Jake stood by the car, his smile lazy, mischief gleaming in his eyes as he leaned casually against the door.
"Please enter," Jordan said, holding the door open.
Jake nodded, stepped in—then, without warning, slipped right out the other side. Like smoke, he bolted.
"Jake!" one of the bodyguards shouted as they gave chase.
But Jake was faster—springing onto the hood, then the roof of a nearby car. With a burst of momentum, he vaulted, landing with grace through the second-floor open window of Maria's apartment building.
Gunshots echoed behind him.
Jordan didn't flinch. Still in the car, he tapped the dashboard. The driver responded by honking once—sharp and cold.
Immediately, the bodyguards stopped chasing and returned to formation.
Inside, Jake brushed imaginary dust from his hands and leaned out the window, blowing exaggerated kisses toward the guards. His smirk deepened as he strolled toward the stairs—only to halt when he spotted a hunched janitor trembling on the steps, hands on her head.
"Geez, is this a war zone now?" Jake muttered, deadpan, as if he hadn't been the source of all the chaos.
The elderly janitor looked up, mistaking him for some nosy teenager.
"Young boy, go back inside. It's dangerous out here. Look—no one's even opened their doors. Something serious is happening. Gunshots. Probably the police after a dangerous criminal," she muttered, shaking.
Jake blinked, playing along. "Whoa, you think it's someone… scary?"
"Of course! Probably some ugly old creep. Creepy criminals always are."
His smile twitched.
"Oh… right. That's true. Totally." He offered a sheepish grin. "But you shouldn't be out here either, ma'am. What if the scary creep comes inside?"
He helped her up, gesturing gently. "Go somewhere safe, okay?"
As the elevator opened, he slipped in, flashing a fake innocent pout. "A dangerous criminal, huh?" he whispered to himself, scratching his head. "Okay, fair. I've done things that would make some convicts blush. But ugly? Rude."
With a smirk, he fluffed his hair. "If I'm a criminal, I'm the hottest one on record."
He dangled a stolen key in the air. "Time to find bestie and file a formal complaint."
---
Meanwhile…
Maria stepped out of the elevator and unlocked her apartment, but a shadow was still trailing her.
She turned, annoyed. "Why are you still following me?"
Mike tilted his head with mock hurt. "Wow. That's harsh. After I poured my heart out, you still act like it's made of stone?"
He leaned in, gaze flickering from her lips to her eyes. Then, with an easy smirk, he turned and opened the door—for her—using her key.
Maria narrowed her eyes and turned to leave, but before she could step away, Mike swept her off the ground.
"What—! Put me down!" she snapped.
"Nope. I need to do this properly. If I don't act like a husband now, I'll never get to be one later," he teased, kicking the door shut behind them and gently placing her on the couch.
She scowled. "You're disgusting. I'm 18. Still figuring out the world, and here you are trying to play husband."
Mike crouched down with a grin. "Then let's figure it out together, wifey. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."
He kissed the air toward her and stood. "Where's the first aid box?"
"In my room," she mumbled.
He returned with the kit and knelt beside her, gently tending to the wound on her hand.
She tried to pull away, but he held her hand firm—gentle, but unyielding. Then he reached down, took her foot, and started massaging her ankle.
Maria opened her mouth to argue, but paused. Damn it—this was relaxing.
"Fine. Be a servant then," she muttered under her breath, sinking into the couch.
Mike smiled like he'd won the lottery, continuing the massage until her muscles loosened. Then, smoothly, he moved behind her and began working her shoulders.
She groaned—reluctantly. "Since when did you learn how to do this? This feels like pro-level work."
"I had a master," he whispered near her ear. "And trust me… I learned a lot."
Maria rolled her eyes. "Not interested."
"You will be," he winked. "Give it time. You'll be begging me for more."
"Delusional much?" she scoffed.
Mike smirked. "Go shower. I'll cook. Then we can… continue the massage session. Maybe even move it to the bed. I'm very open-minded."
She stood up with a glare. "When you're done playing butler, use the door—or I'll throw you out myself."
Maria stormed toward her bedroom.
Mike just laughed to himself, walking to the kitchen. "She's feisty. Love it. At least she doesn't hate me anymore… probably. Progress."
After an hour, Maria finally stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in a soft pink and white pajama set, patterned with tiny cartoon cats. Her damp hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, the ends still curling slightly from the moisture. A towel rested around her neck as she padded barefoot to the kitchen, her eyes narrowing playfully as they landed on Mike.
Leaning against the kitchen wall, she silently watched his back. Of course he'd won the Most Handsome Student—not just in their school, but in the entire country. That title wasn't just for show.
Mike, already aware of her presence (as always), smirked to himself. He raised one arm to adjust the flame, his shirt lifting slightly in the process—just enough to reveal a glimpse of his lean waist and a defined V-line that made both girls and boys lose their appetite and appetite at the same time. His frame wasn't overly muscular—still teenage soft—but the kind of body that made people stare a little too long.
"Tsk," Maria clicked her tongue. "You should just quit the business world and become a chef if life ever slaps you sideways."
"Mm, nah," Mike replied without turning, his voice dipping into a whisper that carried a lazy sort of seduction. "I don't like when other girls watch me like hawks. But you? When you look at me like that, mama, I kinda like it."
Maria scrunched her nose and dramatically pointed at her mouth, pretending to vomit. "Gross."
Mike chuckled. "It seems my handsomeness has already overfed you—before I've even served you."
He turned his attention back to the sizzling pan. With practiced ease, he flipped what looked like golden-brown pancakes, the batter crisping at the edges. Beside the pan, a pot simmered gently, releasing the rich aroma of spiced chicken broth. Steam curled upward like smoke from a magic spell. He moved with natural confidence, wiping his hands clean, plating the food like someone who knew he was good at everything.
The atmosphere was light—until a loud knock at the door shattered the calm.
Maria pushed off the wall and headed to the living room. Opening the door, her eyebrows lifted in disbelief.
Jake stood there like a storm had just spit him out—hair messy, sweat on his brow, and a smudged lipstick stain on both his collar and the side of his neck.
Maria didn't budge. She leaned on the doorframe with that signature deadpan stare.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Jake said, breathing heavily. "Baby, save me."
Footsteps echoed down the hallway behind him, fast and angry.
"I'll pay you," he added quickly, batting his lashes like a helpless prince.
Maria crossed her arms, clearly amused. "Hmm. How much?"
"Fifty million," a calm voice answered behind her.
Mike. He had appeared silently, now standing at her side with his arms crossed, eyes trained on Jake like a predator catching a mouse.
Jake scoffed. "Fifty million? Why not just say you wanna rob the national bank while you're at it?"
He turned to Maria. "Bestie, I'm begging you. If you let me in, I'll tell you something—juicy. About that girl… what's her name again? Starts with a K… Karen? No, no—wait—it ends with an 'A'…"
"Kira?" Maria asked, not even hiding the flicker of interest in her voice.
Jake's eyes sparkled. "See? You do care. You're dying to know."
Maria rolled her eyes but unlocked the door.
Mike narrowed his eyes but said nothing, retreating to the kitchen with that slow, dangerous stride that made even silence feel threatening.
Jake slid inside, dramatically collapsing onto the couch with a satisfied sigh.
But just before Maria could close the door—
"WAIT! Don't shut it!" a girl's voice screamed from down the hallway.
Two girls came skidding around the corner like a pack of hunters. Maria smiled sweetly.
Then—bang. Click.
She shut the door and locked it with finality.
Dusting her hands like she'd just finished doing the world a favor, she turned and strolled casually into the living room, where Jake was already trying to make himself at home.
"You look awful," Maria said, barely glancing at him as she flipped a page of the magazine.
Jake, still catching his breath, flopped down beside her with exaggerated exhaustion. His shirt was wrinkled, collar askew, and a faint lipstick mark smudged the edge of his jaw. His hair looked like it had gone through three different wind tunnels.
"I know, baby," he groaned. "You don't understand the hell I just survived to get to you. I had to go through almost every room. One girl screamed and called me a creep. I panicked and said I was the janitor's son."
Maria raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the red mark on his neck. "Looks like you enjoyed it more than you're letting on."
Jake gave a crooked grin, finger tapping the lipstick smudge. "What can I say? I love chaos. But man… girls are wide." He shook his head like a veteran recalling battle trauma.
(Flashback)
It started when Jake slipped into the building's hallway just after gunfire echoed outside.
Everyone else had locked themselves in their rooms, terrified to even breathe loud—so when Jake barged in, door after door, he might as well have been a horror movie jump-scare.
The first door?
He opened it.
A teenager, mid-bite of instant noodles, screamed, threw the cup at him, and slammed the door. Soup splattered against the wall.
Jake muttered, "Rude," and kept moving.
Second door?
He peeked in—then immediately shut it.
But not before catching a very detailed glimpse of a large man in nothing but socks, tangled with a woman in an unfortunate doggy position. The worst part? The woman had a wedding ring. The man didn't.
The man made eye contact—just for a split second—before fainting, face-first into the woman's back.
Jake blinked. "Okay, well… that happened."
Third door.
A family portrait greeted him on the wall just behind it—the same woman from earlier, arms wrapped lovingly around the man she wasn't sleeping with.
Jake stared at the photo.
Stared at the door he just came from.
He whistled. "Drama," he whispered to himself, and walked on.
Fourth door?
A group of girls.
Young, probably college-age.
They were wearing frog-patterned pajamas, green face masks glowing faintly in the dark like something from a horror film. They were all huddled in a circle, whispering over something when Jake opened the door.
He froze.
They stared.
He blinked.
They pounced.
Before he could react, he was dragged inside, assaulted with cackles and sticky lip gloss. One of them planted a quick, sloppy kiss on his jaw as a joke before they shoved him back out into the hallway laughing.
Jake stumbled out, adjusting his collar, dazed. "I… I need therapy."
---
(Back to Present)
Maria was doubled over now, trying to catch her breath between fits of laughter.
Jake, mock-wounded, pressed a hand to his chest. "This is the thanks I get? After surviving a horror house, an affair reveal, and a frog cult?"
Maria wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "You're unbelievable."
Jake grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
---