I woke up to a harsh brightness stabbing at my eyes—the sunlight streaming through the wide-open window. I sat up on the bed, groggy and confused. Did I fall asleep?
Wait a second.
I turned toward the window again, and the full blaze of morning sunlight hit me. Crap. It's already daytime!
I scrambled for my phone. The screen flashed 26 missed calls—all from my cousin.
"Oh no," I muttered, jumping out of bed in a panic. I searched for my bag, ready to bolt out the door—then froze.
I wasn't alone in this room last night, was I?
I glanced around the huge, spacious bedroom. Empty. No sign of Francis anywhere.
Where did he go? He wouldn't have just left me here, right? He was still sick!
I hurried down the stairs, but a mouthwatering smell stopped me in my tracks.
Was that… bacon?
My stomach growled as I sniffed the air. Oh, God. That's definitely bacon.
Who the hell is cooking bacon?
I followed the irresistible scent to the kitchen—only to stop dead in the doorway.
A man, dressed in black, was crouched in front of the sink, rummaging for something under the counter.
My first thought: Intruder.
My second thought: Weapon.
I gripped my sling bag tightly, raised it like a club, and crept forward. The man still hadn't noticed me.
"Hey! You jerk!" I yelled, swinging the bag straight at his head.
"Ouch! Ouch! Stop—hey!" he groaned, trying to shield himself.
"Thief! You think you can just break in here?!" I shouted again, aiming for another hit—but he caught my bag mid-swing, grabbing both my wrists.
"What is wrong with you?!" he snapped.
And that voice—familiar.
"Sir?" I blinked in shock.
He scowled at me, rubbing the side of his head. "Do you have any idea how much that hurt?"
I swallowed, suddenly awkward, and rubbed my neck. "Well… you looked like a thief," I mumbled.
His sharp eyes narrowed. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing! I said—you look better," I blurted, quickly changing the topic as my eyes darted to the breakfast spread on the table. Holy hell. It all looked delicious.
"Oh… um… thank you, by the way."
I almost dropped my bag. Did he just say thank you? Mr. Arrogant himself? Wow. Miracles do happen.
"You should eat with me," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.
I waved my hands quickly. "Ah, no. I'm heading home. You're clearly fine now."
My stomach disagreed. Loudly.
As if on cue, it let out a growl so fierce even Francis heard it.
"A-ah… I mean…" I stammered, cheeks heating.
"Join me," he said simply, already sitting down.
I sighed in defeat. Well, who was I to reject free food—especially food that smelled that good?
Wait a minute… did he really cook this?
No way. He must've ordered it.
"I cooked it myself," he said flatly, as if reading my thoughts.
I glared at him. Che. Mind reader now, huh?
He cleared his throat, and I looked up again.
"Let's eat, shall we?"
He started serving himself, calm and collected. I was already drooling over the bacon. But then I noticed another dish—mostly greens.
"What's this?" I asked, eyeing it suspiciously.
"It's called vegetable salad," he replied, catching my expression. I ignored him and focused on my plate.
The first bite of bacon was heaven.
He suddenly spoke, his tone quieter. "About last night… I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
I immediately knew what he meant.
"It's fine. Just don't let it happen again. Oh wait—you won't need a babysitter anymore anyway, right? You're fine now?" I said, my mouth still half full.
"Kind of," he answered.
I swallowed and leaned forward. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
I gave him a serious look, making him frown slightly in confusion.
"Do I get a raise?"
He froze mid-bite.
"I mean, I took care of you all night! That deserves extra pay. You can't just let that slide," I insisted.
He shook his head, a small sigh escaping. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I'll handle it."
Good enough. Nothing in life is free these days, not even babysitting a grumpy billionaire.
"I've got another question," I said.
He exhaled heavily. "Go ahead," he muttered, taking another spoonful of rice.
"Do you live here alone?" I asked, glancing around the mansion.
"Yes."
"You're not scared? Or lonely? You know… being all alone in a house this big?"
He paused, looked at me briefly, then shrugged. "No. I'm busy with work, so…"
I nodded slowly.
"Okay, last one, I promise."
He sighed again. "Go on."
"Who's Akeshia?"
He froze, spoon still in midair.
"What?"
"Last night," I said, smirking a little. "You kept saying her name. Over and over. It was annoying, actually. Who is she? Your ex?"
He took a long sip of water, his eyes darting away.
"So she is your ex," I said triumphantly, nodding.
"No. She's…" He stopped, inhaled deeply. "She's just someone I can't forget," he said quietly before finishing his meal.
Then he stood up, glass still in hand.
"Wait, you're done eating already?" I asked as he started walking away.
"Yes. And if you're finished, you can go home now. Thanks for taking care of me."
I blinked. His voice had gone cold again.
What the hell was that about?
Did I say something wrong?
That man was impossible. One minute, he was kind. The next, cold as ice.
Francis Locan—definitely a walking case of mood swings. Half angel, half demon.
Tsk.