I think back to when Leon had interrupted me in the office, which he rarely ever does, and seduced me into making love. He didn’t have to work too hard to persuade me, but I can’t remember the last time we’d had sex outside the bedroom.

I’m sure I’d asked him to turn the lights off and he made the lewd comment that if someone wanted a ringside seat, then let them have one.

A gut-wrenching nausea coils around my insides as his methods of manipulation play out in my head.

But how had he filmed it? I surely would have noticed if he’d been holding his phone.

I force myself to press play again and watch through my fingers as Leon drives himself into me, with his hands either side of my hips. His fingers dig deep into my flesh as he quickens his pace, and as much as I almost want to spot his phone, because it’s suddenly the better option, it’s nowhere to be seen.

The thought that he had someone else watching us and filming it for him not only horrifies me but fills my head with so many questions that I don’t even know where to begin.

I’m about to turn the tap on, to pour myself a glass of water, when I hear the unmistakable creak of the third step on the stairs again. The video had distracted me so much I’d almost forgotten what had awoken me in the first place. My muscles tense, my body too frightened to move from where it’s pinned against the sink. I swallow the metallic tang in my mouth.

‘Hello?’ I say, into the eerie silence that used to be my safe place. Not any more.

I back myself slowly towards the French doors, checking, with my hands behind me, that they’re locked. I can’t turn my back on the room, as I feel sure that the danger is inside the house.

‘Is anybody here?’ I ask, hoping to God I don’t get an answer.

I inch over to the knife block on the island and grab the largest handle. My hand is shaking as I hold it out in front of me, my eyes darting into every dark corner, my heart jumping as the shadows play tricks on me.

My feet feel as if they’re encased in concrete with every step I try to make as my body fights against what my brain is telling it to do. I can’t help but be reminded of all the horror movies I’ve watched where I’ve shouted at the screen, ‘Don’t go upstairs,’ to which Leon always responds, ‘But the director’s told her to.’ We’d laugh and I’d appreciate the released tension, but there’s no one here to shout ‘cut’ now, is there?