Why are you like this

3.

The next day, I woke up early, even before the house had fully come to life. Sunlight gently filtered through the thick curtains, casting golden hues across the room. I tried to take deep breaths and not think about yesterday’s encounter with Patrick, but the memory of his cold blue eyes and those words — “You’ll regret standing in my way” — flashed through my mind again.

I decided that today I needed to act cautiously.

The university was a perfect escape: there, I could be myself, without conforming to someone else’s rules, without feeling pressured. I needed to maintain my inner balance and not let Patrick disturb my peace.

When I went down for breakfast, I saw Patrick already in the dining room. He was sitting at the table with Phil, discussing something with a light smile that seemed intended only for him. When he noticed me, his gaze lingered on me longer than it normally would during a casual conversation. My heart involuntarily quickened, and I tried to meet his eyes with cold restraint.

Mom, as always, was cheerful and carefree, unaware of the tension between her son and me. She was happy that we were all together at the table and seemed not to notice how every glance from Patrick measured me.

— Stephanie, Mom said, — today we’re planning a short walk in the garden. Want to join?

I nodded, hoping that fresh air and sunshine would help me calm down. Patrick stood next to me, and I felt a slight chill from his presence. He said something casually, but there was a subtle provocation in his tone, as if he were testing my boundaries.

I understood that our little game was only beginning. Every glance, every word, every movement now mattered, and I had to be careful not to give him the chance to control the situation.

The garden opened into wide alleys and hidden corners that promised seclusion. I decided to walk beside Patrick, but not too close, observing him while trying to maintain my own calm. Deep down, I knew that today I would take the first steps into this new, complicated dynamic—steps that would determine how well I could preserve my freedom and independence.

We walked through the garden, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating patterns of light and shadow on the path. I tried to keep my distance, but Patrick walked alongside me, as if sensing every movement I made. His gaze lingered on me longer than necessary, and I felt a slight chill run down my spine.

— You don’t seem afraid of me, he said quietly, almost in a whisper, and his voice carried both playfulness and challenge at the same time.

I pressed my lips together and replied calmly:

— Why should I be afraid?

He smirked, as if my audacity surprised him, but there was something dangerous lurking in that smile.

— Because I set the rules here, he said, his blue eyes seeming to peer into me, reading my thoughts.

I quickened my pace, trying not to show that his words affected me more than I wanted.

— Not all rules have to come from you, I said quietly, feeling my heart beat faster.

He froze, seemingly surprised by my response, and his half-smile grew slightly colder.

— We’ll see, he said in a low voice, trembling with hidden strength. — We’ll see how much courage you have.

At that moment, I realized that the tension between us was growing. With every step, every glance, every phrase, we were testing each other—who was stronger, who would give in. And I understood that the garden, the sunlight, and the light breeze were nothing compared to this internal confrontation that was already keeping me on edge.

I tried to stay composed, but inside, a strange mixture of anxiety and excitement was growing. I had to be careful: one wrong move, one wrong word—and the game, which I still didn’t fully understand, could spiral out of control.

We continued walking through the garden, and I was beginning to feel slight fatigue from the constant tension. I stepped aside on the path, trying to pick up the pace:

— I need to go to the university, I said calmly but firmly, making it clear that I had my own responsibilities and plans.

Patrick unexpectedly stepped closer, a slight smile on his face, and there was a playful challenge in his gaze.

— University? he repeated, as if it were the funniest thing in the world. — I can give you a ride.

I stopped, feeling a mix of irritation and an unusual tension.

— No, thanks, I said coldly, trying not to show that his tone had affected me. — I’ll manage myself.

He stepped even closer, and his face was now very near mine. His eyes burned with blue fire, staring straight into mine, and his voice lowered almost to a whisper:

— You think you have a choice? In this house, I usually get what I want.

I felt my chest tighten. This was not just a play on words—it was a direct provocation. He was testing my boundaries, searching for a weak spot. I took a breath, trying to calm myself, and relying on my resolve, I said:

— You may be the master of this house, Patrick, but my decisions are my own.

For a moment, he froze, and a spark of unexpected interest flashed in his eyes. But the half-smile on his face didn’t disappear—in fact, it became slightly bolder, as if he was pleased that I hadn’t backed down.

— We’ll see how much endurance you have, he said quietly, stepping aside to let me pass, yet his presence still hung over me like a tense web.

I felt my heart pounding, my hands trembling slightly. Every word and movement of his created a strange combination of fear and excitement—I knew the game was only beginning, and today I could no longer afford to be just a passive observer.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked into the yard, trying to keep my back straight and not show fear or irritation. My heart was still racing from Patrick’s morning provocation. I had already taken a step toward the gate when I heard a voice behind me:

— Steph, let Patrick give you a ride, Phil said calmly, almost without emotion.

I stopped and turned around. His tone left no room for argument. Patrick stood nearby, smirking, and in that smirk was the same commanding confidence that had already made me feel pressured more than once. He gave me a slight nod, making it clear: everything would go according to his rules.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. Inside, everything was boiling: irritation, anxiety, and at the same time, a strange sense that a game was starting, where every movement I made would be closely evaluated.

— Fine, I finally said, keeping my voice steady. — But that doesn’t mean I’ll follow all your conditions.

Patrick only smirked wider, as if appreciating my courage, and with a slight gesture invited me to walk alongside him to the car. I walked, feeling every movement he made beside me, every shadow of his gaze, as if he had already plotted the route I was supposed to take.

Tension grew inside me: on one hand, the need to keep my composure and independence, and on the other, the realization that in this house, there was a person ready to test my boundaries and do everything to show that he controlled the situation.

I got into his expensive car, placing my backpack on my lap, and looked at him. His blue eyes slid over me in a way that made me feel an involuntary inner tension. He started the car, and we drove off, but the silence between us was heavy—tension hung in the air, and I realized that the ride to the university had turned into yet another stage of this invisible game.