The drive was silent—eerily so.
Only the hum of the car's engine and the soft rhythm of tires gliding over asphalt filled the air. Now and then, a horn blared somewhere in the distance, fading into the stillness that hung between them. Zhane sat beside Celine, watching the city lights smear past the window in blurs of gold and blue.
Celine's hands rested on the steering wheel, her knuckles pale against the leather grip. Her eyes were fixed ahead, but her mind clearly wasn't.
There was a stiffness to her shoulders, the kind that came from thoughts one didn't want to voice. Zhane glanced at her once, then again—studying the curve of her jaw, the faint strain in her expression.
He wondered what she was thinking.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like words were suspended somewhere in the air, too fragile to be spoken.
When they turned through a gated entrance and drove up a long, lantern-lit driveway, Zhane's eyes widened.
Before them stood a mansion—vast, elegant, and almost surreal in the quiet of the night. Its walls gleamed like polished marble, surrounded by trimmed gardens and cascading fountains that caught the moonlight.
He blinked, momentarily speechless. He'd expected luxury—after all, this was Celine—but not this.
"Welcome to my home," she said softly as the car stopped.
Zhane looked from the towering structure to her, unsure what to say. The words ' thank you' didn't seem enough.
The moment he stepped out, the night air brushed against his skin, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the garden. The mansion loomed above them—grand without being ostentatious, elegant without shouting for attention.
Lanterns glowed along the pathway, illuminating rose bushes and a silver fountain that seemed to whisper rather than splash.
Inside, the place was even more breathtaking.
Smooth marble floors stretched beneath chandeliers that glittered like constellations.
The walls were painted a soft cream, decorated with golden frames and subtle murals of forests and stars. The faint scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the cool hum of air-conditioning.
Zhane followed Celine wordlessly as she led him upstairs. Her steps were light, graceful, yet deliberate.
Every now and then, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was following. They stopped at the end of a corridor with arched windows overlooking the garden below.
"This will be your room," she said, opening a door.
Zhane stepped inside and froze.
The room was spacious, more than anything he'd ever called a home. The bed was large and dressed in pristine white sheets; a crystal lamp hung low, scattering golden light across the polished floor.
A balcony framed the far end, overlooking the glowing garden and the pool that reflected the night sky like liquid glass.
He stood there, caught between awe and disbelief.
Celine smiled faintly. "You can stay here until you get back on your feet."
Zhane turned toward her. "Thank you, Celine. Really… I appreciate this."
"You're welcome," she said, her voice carrying a softness that made his chest tighten slightly. "I'll leave you to get settled. We'll talk later, okay?"
He nodded, and she turned to go. But halfway through the doorway, she paused and looked back.
"Zhane?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're here," she said quietly. "I feel safer with you around."
Zhane's heart skipped a beat as he looked at her. He had no idea what to make of her words, but he smiled and nodded.
"I'll try to stay out of your way," he said.
Celine smiled "I don't think that's necessary," she said. "But I'll try to make sure you're comfortable here."
As Celine left the room, Zhane couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. What did she mean by her words? And what exactly did she expect from him? He had a feeling that his life was about to get a lot more complicated.
Her words lingered in the air long after she was gone. Zhane stood still, his heart caught somewhere between confusion and something else he couldn't name.
He smiled faintly to himself. "Safer, huh? That's… new."
When he was alone, he finally allowed himself to breathe in the atmosphere of the room. It was… peaceful. Too peaceful.
He walked toward the balcony and leaned on the railing, his gaze tracing the glittering pool below. Somewhere in the distance, the faint chirp of crickets echoed. For a moment, it almost felt like the world had stopped spinning.
He returned inside and examined the furniture—an oak desk, a bookshelf lined with old novels, a wardrobe that probably cost more than everything he owned combined.
He thought about hanging some of his sketches on the wall, maybe to make the place feel less foreign. But then he sighed and shook his head.
"This isn't my home," he murmured. "I'm just a guest."
He took off his shirt, draping a towel over his shoulder before heading into the bathroom.
The moment he opened the door, his jaw slackened.
The bathroom was massive, gleaming with ivory tiles and warm lighting. A bathtub sat at the center like a marble sculpture, steam already curling above its surface.
Glass shelves lined the wall, holding neatly arranged towels and bottles of expensive-looking oils and soaps.
Zhane chuckled under his breath. "I could live here and not complain."
He filled the tub and stepped in, the warmth embracing him instantly. The water kissed his skin, easing the soreness in his muscles, the exhaustion buried in his bones. He leaned back, closing his eyes as the heat seeped into him.
For a moment, he forgot everything—the chaos, the grief, the memories that haunted him. The world outside faded, leaving only silence and warmth.
Maybe this is what peace feels like, he thought.
Thirty minutes later, he finally rose, water dripping down his toned skin. He wrapped a towel around his waist and was about to head to the wardrobe when the door suddenly opened.
Celine stood frozen at the entrance.
Zhane's eyes widened. "Celine?!"
Her gaze trailed—hesitant but unblinking—from his face down to his chest. Her breath caught slightly at the sight of his well-defined abs, the faint sheen of water highlighting the sharp lines of his muscles. A pink hue crept up her cheeks before she quickly averted her eyes.
"Ah—I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—" She coughed, clearly flustered. "I just came to tell you dinner's ready."
Zhane rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat rise to his face. "Right. Dinner. Uh, I'll… be down soon."
Celine gave a nervous laugh, still avoiding his gaze. "Good. I'll, uh, be waiting downstairs." She turned quickly to leave, muttering to herself, "Get a grip, Celine…"
Zhane stood there for a few seconds after she left, then exhaled heavily. "That was… awkward."
He got dressed quickly—plain black pants and a simple gray shirt—and glanced once more toward the door where she had stood. For some reason, his heart still hadn't quite calmed down.
When he finally made his way downstairs, one of the maids guided him toward the dining hall. He hadn't even stepped inside before his nose caught the aroma of freshly cooked meals—savory, rich, and mouthwatering.
The dining hall looked like something out of a painting. A long table stretched across the room, draped with white linen and lit by a grand chandelier that cast soft amber light over the dishes.
Zhane's jaw nearly dropped. Plates of roasted chicken, creamy pasta, mashed potatoes, glazed fish, and bowls of fruits decorated the table like an artist's palette.
Celine sat at the far end, smiling when she saw him. "You're here."
"Yeah," Zhane replied, still staring at the food like it was a miracle.
"Please," she said, gesturing for him to sit. "Make yourself comfortable."
He did—across from her, though she briefly wished he'd chosen the seat beside her instead.
"You can dig in," she said when she noticed how his eyes lingered hungrily on the food.
He didn't need to be told twice. Fork in hand, Zhane dove in, the first bite making his eyes widen in astonishment. "This is… amazing!"
Celine chuckled softly, resting her chin on her palm as she watched him eat with boyish enthusiasm. "I'm glad you like it."
"I don't just like it—I love it! I've never tasted anything like this." He grinned, oblivious to how fast he was eating.
"Careful," she teased, "the meal isn't running anywhere."
Zhane froze mid-bite, his face flushing in embarrassment. "Right. Sorry." He quickly reached for a bottle of water and gulped it down, hoping it would wash away his awkwardness.
Celine found herself staring again—this time at the way his Adam's apple moved with every swallow. She caught herself, shook her head slightly, and turned back to her plate.
When Zhane set down the bottle, he resumed eating—slower this time, though still clearly savoring every flavor.
"So…" he said between bites, "I guess we won't be going to school for a while, huh?"
Celine sighed softly, twirling her fork in thought. "Yeah. It's a shame, but maybe it's good, too. I could use the break."
She lifted her wine glass, taking a slow sip. The movement drew Zhane's attention to her lips—soft, pink, glistening against the glass. His throat tightened.
What the hell am I thinking? he thought, forcing his gaze away.
"When do you think all this tension will end?" he asked after a pause.
Celine's fork stopped midway. For a fleeting second, something unreadable passed through her eyes—fear, perhaps, or a memory she didn't want to recall.
"I don't know," she said finally, her voice quieter. "Maybe a few weeks… or a month. Who knows."
Zhane nodded slowly. He wanted to ask her about her friends—about how she was coping—but he stopped himself. The moment was too fragile, and he didn't want to break it.
Instead, he smiled. "Then, we've got plenty of time to relax. Maybe I'll cook next time."
Celine arched a brow, amused. "You cook?"
"Sort of. I mean, I've never poisoned anyone yet."
She laughed—genuinely this time. The sound filled the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.
They talked more after that—about random things, about life, about school. Zhane told jokes, some awful, others surprisingly funny, and Celine laughed until her sides ached. For the first time in days, she felt… normal again.
As she laughed, a flicker of sadness passed through her. She remembered the last time she'd laughed like that—with her friends. The same friends whose faces she would never see again.
Her laughter died softly on her lips.
Zhane noticed. "Something wrong?"
She blinked and smiled, shaking her head quickly. "No. I'm fine. Just… full." She placed her hand lightly on her stomach. "I'll be in my room. Enjoy yourself."
Before he could respond, she stood up and walked out of the dining hall.
Zhane frowned slightly as he watched her go, unsure what had changed. Then his gaze drifted to her half-finished plate.
"She didn't eat much…" he murmured. Then, after a beat, he smirked. "Well, more for me."
He made sure no maid was watching before resuming his meal with unashamed enthusiasm.
From the hallway above, unseen by him, Celine paused at the railing and looked down. Her eyes softened as she watched Zhane devour the remaining food like a starving wolf.
A small smile curved her lips despite the ache in her chest.
"He's really something," she whispered. Then her expression dimmed as a memory clawed its way back—the blood-stained message from the courtyard, the whisper that had haunted her dreams ever since:
You're next.
Her hand trembled slightly. She closed her eyes, forcing the image away.
Downstairs, unaware of the silent storm in her heart, Zhane stretched, leaned back, and sighed with satisfaction.
"Best dinner I've ever had," he murmured, staring out the window toward the moonlit garden.
The night was calm. But somewhere in the stillness, a faint chill lingered—an unspoken warning neither of them could yet see.
And though they didn't know it, this was merely the quiet before the storm.
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