CHAPTER 2 - WHERE AM I??🏯
893 Words
I woke up expecting heaven.
Soft clouds. Gentle light.Angels.
Instead, I woke up to—
A ceiling.
A very expensive ceiling.
You can tell when something is expensive. It has that quiet, intimidating confidence. Like it knows you can’t afford it.
“…Oh,” I said.
Not heaven.
Not dead.
Slightly disappointing.
I tried to sit up.
And pain immediately spread all over my body.
“Ah,” I whispered.
“Good. You’re conscious.”
I froze.
That voice.
Slowly—very slowly—I turned my head.
And there he was.
The man.The car.The problem.
Sitting in a chair like he owned not just the room, but the concept of furniture itself.
“You...” I said.
“Yes,” he replied.
We stared at each other.This felt important.
“I remember you,” I added.
“That’s usually how memory works.”he replied .
I simply nodded.
He stood up.
Which was unnecessary.
He was already intimidating while sitting.
Now he was just showing off.
“You were hit by my car,” he said, like he was presenting a business report.
“Yes,” I said. “I guess so ..." I look around with tension and unsurely.
A pause.
“You ran into the road.”
“Okay, wow,” I frowned. “You are blaming the victim.”
Another pause.
“I almost died,” I added.
“You did not.”
“I could have.”
“But you didn’t.”
"But I can ."
He looked at me for a long second.
Not annoyed.Not angry.
Just… assessing.
Like I was some kind of unexpected problem he hadn’t decided how to solve yet.
“Do you always talk this much?” he asked.
“yes.. generally I-,” I said.
He exhaled slowly that cut me off mid sentence, like patience was something he had to actively invest in.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
I blinked.Wow.
We really skipped introductions and went straight to vehicular trauma.
“Of course I have a name,” I said.
Silence.
“…Although,” I added, “this is the nicest place I’ve ever woken up in, so I’m open to being adopted.”
His expression didn’t change.
But I swear something in his eyes almost did.
“Your name,” he repeated.
“Right.” I cleared my throat. “It’s—”
I hesitated.
For just a second.
Because saying it out loud suddenly made everything feel… real.
No orphanage.
No going back.
Just me.
“…Kiara,” I said quietly.
“Kai,” he said.
“Nice to meet you,” I replied. “Sorry about your car.”
Another pause.
Then—
“…You apologized,” he said.
“Yes?”i said hesitantly
“For the car.”
“Yes?”
“I hit you.”
“Yes?”
“And you apologized.”
“Yes.”
“…Why?”
I thought about that.
Then shrugged slightly (immediately regretted it—pain again).
“I don’t know,” I said. “You look like someone who’s used to being right.”
Silence.
Longer this time.
“…Interesting,” he murmured.
I glanced around the room.
Okay.
Now that I was fully conscious—
This place was ridiculous.
The bed? Huge.
The curtains? Dramatic.
The entire vibe? Rich people with secrets.
“So,” I said slowly, “important question.”
He waited.
“Am I being held hostage?”
“No.”
“Kidnapped?”
“No.”
“Debt situation?”
“No.”
I nodded.
“Okay. Follow-up question.”
“Yes?” he said.
“Can I stay?”i asked.
That finally got a reaction.
Not a big one.
Just the slightest narrowing of his eyes.
“You want to stay,” he repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “Temporarily. Until I figure out my life. Which, to be fair, just fell apart yesterday at exactly 10:00 PM.”
He didn’t respond immediately.
Good.
That meant he was thinking.
Or plotting.Or both.
“I don’t know you,” he said finally.
“That makes two of us,” I replied. “But you did hit me, so morally, I feel like you owe me at least… one temporary shelter situation.”
“That’s not how liability works.”
“That’s how my survival works.”
Silence again.
“Fine,” he said.
I blinked.
“Wait,” I said. “That was too easy. Are there conditions? There are conditions, aren’t there?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it.”
“You will rest,” he said. “Recover. And stay out of my way.”
I considered that.
“…I can do two out of three,” I said honestly.
He turned to leave.
Then paused at the door.
“One more thing,” he said.
“Yes?”
“If you attempt to run into traffic again—”
“I won’t,” I said quickly.
“—I won’t stop next time.”
I stared at him.
“…That feels illegal.”
“Then don’t test it.”
And with that—
He walked out.
I sank back into the pillows.
Alive.Homeless.
Possibly living with a dangerously calm rich man who might or might not be joking about running me over again.
- Writer
