His Home, Not Mine
1571 Words
"Wait… how do I get back to Drake’s apartment again?" Samantha muttered, slowing to a stop.
Ever since their honeymoon—if she could even call it that—Drake had insisted they stay in his apartment. Her grandfather had initially protested, wanting them to live in the mansion, but Samantha had convinced him otherwise. She knew he was just worried about her, but she also knew living there would only make things more awkward for Drake. The mansion was already filled with her grandfather’s siblings, their children, and grandchildren, all adjusting to the shock of their sudden marriage. It was too much. She needed space—needed time.
The air was thick with humidity as she walked, the faint scent of rain lingering from the earlier downpour. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting eerie pools of yellow onto the damp pavement.
That’s when she saw him.
A man, standing a few feet away, his posture oddly stiff. The long coat he wore reached his knees—but that was all he was wearing. Samantha’s pulse kicked up a notch. She slowed, instinctively wary.
He looked normal enough. Average height, decent build, nothing outwardly threatening. But there was something about him—something off.
"Miss, come here. I have something to show you," he called, voice light, almost conversational.
Samantha's stomach tightened. No. Absolutely not.
"N-No, I’m in a hurry," she said quickly, turning on her heel, ready to put as much distance between them as possible.
But she barely took a step before the man darted forward, cutting off her path.
"Why the rush?" he asked, grinning. "I just want to play. I haven’t seen you around here before."
Samantha's gaze flicked downward—his fingers were resting on the belt around his waist. The only thing keeping his coat closed. A chill shot up her spine. If that belt came undone—
"W-What are you doing?" she demanded, forcing herself to stand firm despite the dread curling in her gut.
The man chuckled, his grip on the belt tightening.
"Didn’t I tell you I have something to show you? Women love this."
The grin he gave her made her blood turn ice cold.
"I don’t want to see it," Samantha snapped, stepping back, ready to bolt. But before she could, the man shifted again, cutting her off like he was playing some twisted game.
"You can’t leave without seeing this," he grinned, his voice too eager, too amused.
Samantha swallowed hard, keeping her stance firm. "Just show it to someone else." Her voice wavered slightly, but she refused to let fear paralyze her.
"No can do," the man hummed, tilting his head. "I like you. That’s why you’re the one I’m showing it to."
Her stomach twisted.
"Alright, here we go—one... "
The belt came undone with a slow, deliberate tug.
"Two... "
The edges of his coat peeled open slightly, enough to make her pulse hammer in her ears.
"Three!"
With exaggerated theatrics, he flung his coat open.
A scream—she needed to scream. But before the sound could leave her lips, a firm hand clamped over her eyes, plunging her into darkness. At the same time, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back against a solid chest. The scent of crisp cologne and something familiar—something grounding—hit her senses.
Drake.
Her breathing came in shaky bursts as she twisted slightly in his hold, blinking up at him. His gaze was locked onto hers, cold and unreadable, but the way he held her—secure, unwavering—sent her heart into chaos.
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Drake’s voice was sharp, slicing through the air like a blade.
The man faltered, as if he hadn’t expected an interruption. He stood there, arms awkwardly outstretched, still mid-display.
"Are you leaving, or should I call the police?" Drake added, his tone dripping with threat.
Panic flared across the man’s face. He scrambled to pull his coat closed, muttering something incoherent before breaking into a run.
Samantha exhaled shakily, still reeling, but Drake was already turning to her, his tone clipped.
"What are you even doing here? This isn’t the way back to the apartment."
She hesitated.
"I’ve been waiting for you for an hour," he continued, crossing his arms. "It’s only our second day here, and I assumed you could manage getting home by yourself. But then I remembered the reports of harassment in this area—so I went looking for you."
A beat of silence hung between them.
"Tell me—do you actually have a terrible sense of direction, or are you just trying to test my patience?"
Samantha groaned. "Not like I did it on purpose." She rubbed her temples, frustration and relief tangled in her chest. "You know I’m new here."
Her shoulders sagged slightly before she glanced up at him.
"Still… thanks. For saving me."
"Wait," Samantha blurted out, narrowing her eyes at Drake. "Were you worried about me? Is that why you're here?"
Drake visibly stiffened, his brows furrowing. "What?"
She smirked, crossing her arms. "Come on, no need to be shy about it. Just admit you were worried, I promise I won’t hold it against you." She tapped his chest playfully.
"Look," he huffed, grabbing her hand to stop her antics. "Quit being so full of yourself. I wasn’t worried. There have been reports of harassment in this area, and I just—"
"So you were worried," she cut in with a knowing smile.
Drake opened his mouth, but no words came out. That damn smile—his defenses cracked right then and there.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair before muttering, "Whatever." Without another word, he turned and started walking, pulling her along with him.
Samantha chuckled under her breath, following his lead. "Where are we going?"
"Home. Where else?" His tone was clipped, but his grip on her hand never loosened.
She glanced down at their entwined fingers, her heart doing an involuntary flip.
As they neared the taxi stand, she raised a brow. "Hey, we’re already near your apartment. Why are we taking a taxi?"
"Just shut up," he grumbled, giving the driver their destination.
Samantha pouted but leaned back against the seat. After a moment, she sighed.
"I’m gonna sleep for a bit," she murmured, shifting so she could rest her head against his shoulder.
Drake barely had time to react. "Sleep? What—" He turned to her, about to argue, but when he caught sight of her face, words failed him.
Peaceful. Relaxed.
He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
"What are we doing here?" Samantha blurted out, staring at the towering gates in front of them. Her chest tightened as she stepped out of the taxi, taking in the sight of her family’s mansion.
She turned sharply to Drake, confusion flickering across her face. "I thought we were going back to your apartment?"
Drake didn’t answer right away. He stood there, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable.
"You still plan on going back there after what happened tonight?" His voice was steady, controlled—but something about his tone made her stomach twist.
Samantha inhaled slowly. "But… that’s our home, isn’t it?"
Drake’s jaw tensed. "My home. You live here."
Her breath caught in her throat.
His words stung in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
She knew—of course, she knew—that he had never truly accepted her. This marriage had been forced, dictated by circumstances, not choice. But hearing him say it so plainly, as if it was an undeniable fact, made something inside her c***k.
"So… you mean—"
Before she could finish, the mansion gates creaked open, as if they had been expecting her return all along.
Drake didn’t hesitate. "Let’s go," he said, already moving forward.
Samantha stood frozen, watching his retreating figure.
Was he really doing this? Returning her?
Her fingers trembled as she wiped away the single tear that had slipped past her defenses.
"Are you just going to stand there?" Drake called over his shoulder, pausing long enough to glance back at her.
She clenched the hem of her dress, trying to steady herself. "Why are we here?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper, struggling to keep it from cracking.
Drake sighed, exasperated. "I just told you—you live here. Where else would I take you?"
"But… I am okay staying at your apartment. Because you were there." Her words came softer this time, hesitant, laced with something she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit.
Drake didn’t respond immediately.
"We’re not talking about this. Just walk. They’re waiting," he muttered, turning away once more.
Samantha swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to move forward.
She had always acted strong—conceited, even—playing a role that masked her vulnerabilities. Not to annoy him, but to prove to herself that she could withstand whatever this arrangement threw at her.
But right now, she felt small. Like she was being sent back. Like he was done pretending. Would it really be so difficult for him to act like this wasn’t a mistake? To at least pretend that sharing a home—his apartment—wasn’t unbearable?
She hadn’t complained. She hadn’t asked for anything.
Yet here they were. And she didn’t know why.
- Writer
