More Than Just Lust

01.

Iona rolled over to the other side of the bed as the warmth of the morning sun seeped through the window. Wanting to sleep a little longer, she cracked her eyes open, her vision still blurry. With a tired sigh, she pulled the blanket over her head.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a silhouette—a man leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

Her drowsy mind barely registered it. She was probably still dreaming.

After all, Miguel was no longer in her life. There was no way it could be him. It was just her imagination… right?

Shrugging it off, she let herself sink back into her dream—the one where she was rich, famous, and effortlessly beautiful. Men lined up just to ask her out, practically tripping over themselves for a chance to impress her.

But the best part? Off to the side, Miguel stood with that ridiculous, regretful look on his face, watching her from a distance like a fool who realized too late what he had lost. The sight of him sulking while she basked in success was enough to make her grin in her sleep.

That was until a deep voice suddenly cut through, pulling her back to reality.

"I don’t remember agreeing to let a freeloader stay here."

The deep voice, smooth yet edged with irritation, snapped Iona out of her dream. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she was caught between sleep and wakefulness, her mind still clinging to the luxurious fantasy she had just been enjoying.

Then reality settled in.

She peeked over the edge of the blanket and squinted toward the door.

There he was—the same silhouette she had brushed off earlier. But now, her vision had cleared, and she could make out the man standing there. His arms were still crossed over his chest, and his expression was unreadable, but the irritation in his voice was evident.

Right. She wasn’t in her dream. She wasn’t in their house anymore.

And this man?

She barely even knew him.

Iona blinked a few times, her brain sluggishly catching up. Then, as if a switch flipped, she shot up from the bed, the blanket pooling around her waist.

Oh, right. Last night.

The memory hit her all at once—the near accident, her breakdown in the middle of the street, and her ridiculous, out-of-nowhere request to live with this stranger.

Her gaze darted to him. He was leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world, but the look on his face told her otherwise. He was annoyed, clearly regretting whatever moment of weakness had led him to bring her here.

Iona cleared her throat, trying to shake off the lingering sleepiness. "Uh… Good morning?" she offered awkwardly.

The man raised a brow. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're leaving today or planning to leech off me a little longer."

Iona opened her mouth, guilt settling in for being a freeloader as she mumbled, “I’m sor—”

“Save it,” the man cut her off, already pushing himself off the doorframe. “Eat something before you pass out or whatever. I don’t have time to babysit a stray.”

Iona froze for a second. Stray?

Her brows twitched in irritation. Sure, she had invited herself into his home, but did he really have to say it like that?

As she watched him turn away, his tone so dismissive, she thought to herself—this guy owes me!

He almost killed me last night.

If he had been paying attention, if he had slowed down even a little, she wouldn’t have nearly ended up splattered on the pavement. And now he was acting like she was the inconvenience?

She clenched her jaw, pushing away the guilt that had been bubbling up earlier. Maybe her request to stay had been desperate, maybe even unreasonable, but she wasn’t just some random beggar who showed up at his doorstep. She had almost died because of him.

So really, wasn’t this just balancing the scales?

Still, she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to start a fight—not yet, at least.

With an irritated huff, she threw off the blanket and got out of bed, following him toward the kitchen.

The house was big—far bigger than she expected—but Iona had no trouble finding the kitchen. The faint smell of coffee and bacon led her straight to it.

She stopped at the entrance, hesitating.

The man was already at the dining table, his laptop open, fingers lazily scrolling through whatever was on the screen. A cup of coffee sat beside him, untouched.

Then her eyes landed on the plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes on the left side of the rectangular table. Her stomach clenched at the sight, but she hesitated. Was that for her? Or was she just assuming too much?

Before she could decide whether to step in or turn back, the man spoke without even glancing up.

“Well? Gonna keep standing there like a lost puppy, or are you actually gonna sit and eat?”

Iona huffed but sat down anyway, grabbing a fork and stabbing a piece of pancake. She wasn’t about to let her pride get in the way of a free meal—especially when she had no idea when she’d get another one.

She had barely taken her first bite when the man spoke again, his tone as casual as ever.

"Xylon."

She blinked, chewing as she glanced at him.

He finally looked up from his laptop, smirking slightly. "That’s my name. Y’know, since you were bold enough to ask a complete stranger to live with him, I figured you should at least know that much."

Iona swallowed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Iona," she said, meeting his gaze. "Since you’re letting a complete stranger crash in your house, I figured you should at least know that much too."

Xylon let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Who said I’m letting you crash here?”

Iona paused mid-bite, eyes narrowing.

“We’ll swing by the hospital after you eat,” he went on, lazily tapping at his laptop. “If they don’t find anything wrong with that head of yours, then we can call it a day and go our separate ways. Simple.”

He took a sip of his coffee, then shot her a glance. “Unless, of course, you want them to find something. Might help justify whatever was going through your mind when you invited yourself in.”