LUCA
I stared at Karen, standing in the middle of my living room as though she belonged there, her bag placed neatly beside the sofa, her legs crossed, and her eyes roaming around my space like she was already planning how to rearrange it.
“Why are you here?” I asked her, my voice low and strained. “You need to leave.”
She gave a slow and pleased smile, as if my irritation amused her. “Why would I leave? I love your place. It is very comfy. You have been hiding your house from me. Why?”
“I have not been hiding anything,” I replied, my patience thinning. “You should not be here. Why did you come?”
She leaned back against the sofa. “Is it wrong to want to be with my boyfriend?”
“Stop calling me that,” I said sharply. “I am not your boyfriend.”
Her smile did not fade. “You keep saying
