COME STAY AT MY PLACE...
1235 Words
Matteo
He came into sight and my heart nearly stopped.
The same man from last night.
For a split second, my mind refused to believe it. My chest tightened, breath catching halfway. The man in the dark suit standing beneath the hallway light wasn’t some stranger or random coincidence. It was him.
The stranger from the bar.
The one whose lips I could still taste if I thought too hard.
Luca.
I didn’t wait. Instinct took over.
I fumbled for my keys, turned the lock, and shoved the door open. The moment I was inside, I tried to slam it shut but it didn’t close.
A firm hand stopped it.
The door refused to move.
My pulse spiked. “Who are you?” I demanded, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Why are you following me?”
The door pushed open slowly.
He stepped inside.
Tall, calm, perfectly composed the picture of control. His dark eyes found mine like they’d been waiting for me to turn around.
I stumbled back a few steps. “How dare you enter my house without my permission?”
He didn’t flinch.
“I’ll call the police,” I warned, fumbling for my phone. “I swear I’ll”
“Would you really do that?” His voice was smooth, quiet, yet heavy with something that made my fingers freeze midair.
He stepped further in, and I realized how much taller he looked in daylight. The light from the hallway caught the edge of his jawline, his expression unreadable.
“I should feel offended,” he said softly. “That you don’t recognize me.”
I blinked, confused.
He tilted his head. “You used me last night, and now you don’t know me?”
Heat shot up my neck humiliation and anger tangled together.
“I didn’t use you!” I snapped. “It was it was a mistake. A bad decision. And now you’re stalking me?”
He didn’t look angry. He looked amused. Which somehow made it worse.
“Leave,” I said sharply. “Leave my house right now.”
“Hold on,” he said quietly. “I only came to talk.”
His voice was calm, controlled, but something in it made me uneasy.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, forcing steel into my tone.
“Then why are you shaking?”
I froze.
I wasn’t shaking.
Not visibly.
But maybe he could see through the stillness.
He took another step toward me.
“Stop.”
He did.
Silence fell between us. Heavy. Charged.
For a moment, I saw something shift in his eyes not menace, but something quieter. Interest. Curiosity. Something almost human beneath the authority.
He studied me like I was something rare.
“You don’t even know who I am,” he said finally.
“Nor do I care,” I shot back.
“Luca.”
“What?”
“My name,” he said. “It’s Luca.”
The name hit me harder than I expected.
“And you’re Matteo.”
My breath caught slightly. How?
“I make it my business to know things that interest me.”
My pulse kicked again. “Interest you? What does that even mean?”
His gaze softened slightly. “It means I want you to come live at my place.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He said it like he was asking me to pass the salt.
Casual. Dangerous.
“I’m interested in you,” he continued, voice low and deliberate. “I want to know you. I want to keep you safe. And if you stay here, you won’t be.”
A laugh escaped me half disbelief, half panic. “You can’t just walk into someone’s life and say things like that! You don’t even know me!”
“I know enough.”
“You don’t,” I whispered.
He took another step forward.
His presence filled the space too large, too confident, too calm for someone breaking into my home.
“Look,” I said, backing up a little. “Last night was nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. You should go.”
“You think I do this for just anyone?” he asked quietly.
I hesitated.
“People spend years trying to get my attention,” he continued, “and you” His eyes flicked to my lips briefly. you walked away before sunrise.”
I swallowed hard.
His tone wasn’t threatening. Not exactly. But there was weight to it. An authority that didn’t need to shout to make itself heard.
“This isn’t normal,” I said softly. “You don’t just”
He cut me off. “I don’t do normal.”
He was close now close enough that I could see the faint scar near his jaw. The scent of his cologne brushed the air between us, sharp and expensive.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked quietly.
He hesitated. “Because you make me curious.”
“I’m not My voice broke slightly. a thing to collect.”
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
For a second, his expression shifted something unreadable flickered across it.
Then, softer: “I didn’t come here to hurt you, Matteo.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I already told you,” he said simply. “You.”
The word landed between us like a weight.
My stomach twisted. My heart pounded so hard I thought he might hear it.
“This is insane,” I whispered.
“Maybe,” he murmured. “But I’ve decided.”
He took one step closer slow, measured until he was inches away.
“Come live with me.”
“No.”
“Think about it.”
“No!”
His lips curved slightly, as if my defiance amused him. “You’re stubborn.”
“Persistent,” I shot back.
“Stubborn,” he corrected gently.
I hated the way my pulse reacted to the sound of his voice.
He lowered his gaze for a brief second, exhaling quietly, before meeting my eyes again. “You should know something about me, Matteo.”
“What?”
“When I want something,” he said, his voice dropping low, “I don’t stop until I have it.”
The quiet confidence in his tone made my stomach twist again.
Before I could respond, the faint buzz of a phone cut through the silence.
He glanced down at his wristwatch, face tightening slightly.
Duty or Whatever world he came from was calling him back.
He looked at me one last time.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
He smiled faintly. “You’ll change your mind.”
And before I could say another word, he turned signaled to his men and walked out the door as calmly as he had entered.
The moment the door shut, my legs gave out, and I sank to the floor, trembling with adrenaline.
What just happened?
My pulse refused to slow.
He came into my home. Told me his name. Told me he wanted me.
And then left like a storm that decided to pause.
I pressed a hand to my chest.
It was still pounding.
Fear. Confusion. And something I didn’t want to name.
I told myself it was over.
But deep down, I knew better.
- Writer
