SNOOP MODE ACTIVATED
895 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
Adrian stepped into the house, briefcase in hand, suit pristine, jaw tighter than the Queen’s security detail.
The scent hit him first.
Something pungent. Toxic. Vengeful.
He paused. Sniffed again. No, he wasn’t imagining it. There was a scent in the air that made his eyes water. It clung to the walls, to the curtains, to the very essence of his dignity.
“ZARA!”
A thump came from upstairs, followed by hurried footsteps. Zara skidded into view in oversized socks, tights, and a sweatshirt that read ‘Snoop Mode Activated.’
He gestured wildly. “What did you do?”
She blinked, unfazed. “I sprayed insecticide.”
“Again?!, this isn’t insecticide. This is chemical warfare.”
She crossed her arms. “You said you saw a roach in the guest bathroom last night.”
“I said I might have. It was late. I was sleep-deprived.”
“So, you hallucinated a roach?” She raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”
He dropped his briefcase with a groan. “You’re deranged.”
“It was crawling near my slippers! I had to nuke it. I’m Nigerian. We don’t play with cockroaches.”
“You gassed my house.”
Zara smirked. “You’re welcome.”
For the next hour, the windows stayed flung open while Adrian muttered to himself and Zara hummed casually through her playlist.
She was editing something on her laptop in the living room, legs crossed, glasses on, face lit by the glow of a web browser full of classified threads.
On the screen: a leaked corporate document titled Internal Audit – ThorneTech.
She wasn’t supposed to be working on it in his house, but she couldn’t help herself. The Viper had standards. And instincts. And a strong sense of curiosity when it came to encrypted folders labeled “Client Blackfile: MI6 Liaison”.
She enlarged the image, zooming in on a name near the bottom.
Codename: Hawthorne.
Her heart skipped. She leaned in.
Then a voice interrupted her concentration.
“Why does your sweatshirt say ‘Snoop Mode’?”
She jumped, nearly knocking the laptop off her knees. Adrian stood behind her, sipping tea, eyeing the screen with suspicion.
She slammed the lid shut. “Fashion statement.”
He took a slow, deliberate sip. “Is that what the kids are calling espionage now?”
“I’m a blogger,” she said innocently.
“Mm. Must be an intense article. Your pupils were dilated.”
“You're so weird,” she muttered.
He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “And you’re jumpy.”
They locked eyes. Something almost passed between them, something warm and taut and full of secrets. Then _
“You smell like insecticide,” she said, ruining the moment.
He straightened. “You smell like… sock betrayal.”
She rolled her eyes and tossed a cushion at him.
Later that evening, Zara snuck out.
Not in the suspicious, cloak-and-dagger way. No, she simply changed into jeans and a hoodie, grabbed a backpack, and walked past Adrian’s office with the kind of casual confidence only guilty people mastered.
She didn’t know he was watching from the CCTV app on his phone.
He narrowed his eyes, zoomed in.
Where the hell was she going?
And why did she carry that black backpack every Friday?
Zara ducked into a noisy café on the other side of town. Inside, music thumped and espresso machines hissed. In the back, a man waited with a tablet and eyes too sharp for a barista.
“Viper,” he greeted her.
She slid into the booth. “Talk.”
The man, her informant, handed her a drive. “ThorneTech’s offshore logs. The kind of files they deny even exist.”
She pocketed it, heart hammering. “Any links to the Lagos scandal?”
“Possibly. I flagged something called ‘Project Sleet.’ Sounds like black ops.”
Zara’s blood ran cold. She knew that name. It had come up once, in her father’s trial.
“Anything else?” she asked.
The man hesitated. “You should be careful. Someone’s looking into The Viper. And they’ve got government access.”
Zara’s grip on the table tightened.
Noted.
Adrian stared at his laptop, fingers steepled under his chin.
He’d intercepted an encrypted email earlier that afternoon flagged by MI6 systems. It was routed through a known whistleblower server.
The source?
A house on Kensington Row.
His house.
His jaw clenched.
Either someone was using his network... or Zara Ayotunde wasn’t just an annoying, messy nuisance.
She was hiding something.
And for the first time since this ridiculous maid arrangement began… he was genuinely curious.
The next morning brought chaos, as usual.
Zara found her sock drawer color-coded. Adrian found his protein shakes replaced with kunu. There was yelling. Accusations. A brief moment where Adrian saw her stretch and accidentally noticed she had a waist.
He looked away too fast.
She caught it.
“Thorne, are you, blushing?”
“I’m allergic to whatever poison you sprayed yesterday.”
“Ohhh, your cheeks say otherwise.”
“Go sweep something.”
She grinned. He scowled.
And as she danced back into the kitchen, humming to herself like the agent of chaos she was, Adrian stared at the spot where she’d stood.
Something was definitely shifting.
But for now… it was still war.
Just with better snacks.
- Writer
