Chapter 5
1121 Words
It had been five days.
Five days since Kaen kissed me in front of that grandpa-looking general, declared me his live-in girlfriend, and then... said nothing else.
No explanation.
No follow-up.
No whispered clarifications by candles.
Just five days of him behaving like it was a purely strategic move—and me pretending my neurons hadn't all resigned on the spot.
Five days ago, I had been happily dragging my suitcase back home from a post-graduation trip.
Backpack, budget hostels, bad coffee, and the smug satisfaction of having "seen the world" a tiny bit—all generously sponsored by my sister, Catherine.
For the first time in years, I'd actually thought, wow, she did something really, genuinely nice for me.
And while I'd been sending her beach photos and sunset updates, she'd sold the place behind my back.
Now I was stuck here, in a house that technically wasn't mine anymore, clutching a broken key like it still meant something.
I'd lost my home in a single day and—if I let myself think about it—my first kiss somewhere along the way, too.
Then came five days of no progress at all.
And yes, I still stayed.
Because this house was mine.
Sort of.
Maybe.
In a cosmic, morally ambiguous way.
And because, deep down, I thought—if I stayed long enough, if I didn't screw it up, if I played my cards with enough quiet endurance—maybe I could get it back. My house. My life.
But I was losing. Obviously.
Day One: Kaen told me I had to move out of the master bedroom.
No discussion, no drama.
Just a calm order like he was assigning chores.
I fought back.
Verbally. Spiritually. Physically—by refusing to budge from my mattress like a stubborn ghost.
It didn't matter.
Rudy, that young man, showed up thirty minutes later like some golden retriever in human form, full of cheer and muscle.
He gathered all my clothes, sketchbooks, and small sentimental trinkets like he was packing for summer camp.
Tossed them into the guest room while whistling.
I protested. Loudly.
Kaen ignored me. Utterly.
And then, while Rudy held up my clothing like they were crime scene evidence, Kaen frowned.
"You call this a wardrobe?" he muttered, holding up one of Catherine's old blouses, which had personally offended him.
"This is heritage!" I snapped.
"Fashion, curated from years of my cousin's questionable decisions, tailored by my friend Kim with blood, sweat, and thread."
It was true.
Most of my wardrobe was either handed down from Catherine, found in vintage bins, or barely salvaged by Kim's design miracles.
I'd long accepted a personal style best described as 'chaotic beige.'
Kaen gave me a long look.
Then waved a hand.
Rudy dumped the entire pile of clothes into a garbage bag and walked them out the door.
"Can I get reimbursed for emotional damage?" I yelled after Kaen.
No response.
Instead, he handed the matter over to Selene.
Yes. Selene. The woman who once tried to stab me.
To her credit, she didn't stab me this time.
She returned later with a shopping bag full of black leather, cropped tops, and high-waisted jeans that looked like they required a six-pack to wear.
After double-checking that I wouldn't have to pay back for these luxury clothes.
I nodded. I smiled. I accepted the receipt.
And that night, I quietly fished my garbage-bagged clothes out of the bin, hung them back in my wardrobe.
(Of course, I'll be more mindful of my OOTD around Kaen.)
The new clothes stayed untouched, tags and all.
This was war. Silent, slow-moving, psychological war.
In the meantime, I turned into the world's most decorative squatter.
I curled up in the corner of my new room, surrounded by toast crumbs and my new phone—which, by the way, was nicer than anything I'd ever owned. It came preloaded with all the best drawing apps.
The screen was huge.
The stylus glided like magic.
Rudy peeked in sometimes, usually with a smoothie or a weird protein bar.
He once caught me drawing a ridiculous scene of Kaen brooding on a mountaintop, shirtless, with wolves howling in the background. He laughed so hard he almost dropped the smoothie.
"You're good," he said, squinting at the tablet. "Like... scary good."
"Thanks. Now get out."
He didn't.
He sat on the edge of the rug and pointed at the screen. "You ever sell this stuff?"
"Not really. Not yet."
"You should. You could make bank."
Maybe. Someday.
When I had a bank account again.
It wasn't a bad life. Not really. I was warm. Fed. Left alone.
But Kaen? Gone.
He'd vanished after Day One. No sign of him. No text, no note. Nothing but the faint scent of pine left behind.
I didn't care.
Not too much.
And then—Day Five.
My phone rang. A familiar name.
"Kim!" I said, picking up, already smiling.
"You're alive!" he cried. "I was about to file a missing persons report. What happened? Did you fall in love with a bear trainer? Did Catherine finally sell you to aliens?"
I laughed. Sort of. But something tugged loose in my chest.
"I'm alive", I said. "Stuck in some… housing paperwork. Don't worry."
A lie.
But how was I supposed to tell him the truth?
"Well, Kim, after you dropped me off, I found Catherine had sold my house. To a man.
A ridiculously handsome, mysterious, wounded man who has kissed me exactly once and now I'm trying to negotiate.
I'm trying to win my house back.
It's my only chance.
So, in the meantime, I'm his live-in maid, chef, and emotional support human. "
"And yes, Kim, I do think I still have a chance."
Yeah. No.
Kim would've shown up at my door with the police, a lawyer, and possibly a flamethrower.
And then, I'd never get another chance to set foot in my house again.
So I kept it vague. This dangerous chance was mine alone to lose.
I turned the phone off.
The real battle was here, inside these walls.
When I hung up, the silence rushed back in.
Suddenly, everything felt too still. Too quiet. Too unreal.
Where was he?
I walked to Kaen's room.
It was empty.
Too empty.
The bed was made. The air was cold. The window was cracked open.
He hadn't come back.
Something heavy settled in my chest.
That night, I didn't sleep.
I sat up, sketching, ears tuned for footsteps.
And finally, just before dawn—
A soft thud.
I ran.
And when I opened the door—
There he was.
Kaen. Backlit by silver moonlight.
Bleeding.
Again.
End of Chapter 5.
- Writer
