An Phong took a taxi straight to the address from the roster.
What greeted him was a sprawling, modern home—closer to a villa than a house. He froze on the sidewalk, eyes darting between the gleaming number plate and the note on his phone.
It matched. Perfectly.
This… is really his place? The thought left him momentarily dazed. Some part of him felt out of place standing in front of something this polished, this… distant.
He drew in a breath and pressed the doorbell.
Ding-dong.
The chime echoed across the still courtyard. No answer.
He frowned and tried again. Once. Twice. The silence remained absolute.
Don't tell me… he didn't come home?
Frustration pricked. With a sigh, An Phong lowered the backpack, setting it neatly on the step. He was just about to leave when—
Click.
The sound was faint but unmistakable.
The door… was unlocked.
Blinking, he pushed lightly. Sure enough, it swung open. The inner door, too, unlatched.
What the hell? Did someone break in?
His pulse spiked. Standing at the threshold, two instincts warred inside him. One said: Leave it. Drop the bag and go. Not your problem. The other whispered: What if the house has really been robbed? Could you live with walking away?
Jaw tight, An Phong gripped the bag and stepped inside.
The interior stretched wide and gleaming, even grander than it looked from the street. Thick carpet. Glossy furniture. Surfaces polished so clean they reflected back his outline. And yet, beneath the elegance lurked a silence that pressed down like a weight.
Not a sound. Not a soul.
He swallowed, eyes scanning the vast space. No one… but the door was open?
Then—
Thud.
A sharp noise upstairs. Something had hit the floor.
An Phong's breath hitched. His heart pounded so loud it filled his ears. A burglar? Or…
He crept toward the staircase, catching sight of a golf club propped in the corner. Without hesitation, he snatched it up, palms damp with sweat.
Step by step, he climbed. The house seemed to hold its breath. Only his own quickening gasps broke the silence.
Near the landing, he spotted a door left ajar. Light spilled across the hall in a narrow streak.
He pressed himself to the frame, club raised, and leaned in—ready to shout at the intruder.
But what he saw stopped him cold.
Uy Phong lay sprawled on the floor, as if he had tumbled out of bed and lacked the strength to rise. His body trembled, breath ragged, low groans slipping past his lips. When he rolled halfway over, An Phong caught the full sight: half-lidded eyes, face slick with sweat, cheeks burning with fever.
The sight rooted him to the spot. The golf club slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor.
The sound jolted Uy Phong. He jerked upright, bracing against the ground, bleary eyes narrowing. The moment they found An Phong, a hoarse snarl tore out:
"Damn it—what the hell are you doing here?!"
The anger broke into a harsh cough. An Phong rushed forward, steadying him, easing him back onto the bed.
Uy Phong gritted his teeth, voice rough and strained:
"I asked… why are you in my house?"
An Phong looked down at him, gaze as cool and sharp as ice on a wounded animal. His reply was flat:
"I came to return your backpack. The door wasn't locked. I thought there might be a break-in."
A bitter, raspy laugh escaped Uy Phong.
"Heh… so kind of you. Someone so 'good'… yet you're the one who called me a liar."
His words slurred with fever, uncertain if they even came from clear thought.
An Phong's brows knit, confusion flashing briefly—only for Uy Phong to tilt his head and smirk faintly, almost mocking.
"Don't bother pretending. You called me a liar… So tell me. Since you're already here—do you like me?"
The question fell heavy, like a stone shattering the still water between them.
An Phong's eyes widened. His tongue felt numb, his throat locked tight.
Uy Phong dragged a hand across his damp forehead, whispering hoarsely:
"What's wrong…? Like someone but too scared to admit it? Pathetic…"
"I don't—" The words slipped out, low but steel-edged.
Uy Phong squinted. "…Huh?"
An Phong's gaze locked with his, cold and unflinching. His voice dropped, hard and final:
"I don't like you."