The cameras behind the tiles.

I owned a small guesthouse on the edge of a coastal town. Twelve rooms, good reviews, lots of women travelling alone because it felt 'safe.' The first camera went in under the excuse of security. The next ones I placed carefully, inside bathroom fittings where steam wouldn't hit the lens. I watched women shower, dress, cry on the edge of a bath. I archived the files, labelled them, told myself that because I never touched anyone, the harm was less. It ended when one guest smashed a flickering light and found the wiring. The police took every drive. My wife left the same day. The hotel shut within a week. Now I cross the road before anyone has to avoid me.