. "Shit... this feels too damn good," he whispered.
But the grin faltered. A shadow rose in his mind—the image of Maya. Not because he’d met her, but because he’d heard the stories, seen the ripples she left behind. Maya, the woman who destroyed Melissa’s life, who left his mother broken.
And now, here he was, doing the same thing—crushing someone else’s life for his own satisfaction.
Melissa’s voice echoed faintly in his head, like a ghost he couldn’t shake:"Caleb, remember... don’t waste your kindness on just anyone. Choose the ones who deserve it."
He clenched his jaw, forcing his breath steady. That voice had once kept him grounded. Now it felt like it was slipping further away each time he opened the System.
"I can’t let this spiral," he muttered. "Maya’s the target. I can’t turn into her."
His eyes slid back to Mona’s last message, the desperation bleeding through her words. A dark smile tugged at his lips."But before Maya..." His gaze hardened. "There’s someone else I need to test this on. The Boss Milf. She comes first."
The path was set. Step by step, closer to Maya. But in the quiet spaces of his mind, Caleb wondered how long before he crossed the same line Maya once did—and never came back.
Caleb zipped his backpack shut, checking each item again. Handycam. Spare batteries. Janitor uniform folded neatly at the bottom. The weight on his shoulders felt heavy, but it was the right kind of heavy—tools, not chains.
He slung it over his back, ready to move. But when he glanced outside, the sun still burned high. Too bright. Too early. His lips pressed tight.
"Tch. Not the right time yet."
The thought of walking the streets in broad daylight, mask or not, left him uneasy. He needed somewhere to breathe, somewhere private. His feet carried him deeper into Lucy’s house, and soon he was climbing the narrow steps up to the attic.
The mask came off first. He inhaled deeply, the air dry and dusty but clean enough. After hours suffocating behind fabric, it felt almost like freedom.
He leaned against a beam, letting his thoughts wander. Why does Lucy trust me this much? She leaves me in her house like it’s nothing...
And then, like a knife, the truth cut in: I’m Melissa’s son. That’s why. Everything—every key she handed me, every open door—none of it was earned. It all circles back to Mom.
His throat tightened. The System grinned at him silently from the edge of his vision, its cold text always waiting. Except this. The System is mine alone. The thing that eats at my sanity with a smile.
Restless, he moved through the upper hall. One door stood out—Lucy’s bedroom. His fingers hesitated on the knob, then twisted anyway.
Inside, the scent of perfume clung faintly to the air. The place was tidy, almost sterile, except for one thing that stole his breath.
A painting.
Caleb stepped closer. His chest hollowed. It was his mother—Melissa—captured in striking detail. Her face, young, almost glowing, staring back at him from the canvas as if she were still alive and untouched by ruin.
He swallowed hard. "What the hell..."
The brushstrokes were too intimate, too careful. Not just admiration. Devotion.
Caleb’s mind twisted. So Lucy loved her? Really loved her?
He almost laughed. "Damn... women’s love can be insane." The words were bitter, but beneath them was something else. Confusion. Awe.
Because Lucy wasn’t just anyone. She had become a businesswoman, powerful, wealthy. And the spark for all of that... was his mother.
His fists tightened at his sides. Mom really was incredible. Strong enough to inspire people, to change their paths. Which makes her fall even harder to swallow.
Caleb stared at the painting until the edges blurred. The thought gnawed at him—how someone so great could be broken so completely. And how much of that fate was already waiting for him, if he lost control.
Caleb exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on the painting one last time. The details were too precise, too personal. Every stroke screamed Lucy’s obsession, her devotion to Melissa.
For a moment, anger flared—at the invasion, at the reminder of what was lost. But then, it softened.
Lucy deserves my kindness, he thought, fingers brushing the doorknob as he turned away. She’s given me too much already. It wouldn’t be right to mess with her privacy any more than this.
He pulled the door shut with care, the latch clicking softly back into place.
Back upstairs, the attic welcomed him with still air and wide windows. He pushed one open, leaned his elbows on the sill, and let the breeze wash over his bare face. The neighborhood stretched out below: manicured lawns, polished cars, silent streets. The kind of peace that only rich people ever got to breathe.
Caleb closed his eyes, letting the wind cool his skin. For the first time all day, he wasn’t suffocating under masks—literal or otherwise.
Time slipped by. He checked the clock. Afternoon sun dipping lower, shadows stretching long. Evening would come soon enough.
His lips curved faintly. "Perfect."
Because when the light faded, it would be his turn again.
Not for fun. Not for Mona. But for her—the bossy Milf who once sneered and piled dirt on Melissa’s name, who joined the whispers that broke his mother’s standing.
Caleb’s grin sharpened. You shouldn’t have done that. Now it’s your turn to choke on your own words.
The system’s faint glow shimmered at the edge of his vision, waiting, hungry. And Caleb, calm in the attic breeze, simply waited for the sun to sink—ready for his small, sharp revenge.
The sky was turning gold by the time Caleb stepped out of Lucy’s neighborhood. He tugged his mask back on, slipped the strap of his backpack tighter across his shoulders, and boarded the bus. The ride was quiet, engine humming, city rushing by outside the window. Every stop drew him closer to the place he hated most.
When he finally stepped off, the building loomed across the street—his old office. The glass facade reflected the fading light, as polished and soulless as he remembered. Caleb’s jaw clenched. Too many ghosts of humiliation clung to this place, but tonight, he wasn’t here as himself.
He cut across the parking lot, eyes sharp, movements steady. The small restroom by the underground garage was just where he remembered it. He slipped inside, locked the stall, and pulled his bag open.
The janitor’s uniform came out first—blue-gray coveralls, cap, gloves. He changed quickly, folding his street clothes into the bag. In the mirror, a different man stared back: plain, invisible. Just another worker no one would ever look at twice. Perfect.
He pushed the door open and walked back into the garage like he belonged there.
The corridors felt familiar under his boots. He knew this building better than most of the executives who strutted through it. Where the side doors were. Which hallways stayed empty after hours. Where the cameras had blind spots.
And he knew her patterns too. The boss. That Milf who liked to linger late, playing the martyr of overtime when really she just enjoyed lording her dedication over others. Alone in her office until night swallowed the city. Vulnerable. Predictable.
Caleb’s steps grew quieter as he melted deeper into the building’s spine. The janitor’s cap shadowed his eyes, but his grin spread underneath.
You always stayed late to remind everyone you were above them. His hand brushed against the hidden pocket where the handycam waited. Now let’s see how high you really stand when the floor gets pulled from under you.
Caleb’s boots thudded softly on the linoleum as he made his way down the corridor. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, throwing long shadows across the empty hall. He kept his head down, stride steady—just another faceless janitor.
"Eh?"
A voice cut in as someone came around the corner. Another janitor, pushing a cart with mop buckets rattling against it. The guy looked young, maybe mid-twenties, face a little tired but carrying an easy smile.
"New kid, huh?" The man gave Caleb a once-over, then chuckled. "Tough luck. They sent you to clean her floor."
Caleb blinked under his cap, staying silent.
"The iron witch." The guy smirked knowingly, shaking his head. "Boss lady up there, always barking at people. Don’t take it personal, yeah? Just grit your teeth and survive. She’s all bark, no bite."
He patted Caleb’s shoulder lightly as he walked past, the scent of bleach trailing with him. "Hang in there, rookie. You’ll get used to it."
The cart’s wheels squeaked away, leaving Caleb alone again.
Behind his mask, Caleb’s lips tugged into the faintest grin. He knew that janitor. A man who used to get teased by the secretaries, turned into a kind of harmless running joke in the office. Caleb hadn’t spoken to him much back then, but the guy had always been decent. And now, even here, even mistaking him for someone new, he still treated him with respect.
So he’s the same. Kind, at least to his own.
Caleb exhaled through his nose, the grin fading back into steel. He adjusted his gloves and walked on, the hum of the lights above following him deeper into enemy territory.
Because unlike that young janitor, Caleb wasn’t here to endure the boss’s cruelty. He was here to return it.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Caleb stepped inside, the scent of disinfectant clinging to his uniform, and pressed the worn button marked 5.
The lift creaked upward, every floor ding echoing in his ears like a countdown. His gloved hand rested loosely on the strap of his backpack, thumb brushing the edge of the handycam hidden inside.
Floor two. Ding.Floor three. Ding.Floor four. Ding.
His pulse matched the rhythm, faster with every second. He knew this building. Knew that the fifth floor was practically deserted at this hour—everyone gone except her. Jane.
The bell rang again. 5.
The elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
A woman stood there—mature, confident, curves wrapped in a fitted blazer.
Caleb’s eyes widened. His chest tightened.
Why... she’s here?