Page 58 of Brown Sugar
My penthouse.
I recognize my entryway along with the living room area and the LA backdrop.
It’s security camera footage from earlier today. Tyson presses play on the video. My lips part to ask what he’s showing me if I haven’t been home in over a week.
Then the front door opens and Shawn walks through. He glances around out of paranoia, scoping out the place to make sure he’s really alone. He’s clutching the key I’d given him well over a year ago. Back when I trusted him enough to have immediate access to my most private space.
I watch in speechless shock as my ex-boyfriend snoops around. He pops open my fridge and helps himself to a bottle of sparkling water.
Tyson clicks play on a different video. This one from the angle of the camera that leads into my bedroom.
Shawn’s made his way from the kitchen. Once in my bedroom, he tugs drawers open—including my underwear drawers—and begins searching for something.
A strange fluttery sensation strikes my heart. Some mix of disbelief and horror.
“What is he…” I stammer, then drift off as shock takes over again.
He grabbed my tablet and started for the door.
“I confronted him about it,” Tyson says, snapping shut the laptop before I could see what happens next. He reaches across the counter and produces the item in question.
My tablet.
I blink staring down at it, feeling so lost I don’t know where to begin.
Why was Shawn in my penthouse? What was he doing digging in my drawers, and what did he want with my tablet?
“He claimed he bought it for you and was taking it back,” Tyson says. “As you can see, I got it back for you. He made it out in one piece. For now.”
“Tyson… what…” I shake my head.
“I have to be honest. I was checking your security cameras. I have been doing that. It was the only way I could keep an eye on you. All other contact was cut off.”
“You’ve been spying on me?”
His jaw clenches tighter, then he nods. “It was the only option I had left to still try and protect you. I wanted to still look out for you even if you weren’t in LA. Make sure everything was alright.”
I’m unable to process these revelations for seconds to come. As if Shawn sneaking into my penthouse wasn’t enough, Tyson’s still had access to my place. I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath, trying to make sense of what I’ve learned.
I take the moment to listen to my intuition.
“What do you think Shawn was doing with my tablet?”
“I’ve had a friend look into his private communications. We believe he knew you had explicit photos and videos of the twoof you,” he says. “Someone named Henry B. reached out to him about selling them for a few million.”
“You mean he was going to sell content of me? Us?” I croak.
“We have the email chain.” He opens the laptop again, tapping away at the keyboard, before he turns it around for me to see.
Shawn’s email address in a chain of emails with this Henry B. guy discussing private photos.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “How could he?”
“It gets worse,” Tyson says. “The person emailing him seems to be the same person who paid Rashad to come after you at the Ice Lounge.”
“And probably the same person who paid the hit and run guy and sent the package with the poisonous powder?”
Tyson’s nod is grim, confirming every horrible detail is interlaced.