The ambient blue light of a sleek, sticker-covered laptop screen cut through the dim shadows of Shawna’s living room, casting a cool glow over the two women huddled on the couch. On the display, the audio was turned down to a hushed, compressed murmur, but the deep, velvet rasp of the voice echoing from the speakers was entirely unmistakable. It was a premium, masked adult video, and the heavily tattooed man dominating the screen possessed the exact same broad chest, intricate tribal arm ink, and imposing presence as Ronan O'Connor—the rugged Dublin foreman who lived right next door in apartment 3C.

Shawna sat completely frozen, her long, luscious curly black hair tumbling over her shoulders in thick, dark waves. Her dark brown doe eyes were wide as she stared at the screen, her button nose tightening slightly with a mix of disbelief and intense, quiet focus. Her fingers unconsciously drifted up to the small black heart on her choker, her ear piercing catching the flickering light of the monitor. Beside her, Davie—her tech-nerd friend looking every bit the bubblegum princess with her bright pastel aesthetic—was leaning in with a highly analytical, triumphant grin, tapping the trackpad to adjust the contrast.

Before Shawna could even find her voice to reply, three heavy, deliberate knuckles rattled against the thin wood of her apartment door. The sharp, authoritative sound shattered the quiet room like a brick through glass. Davie let out a small, choked gasp, her fingers instantly slamming the laptop screen shut, plunging the living room into near-total darkness as the muffled audio cut out entirely. The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the sudden, terrifying realization of who was standing on the other side of that threshold.