I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, breathing in the silence. The room was too large — too empty. Every detail felt precise, expensive, and wrong for me. Still, I couldn't stop staring. I'd never lived anywhere that looked like a museum before.
I dropped my bag on the floor and looked around the room.
Big. Too big.
It looked like something straight out of a magazine — clean, perfect, cold. The kind of room that didn't feel like home no matter how many things you filled it with.
I sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through my phone until it buzzed with a familiar name — Mom.
"Did you reach safely?" she asked, her voice warm, already easing some of my tension.
"Yeah, Mom. I've been here for a while," I said, trying not to sound annoyed.
"Do you like the house?"she asked
I rolled my eyes. "Mom, it's huge. For two people? I don't even know why I'm here. I can't live in this mansion alone with him.
She chuckled softly. "If you try being on good terms with him, you might actually make it feel alive."
"Good terms, my foot," I muttered. "My nerves boil just seeing him."
"Ella" she sighed, "don't start a fight. Just behave, okay? Oh, and Kael told me he'll make dinner for both of you."
"What?" I sat up straight. "You mean I have to eat the food he makes? Mom, what if he—"
"Poisons it?" she finished, laughing lightly. "You're too dramatic. And too lazy to even pour yourself water. You won't cook. So stop complaining."
"I can cook if I want," I grumbled. "From now on, I'll make my own food."
She sighed. "Whatever you say. And one more thing — Kael told me to tell you he wants to talk after dinner."
"Talk? About what?" I asked
"I don't know. Something about daily things. Just listen to him, alright?"
Before I could reply call ended and I tossed the phone aside. "Ugh, talk with him? For what?" I muttered, standing up and heading downstairs.
The scent hit me before I even reached the kitchen — warm, rich, almost addictive. My stomach betrayed me with a growl.
He was there, of course, moving around the kitchen like he owned the place. He looked too calm, too focused, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy — movements slow and precise, like every motion had purpose. The glow from the stove flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw.
He looked like he belonged there. Like the kitchen itself obeyed him.
I almost forgot to breathe.What the hell am I doing staring at him like this?
He glanced up suddenly, eyes locking with mine. I straightened, pretending I hadn't just been watching him.
He noticed me before I could pretend otherwise. "Why are you taking so long?" His voice was low, steady. "Come and eat. We have things to discuss later."
"I'm not eating your food," I snapped. "I'll make my own fo—"
Before I could finish, he turned, stepped closer, and lifted a spoon toward my lips.
"Eat first then talk ," he said simply.
"What—?"
But he didn't wait. The next second, the spoon touched my mouth, and I froze.
The taste... damn it, it was good. Too good.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp but calm. "You're frozen. I can see it in your eyes. You really thought I'd poison you, didn't you?"
I swallowed hard, saying nothing.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "If I ever wanted to hurt you, little fire… I wouldn't need poison."
My pulse quickened, and I hated that he could probably hear it.
"Eat," he said, stepping back. "You'll need your energy."
We ate mostly in silence after that. I finished quickly — mostly because I was starving, but I wasn't about to admit that. He just watched quietly, like he was studying me again.
When we were done, he stood up to wash the dishes. I slipped out to the living room, wandering around to distract myself. Everything looked expensive and perfectly arranged — his world felt far too controlled.
A few minutes later, he came and dropped onto the couch with that same infuriating smirk. "So," he said, "how do you plan to get to school tomorrow?"
"By bus, obviously."
"Oh, really?" His tone dripped with amusement. "My little fire, the bus doesn't come here. Guess who's dropping you off?"
"What? No way. I'd rather walk."
He leaned back lazily, eyes glinting. "If you want to walk twelve kilometers, then yes but when i am here why bother"
I glared. "You're unbelievable."
He only smiled — slow, confident, dangerous."More than you think."
I didn't reply. I just stared at him until he looked away first.
Then, quietly, he said, "Goodnight, little fire," and walked down the hall.
When I went to my room, the house felt too quiet again. I changed, brushed my hair, and sat on the bed, staring at nothing. The night stretched on endlessly.
Ahh thinking about that most people call me "Ella " as nickname it's far better than what this unbelievable guy calls. Little fire?? Uhh, what type of name is that ?? Is he trying to mess with me??... Etc
A soft knock pulled me out of my thoughts.
Once.
Twice.
My breath caught.
"Still awake?"
His voice. Calm. Teasing.
I stayed silent.
Then came the whisper — low, almost like a secret through the door.
"Don't stay up too late, little fire. Tomorrow's going to be... interesting."
And then the sound of his footsteps fading away.
But even after that, sleep didn't come. Not after hearing that.
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