THE BILLIONAIRE HOUSEMATE

Chapter IV

Nate’s POV

Well?

I thought I should have turned around the moment she opened the door.

Not because she wasn’t what I expected, but because she was exactly what I didn’t need at such a moment like this in my life.

She stood there at her doorstep in a knitted gray sweater and black jeans, her messy brown bun somehow making her look even more put-together than she probably realized. She looked younger than I had imagined, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with her dark eyes locked onto my very own. Those onyx eyes held curiosity in them but were still guarded, like she wasn’t sure if I was there to sign a lease or rob the place blind. And for a second—or maybe the quarter of the second— a nasty thought came to my mind. I almost apologized, told her there was a mistake, and left.

Because she was beautiful. Dangerously beautiful.

The kind of beautiful that didn’t belong in this quiet neighborhood but on magazine front covers or those romantic comedies that made guys like me roll their eyes.

But I didn’t leave.

I stepped inside, shook her hand, and pretended like I hadn’t just felt my carefully built world shake. I told myself it didn’t matter. That this was just a transaction, nothing more. And for the first few minutes, I actually believed it.

Until she started talking.

Once her voice rang in my ears, I felt felt my knees weaken because her voice—her sharp, clear, and just a little sarcastic voice—sliced through the tension I didn’t realized I had been holding. She talked fast, like someone who was used to handling things herself for so long, and didn’t wait to be impressed. No sugarcoating. No fake smiles. Just... real.

It was annoying as hell.

And also kind of hot.

I shook my head mentally because this was ridiculous. Me—Nate Carrington—reduced to hiding out in some suburban neighborhood because of Andy Neumann’s twisted plot. I wanted to hit a hard surface just thinking about it, but David’s voice echoed in my head.

“Go off the grid.”

I hated the idea. I hated running like a coward. But as I replayed the notification of my company’s frozen assets and the growing number of lawsuits piling against me, I knew I had no choice. For now.

~~~

Two Weeks Later

I was starting to think I had made the biggest mistake of my life.

“Don’t leave dishes in the sink,” Phoebe called from the kitchen as I stepped out of my room.

“Good morning to you too,” I muttered, ignoring the eye roll she shot over her shoulder.

She was standing in front of the stove, flipping pancakes like it was her personal mission to make me feel useless first thing in the morning. My stomach growled, but I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of begging for food.

Instead, I grabbed a snack bar off the kitchen counter that was like a boundary between the small dining room and itself. I tore the snack bar open.

“That’s not breakfast,” she said, flipping another pancake.

“It’s my breakfast,” I shot back.

She didn’t even look at me this time, she just hummed under her breath like she was too busy being responsible to argue. And for some reason, that got under my skin more than anything else.

I leaned against the counter. “You know, not everyone has time to cook a four-course meal before noon.”

“And not everyone pays six months’ rent upfront to complain about my kitchen,” she shot back, sliding a pancake onto a plate. “Maybe you should try it sometime. Cooking, I mean. It builds character.” She chuckled, wiping her hands clean, probably from oil.

I smirked at her words. “My character’s fine, thanks.”

Her eyes finally met mine, and for a second, I saw the faintest light of amusement. Then she turned away, grabbing syrup from the cabinet and completely dismissing me like I wasn’t even there.

This was what the last two weeks had been like—Phoebe being bossy and practical and always right, while I somehow ended up looking like the clueless rich guy who had never had to do anything for himself.

Which wasn’t true entirely if you asked me.

I had worked for everything I had—or at least, I thought I had until it all fell apart. And maybe that was why Phoebe’s attitude scratched on me so much. She reminded me of everything I had lost. Of everything I was still trying to fix.

And now?

Now I was stuck in a house that felt way too small with a girl who thought microwave dinners were a crime against humanity.

Perfect.

~~~

That Same Afternoon

I found her in the living room, surrounded by piles of papers and stacks of receipts.

“Do you always look this stressed, or is it just a special occasion?” I asked, leaning against the doorway.

She shot me a glare. “Do you always have this arrogant air, or are you just always annoying?”

I snorted. “Excuse me?”

She didn’t smile. She didn’t even pretend to. Instead, she arranged the papers into a neat pile and shoved them into a folder. “Some of us have bills to pay.”

The blow hit harder than it should have, and I didn’t know whether to apologize or fire back. Before I could decide, she grabbed her keys and brushed past me.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To buy groceries. You can survive without me for an hour, right?”

“Are you sure? I might starve.”

“Try not to.”

The door slammed behind her, and I found myself staring at the empty space where she had been standing, wondering why her absence felt louder than her presence.

~~~

That Night

I couldn’t sleep.

The ceiling fan rotated above me, and no matter how many times I tossed and turned over, the bed felt too small. Too unfamiliar in comparison to the soft queen-sized bed I was used to.

I grabbed my phone, scrolling mindlessly through messages I didn’t want to answer and emails I hadn’t replied to. And then, without thinking, I opened the folder.

The folder.

The one I kept hidden under my mattress, filled with papers I hadn’t touched since the day I moved in.

It didn’t matter how many times I tried to ignore it. The words were still there.

Eviction notice.

Bank statements.

Termination letter.

I shoved it shut before the panic crept into my heart and then tossed it across the room.

“Shit.”

A soft knock sounded on my door, and I stayed rigid for a few seconds. I didn't need to think to hard to realize it was Phoebe. I mean, we were just two, right?

I opened the door to find her standing there, wrapped in a blanket and looking half-asleep.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

I nodded, even though it was obvious I wasn’t. “Yeah. Just—couldn’t sleep.”

She hesitated, then stepped closer. “Look, I know we don’t exactly get along, but... if you need to talk or whatever, I’m here.”

For some inexplicable reasons, those comforting words made my chest ache more than it should have.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

She didn’t push further. She only nodded and walked away, leaving me alone with my secrets until the next morning when I woke up to the sound of Phoebe screaming.

I jumped out of bed, nearly tripping over the damn folder as I ran toward her voice.

She was in the kitchen, shaking with her face pale as she pointed to the window.

“What—”

My words got stuck in my throat when I saw it.

A knife.

My knife.

Stabbed into a wall so close to the window with a note tucked beneath it.

Two words were boldly written with marker ink on the note.

‘I’m watching.’