Confessions of a Voyeur

Deconstructing the metaphor beneath Confessions of a Voyeur

The most dangerous killers don’t hide in shadows—they blend in.
Chloe was a respected grief counselor. Polished. Trusted. Untouchable.
But behind the credentials was a pattern: clinical precision, unchecked privilege, and a trail of missing women the world barely noticed.

Trigger Warning: This story contains themes of psychological manipulation, gendered violence, missing persons, systemic racism, and abuse of power. Reader discretion is advised.

Read Part 1, 2, & 3 below

Confessions of a Voyeur [PT1]

Confessions of a Voyeur [PT 2]: She Knows

Confessions of a Voyeur [Part 3]

Her confession was always there, wasn’t it? Written into the very structure of this story—the beginning of every entry. The quiet confessions of a woman who knew exactly how to weaponize her privilege.

A therapist. A white woman. Soft-spoken. Dressed just right. She offered comfort. She wore empathy like armor. She fit the mold of safety so perfectly, no one thought to ask what was underneath.

The perfect camouflage.

This short series is in the process of being edited and re-released. Part One is available HERE.

Please be patient with me as I improve the quality of your content.

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The Protected Predator

Chloe doesn’t choose at random. Her victims are selected with precision—women from communities where disappearance is met with institutional shrugs, not headlines. Where their absence invites debate instead of search parties.

Where their families are questioned, not comforted.

Women like Maria Suarez. Like Ali Johnson. Women whose fictional justice comes with qualifiers—if it comes at all. So when Bradley—frantic, sleepless, pattern-obsessed—connected these disappearances to the pristine grief counselor with a locked room and 3:27 AM rituals?

Who would believe him?

Who did?

Photo by Christian Wiediger on Unsplash

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The Perfect System

It’s almost elegant. A white, professional woman, framed by credentials and cloaked in empathy, is protected by every assumption society holds about who is dangerous—and who is not. The same system that dismisses missing women from marginalized communities elevates Chloe beyond suspicion.

Bradley’s warnings become ramblings. His patterns become paranoia. His evidence becomes obsession. It wasn’t that no one saw the monster.

It’s that they were trained to look everywhere else.

Photo by Kyle Cleveland on Unsplash

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There’s no “clean” or “happy” ending to this series. Not while women—Black women, trans women, Indigenous women, migrants—are still fighting for bare minimum equality.

Maybe one day. Hopefully.

Until the next story,
—Your Narrator