The days that followed were different.
Kiki had started drawing attention at school — the kind she didn't ask for, but couldn't escape.
Everywhere she went, someone wanted to talk to her.
Boys lingered by the gate, waiting to help her carry her bag. Some brought her snacks, others found reasons to sit beside her in class. She didn't flirt — she only smiled politely — but that was enough to make Eric's blood boil.
He told himself he wasn't the jealous type. But lately, every time he dropped her off and saw another guy standing too close, he gripped the steering wheel harder, his knuckles pale.
One afternoon, he drove to pick her up earlier than usual.
When he arrived, she was at the school park, laughing softly with a tall, brown-haired boy holding her notebook. Her laughter was light — the kind she rarely showed him.
Eric froze.
For a moment, something inside him twisted painfully.
He didn't even wait for her to notice him. He started the car again, the engine growling like his temper.
That evening, Kiki came home smiling, still thinking about her day. But when she saw Eric in the living room, his jaw clenched and eyes cold, she felt the tension.
"You're late," he said flatly.
"I had extra lessons," she replied, trying to sound calm.
"With that guy?" His voice came sharp, almost like an accusation.
Her eyes widened. "What guy? Oh— you mean my classmate? He was just helping—"
"Helping," Eric repeated slowly, standing now. "Funny how every guy suddenly wants to help you."
"Why are you angry?" she shot back, crossing her arms. "You said this whole thing was fake. Contract girlfriend, remember? I'm just playing the part you paid for."
That hit him harder than he expected.
He looked away, the words caught in his throat. "Forget it," he muttered, walking away before she could see the pain in his eyes.
Later that night, Eric sat at the dining table, pretending to eat, though the food barely touched his lips.
In the quiet of the house, he heard her voice — soft and distant, coming from the hallway near her room.
He didn't mean to listen, but her laughter pulled him in like a magnet.
"Yes, I'm fine," she was saying over the phone. "He's still cold, but I think he's getting softer. Maybe… maybe I'll soon be free from all this."
His heart dropped.
Free from all this?
For a long moment, he just sat there, frozen.
He had imagined maybe she felt something too — that her smiles weren't just acting. But hearing that… it crushed him.
He got up quietly and went to his study. He poured himself a drink and stared out the window, the city lights blurring through his tears he would never admit to.
"She just wants to be free," he whispered. "And I'm the cage."
The next morning, Kiki came down, cheerful as always, unaware of what he'd heard. But Eric wasn't at the table. His chair was empty, his plate untouched.
When she asked the maid, she was told he had left early for "a trip."
No one knew when he'd be back.
Kiki stood there, confused and strangely hurt.
She didn't know why her chest felt heavy — or why she suddenly missed his voice, even when it was scolding her.
She sighed softly and whispered,
"Why does it feel so empty without him?"
For three days, Eric didn't return.
The mansion felt painfully quiet — every sound echoing against the walls that once carried his voice.
Kiki tried to keep herself busy — reading, walking through the garden, pretending not to care — but she couldn't ignore the heaviness inside her. Every morning, she still looked toward the stairs, half-expecting him to walk down in his dark suit, one hand tucked into his pocket, eyes sharp and unreadable.
But he never did.
At night, she found herself staring at the clock, wondering where he was.
Was he angry? Or did he finally get tired of her?
One evening, she walked into his study. It still smelled faintly of him — warm cologne and the woodsy scent of his whiskey. His jacket hung on the chair, and there was an unfinished glass beside it. She sat there, tracing her fingers around the rim of the glass.
"I miss you," she whispered softly, almost ashamed of the words.
Just then, her phone buzzed — a message from her classmate, the same guy who had helped her days ago.
"Kiki, are you okay? You've been quiet."
She smiled faintly and replied, "I'm fine. Just… thinking about something."
But even as she typed, her mind wasn't on her phone. It was on Eric.
⸻
That night, she dreamt of him — the way his eyes darkened when he was angry, the sound of his voice when he called her "Kiki" like it meant something more.
When she woke up the next morning, her chest ached.
And then — as if her thoughts had called him — she heard the deep growl of a car engine outside.
Her heart skipped.
She ran to the balcony and saw him — stepping out of his black car, his shirt slightly open at the collar, his hair tousled like he hadn't slept well. He looked tired, but still dangerously captivating.
Kiki hurried downstairs, but the moment she saw his face, she stopped.
His eyes were cold — distant.
"Welcome back," she said quietly.
He only nodded. "Thanks."
There was no warmth in his tone, no teasing remark, nothing. He walked straight past her into his study, slamming the door behind him.
Kiki stood there, feeling a lump rise in her throat.
He stayed locked in that room for hours. When he finally came out, it was late — and she was in the living room, curled up on the couch watching TV.
"Eric," she called softly.
He stopped. "What?"
"Are you… okay?"
He gave a low chuckle, bitter and tired. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You just seem—"
"Don't," he cut her off sharply. "Don't pretend to care. You don't have to. You'll be free soon, remember?"
The words stabbed like a knife.
Kiki stood up, her eyes glistening. "You heard me that night, didn't you?"
He turned, his expression unreadable.
"I didn't mean it that way," she whispered. "I just meant I wanted to be free from the lies, not from you."
Eric looked at her — really looked at her — for the first time in days. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, his mask slipped.
"Then why does it hurt every time I look at you?" he said quietly.
Kiki froze.
Before she could speak, he turned away, walking toward the door. But she caught his hand — trembling, desperate.
"Because maybe you feel the same way I do," she said, her voice breaking.
Eric stopped. His fingers tightened around hers, his body stiff with emotion he couldn't hide anymore.
The silence between them was electric. The air felt heavier — charged.
And when he finally turned, his gaze softened — like something inside him finally surrendered.
He cupped her face slowly, his thumb brushing her cheek. "You drive me insane, Kiki," he murmured. "I told myself this was just an act. But every time you smile, every time you look at someone else—"
He paused, his voice low, his breath warm against her lips. "I forget everything."
Kiki's heart pounded. "Then stop pretending."
He looked into her eyes — the walls breaking, the anger fading — and this time, when he kissed her, it wasn't from impulse or control.
It was because he couldn't hold back anymore.