It was getting late. The kind of late where shadows start to stretch a little too far, and the silence in the kitchen grows too loud. The light above the sink flickered slightly as I rinsed out another bowl, not because it needed washing—but because I needed something to do.
Dinner time had crept in like a fog, and I'd stayed rooted in that kitchen like it was safe ground. All attempts to reach Prisca had failed. I'd called her four times, even sent her a voice note. Nothing. Maybe she was working, or maybe she was ignoring me because she knew my obsession had switched from Jake to his friend, Carl, in record time.
I sighed and turned off the tap.
I still had to make dinner. Anne had said soup. Of course she did. Comfort food for guests she wasn't even present to host. That was so Anne.
The whole time I cooked, a nervous energy buzzed through me. I didn't want to serve them. I didn't want to *be around* them. Something about the air when Carl and Jake were in a room together made me forget how to breathe properly.
It was too much. Too sharp. Too intoxicating.
Shyness, anxiousness, nervousness—it all curled together in my belly like steam rising off a hot plate.
I finished the soup, ladled it into a clean porcelain bowl, and stood for a moment, staring at it. My body wanted to flee. My mind told me to act like the professional I was. But my heart… My heart was dancing in anticipation of seeing Carl again.
That meant only one thing: I had to cover up.
No more dresses. No more cleavage. No more bait.
I rushed upstairs and changed into my plainest pair of jeans and a fitted black polo that sat high on my collarbones. Modest. Safe. Boring. The fabric clung to my shape, but nothing was on display.
I checked myself in the mirror, whispered, "We're not seducing anyone tonight," and returned downstairs with the tray.
When I stepped into the lounge, they were still seated, watching the muted news broadcast now. Jake was on his phone. Carl looked up the moment I entered, and something subtle shifted in the air.
He cleared his throat.
Jake looked up, distracted. Then he smiled.
"Why did you change?" he asked, eyes scanning me like he was trying to piece something together.
"I… uh…" My voice faltered.
Before I could finish, Carl cleared his throat again, loudly.
I blinked, glancing at him.
Jake turned toward him, eyebrows raised in confusion.
The distraction worked. Jake dropped the question, thankfully, and switched gears. "Do you have any idea when Annie's coming back?"
I grabbed onto the new topic like a drowning woman to a rope. "No idea. Usually around seven, but sometimes not till ten. Once, she didn't come back until the next morning."
Jake frowned, tapping his phone again. "I've been trying to call her, but she's not answering. I'm starting to get a little worried."
I moved to set the bowls of soup down. Carl helped clear the tray, and as I began retreating, Jake spoke again.
"I and Carl are spending the night. Please, can you take Carl to the guest room so he can change?"
"Yes. Sure," I said, already halfway out of the room.
"Just a second," Carl added, smiling wide. "Let me finish this first."
He picked up a spoon and dipped it into the soup. He tasted it, closed his eyes briefly, and then looked at me.
"You cook really well," he said softly.
"Thank you, sir," I responded, keeping my voice flat, professional. I turned to leave.
"Sidney."
I turned again. "Yes?"
"There's something about your accent," he said.
I froze. No one had mentioned that in years. I had worked hard to smooth it out. To fit in.
"I didn't grow up here," I said politely, calmly.
"Where did you grow up? China?"
"Yes."
Carl laughed. "Wow. That was just a guess. Nice one, Carl." He grinned at Jake.
I gave a small, forced smile, then finally—finally—slipped out of the room.
Upstairs, I raced ahead to the guest room. I needed to get it ready, fast. I pulled off the old sheets and replaced them with clean, crisp linen. Fluffed the pillows. Opened the curtains. Adjusted the air conditioner and ensured the remote was on the side table.
Then I went into the ensuite bathroom and flushed the toilet, wiped the surfaces, and sprayed a soft mist of Anne's lavender room scent.
I was bent over the sink, wiping down the faucet, when I felt it.
A shift in the air.
That unmistakable sense of being watched.
I turned slowly—and there he was.
Carl.
Standing at the doorway.
He didn't speak right away. Just smiled. That smile again. Smooth, slow, aware.
I gasped, instinctively placing a hand to my chest.
He raised both hands in surrender. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
I stood straight, brushing imaginary dust off my shirt. "I didn't hear you come in."
"I just... watched you work for a second." He stepped in slowly, closing the door behind him. "You're very diligent."
"Thanks," I muttered, and then quickly added, "Sir."
Carl scoffed. "You don't need to call me that. I'm not your boss."
"You're my boss's brother's guest," I said carefully. "It's respectful."
He walked to the bed and dropped his phone on it casually. Then, without warning, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion.
I stood frozen. Eyes wide.
His torso was like something out of a fitness magazine. Sculpted, broad, tan skin stretched across defined muscles. A small tattoo curved over his ribs—something in Chinese characters, ironically.
He ran a hand through his hair and turned toward me again. "You seem to be a very interesting young woman, Sidney."
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Carl stepped closer, closing the distance. Not threatening. Just confident.
"You don't talk much," he added. "But your eyes... they say a lot."
I blinked. "What do they say?"
"That you're curious. And smart. And scared to death of letting anyone in."
I felt something collapse inside me. Something small and fragile.
Carl didn't push further. He just reached for the closet and began pulling out a fresh shirt.