My Rival Faked Amnesia So I Took Him Home

Chapter 2

"Dinner is served, Master." Ethan's voice came from above.

My hand spasmed in surprise, sending my phone clattering to the floor.

He bent to pick it up, his gaze skimming the screen.

My heart stopped.

Crap. My messages were right there...

I snatched the phone back, putting on my sternest voice. "Who said you could look at my phone?!"

Ethan remained unruffled. "My apologies."

He moved to arrange the place settings, seemingly oblivious to my panic. I exhaled, surreptitiously deleting the conversation before slinking to the dining table—then froze.

Hamburger, Caesar Salad, Borscht—all my favorites.

"How'd you know I like these?" I eyed him suspiciously.

He paused mid-motion, answering smoothly, "Lucky guess."

I sat warily, taking a tentative bite. ...It was delicious.

"Well?" he asked.

I meant to criticize, but my mouth betrayed me by saying, "Good."

The corner of his lips lifted. "Glad to hear it."

Under the warm light, his gaze softened unbearably, making my heart race.

Something's off. This is all wrong!

I stuffed my mouth with rice, mumbling, "Wash the dishes after."

"Of course." He answered immediately, his voice tinged with humor.

I couldn't help staring. "You're... not mad?"

"About what?"

"Me bossing you around."

Ethan set down his chopsticks, leaning in until his intense gaze locked onto mine. "Does Master want me angry? Or... was I less obedient before?"

"Wh-who cares!" I jerked back violently, almost falling off my seat.

Ethan let out a low chuckle and returned to his meal.

Meanwhile, my heart raced with one terrifying thought—

This servant was getting way too bold!

Since Ethan moved in, my life had gotten ten times easier. Breakfast was a different delicious spread every morning, the floors gleamed like mirrors, and even my haphazardly tossed undies now sat neatly stacked in my drawer...

Wait—underwear?!

I shot up from the couch and stormed into the bedroom.

Sure enough, my bras were lined up perfectly on the top shelf.

"Ethan!" I yelled, face burning as I charged onto the balcony.

"Who said you could touch my underwear?!"

He turned from hanging laundry, unfazed. "You never said I couldn't."

I was fuming. "From now on, my clothes are off-limits!"

"Understood." He nodded, then added innocently, "But Master's socks from yesterday are still soaking in the bathroom..."

"Shut! Up!" I hissed through gritted teeth.

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he resumed hanging clothes, the perfect image of a devoted servant.

After my shower, I was blow-drying my hair when a rustling sound interrupted me.

"Who's there?" I demanded, gripping the towel tighter.

"It's me." Ethan's voice filtered through the door. "Your milk, Master—just like you asked."

Grumbling, I tightened my towel and cracked the door open.

He stood there, holding the steaming mug, but his gaze abruptly locked onto my shoulder. "You're red here," he frowned.

"Huh?" I twisted to see—just a mark from scratching too hard earlier.

Before I could explain, his fingertips brushed the spot. "Does it hurt?"

His touch was like an electric jolt. "N-no!" I stumbled backward, only to slip on the tiles.

Ethan caught my wrist, but momentum sent us crashing down—him breaking my fall, me sprawled atop him, my towel barely hanging on.

The room went dead silent.

My cheek was flush against his chest, the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat pounding so hard it made my ears ring.

Thump-thump... thump-thump...

"M-Master..." His voice came out rough, strained.

"D-don't talk!" I flailed, trying to push myself up—

Only for my palm to land on the hard planes of his stomach. I snatched my hand back with a yelp.

Then—impossible as it seemed—a voice pierced through my thoughts.

'So... soft...'

The hell was that?!

My head whipped around wildly, but the bathroom held just the two of us.

Ethan's lips were sealed shut, yet the voice came again—

'God, I wanna kiss her...'

"???"

My pupils dilated like saucers as I slowly looked down.

He gazed up at me with puppy-dog eyes, mouth firmly closed.

But that traitorous voice continued:

'Tsk, her towel's slipping...'

'No, can't look. She'll call me a creep.'

'But Christ... she's so pale.'

"..."