CRASHING INTO YOU

EPISODE THREE: UNDER ONE ROOF

Episode three: UNDER ONE ROOF

I woke to the familiar hum of the security system powering down. The city was still wrapped in dawn’s pale light when I slipped from the bedroom, following the glow to the open-plan living room. There, on the marble island of Damian’s kitchen—part of a vast space that blended seamlessly into living and dining areas—lay a single envelope and a set of car keys.

I pocketed the keys and opened the envelope. No flourish, just:

Leona,

Keys are yours all day. Drive yourself. We have a family event at 7. Be ready.

—Damian

I pressed my palm to my ribs—still tender from the accident—but rose anyway. Today would set things right, or I’d at least level the playing field.

Pulling on jeans and a soft sweater, I grabbed the keys and headed to the Jaguar parked in the subterranean garage. The engine growled awake, eager to run. I punched in the café’s address—just blocks from Sunny Meadows Elder Care Center—and drove into the waking city.

The café’s bell tinkled when I entered. Warm light spilled over wooden tables, and the air smelled of roasting beans and sweet pastries. I joined the small morning line and ordered a latte to go and two almond croissants.

When the barista handed me my steaming cup and neatly wrapped pastries, I tucked one croissant into my bag and carried the other to the Jaguar. The pastry’s warmth seeped through the paper, reminding me how small comforts mattered.

At Sunny Meadows, the receptionist greeted me from behind a plexiglass screen. “Ms. Park, we were just about to let your father go. The bill is three months overdue.”

I slid Damian’s card across the counter. “Please clear all outstanding fees, plus two months in advance.”

Her eyes widened. “Thank you… you didn’t have to.”

“He’s my father,” I said, voice thick. “And arrange a weekly fruit basket—on me. He loves bananas and tangerines.”

She rang the payment through, printed receipts, and slid them back with a sympathetic nod. “He’ll be taken care of.”

I tucked the papers into my purse and hurried to Dad’s room. He sat propped on his bed, pale but alert. When he saw me, his face lit up.

“Leah!” he croaked, reaching for the croissant I offered. “You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” I insisted, brushing a crumb from his hand. “Eat.”

He bit into the pastry, eyes closing in bliss. “This… this is heaven.”

I settled into the plastic armchair beside him. “I’ve been a mess, Dad. But I’m fixing it.”

He took my hand, rough and warm. “I knew you’d come through. I’m proud of you.”

My throat burned. “I won’t let you down again.”

Next I drove to Meridian Boutique on Bromley Avenue. The shop’s heavy doors opened into hush and light. I told the sales associate I needed two dresses: one understated, one bold. She produced a dusty-rose lace midi and a sapphire-blue wrap dress. In the mirror, the first made me look composed; the second, powerful.

“I’ll take both,” I said, handing over (once again) Damian’s card. No questions asked.

By early afternoon I was at Greenfield Market. My cart brimmed with essentials: eggs, cheese, spinach, tomatoes, chicken breasts, whole-grain bread, milk—and a bouquet of daisies for Dad. At checkout, the cashier eyed my haul.

“Cooking for someone special?”

I smiled. “I just love cooking.”

She rang it up and winked. “Good for you.”

By the time I returned from grocery shopping, the apartment was still empty.

I let out a small sigh of relief as I dropped the bags onto the kitchen island. The open-concept living room and kitchen felt less intimidating now that it wasn’t silent with pressure. Everything was ultra-modern, from the voice-activated lighting to the touch-screen fridge that literally greeted me. I’d figured out by now that Damian didn’t cook — didn’t even eat at home, apparently. There were kitchen utensils, yes, but nothing edible. Not even a lonely jar of instant coffee.

I unpacked quickly, and checked the time. It was already past six.

“Crap,” I muttered, kicking off my shoes and jogging to my room.

I threw open the closet and stared at the bags from earlier — the dress I’d picked out was elegant but understated. Classy, not flashy. I didn’t want to stand out. I just wanted to survive the night.

Hair curled. Makeup soft. Dress on. Lip balm, not lipstick — because this wasn’t a date.

By some miracle, I zipped up the back of my dress just as the doorbell chimed. I wasn’t sure why my stomach fluttered when I opened the door.

Damian stood there in a tailored black suit that looked like it had been carved into him. Cold eyes. Zero smile. But his gaze ran over me for half a second too long before he turned away.

“Let’s go,” he said, curt as always.

We drove in silence, though his knuckles tightened against the steering wheel every time his phone buzzed. When we pulled into his grandfather’s massive estate — more castle than house — I had to force my jaw not to drop. Chauffeured cars lined the driveway. There was actual valet service. Wealth clung to the air like perfume.

Inside, the atmosphere was buzzing. Men in tuxedos. Women in gowns. Waiters with trays and champagne flutes. And suddenly, every pair of eyes were on us.

Damian’s arm wrapped around my waist like it belonged there. He leaned in and whispered, “Smile.”

I obeyed, though my throat tightened. We were walking into a crowd of wolves, and I was the only one without sharp teeth.

He took me to the table with his grandfather and his uncles and aunties

Meet Leah, my wife

His uncle grinned at me. “Beautiful. And I hear you’re from an excellent family. Studied law, too?” He didn’t even wait for an answer. “Perfect match. I can’t wait for them to start having babies. Make it quick, will you? I need at least two before I can die peacefully!” Grandfather added

The whole room erupted in laughter. I wanted to melt into the marble floor.

As soon as I could, I slipped away.

The backyard was quieter, the pool shimmering under golden lights. I sat on a stone bench near the edge, exhaling slowly. I didn’t belong here — not in this family, not in this dress, not in this lie.

“Is this where you’re hiding?”

The voice startled me. I turned to see a man leaning against the railing, drink in hand. He looked like Damian — same jawline, same sharp features — but his eyes were colder. Crueler.

“You must be the famous sister-in-law,” he said, smirking. “Surprising, really. Damian has a type, and you’re… not it.”

I stiffened. “I didn’t realize there was a checklist.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “No offense. Just saying — Damian’s popular. Has a bit of a reputation, actually. Girls line up for him. Supermodels. Heiresses. And now he’s suddenly married to… someone new.”

I said nothing.

“I heard you studied law?” His eyes gleamed with something — challenge, maybe. “What kind of law?”

Before I could answer, Damian’s voice cut in like a blade.

“Stay away from her.”

I turned. He was standing behind us, fists clenched.

“Relax,” his stepbrother said, shrugging. “I’m just getting to know the woman who managed to tame the untamable.”

“Stay. Away,” Damian repeated. Then without another word, he grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me back inside, out of earshot.

We didn’t speak for the rest of the night.

On the drive home, the silence was heavy, angry.

Eventually, I looked over at him. “It seems like you don’t have a good relationship with your brother.”

His eyes snapped to me, sharp and warning. “Do not cross the line. Mind your business.”

I shut my mouth and stared out the window. When we arrived, I got out before he even turned off the engine.

Back in my suite, I sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to scream. Every time I thought I could breathe, he reminded me of exactly what I was — a pawn.

Later, I heard footsteps outside my door. They paused. Then faded.

He’d come to apologize — I knew it. But pride wouldn’t let him knock.

I woke up starving the next morning.

Still in my robe, I shuffled out into the open kitchen. No one was around. I didn’t hear movement. Just silence and the faint hum of the fridge.

I made waffles and scrambled eggs, added cinnamon, and brewed real coffee. For once, the place smelled like a home.

I was plating breakfast when Damian came out, already dressed for work.

He walked into the kitchen like he owned the air I breathed. Sharp suit. Cold expression. No “good morning.”

“I made waffles,” I said, trying to sound neutral. “And eggs. Do you—”

He cut me off. “I don’t want you cooking for me.”

I blinked.

“You’re here to smile when I need you to, stand beside me, and look like a wife. That’s it. Don’t cross the line.”