Days passed, and the mansion felt heavier with silence.
Kiki barely spoke to Eric anymore. Every time she tried to, something inside her stopped her — maybe pride, maybe fear. Eric, on the other hand, acted as though nothing had changed. He was quiet, cold even, yet every time she walked past, his gaze followed her before he could stop himself.
At dinner, he would steal glances — short, sharp ones that burned more than any word could.
Sometimes, their eyes met across the table, and neither of them looked away fast enough.
He hated that she could still affect him.
She hated that she cared whether he did.
That night, Eric sat alone in his study, a glass of whiskey half empty in his hand. He tried to drown the confusion in his chest, but no amount of drink could erase her face from his thoughts. Why can't I just stop thinking about her? he asked himself, pressing his palm to his temple.
He laughed bitterly. "She's just a girl… a contract girlfriend," he murmured, though his voice cracked on the word just.
Kiki couldn't sleep either. Her mind kept replaying the way he looked at her, the way his voice softened unexpectedly sometimes. She didn't understand him, yet her heart reacted to his silence as though it carried meaning.
Around 1 a.m., she heard the sound of the front door opening — hurried steps, uneven breathing, and then… nothing.
Her chest tightened. "Eric?"
No answer.
When she rushed out, she found him leaning against the wall, blood trickling down his lip. His shirt was torn, bruises already darkening his skin.
"Eric!" she gasped, running to him. "What happened?"
He tried to brush her off. "Nothing. Just… some idiots at the club." But before he could take another step, his knees gave way.
Kiki caught him just in time. "You're insane," she muttered as she dragged him to her room, half-cursing, half-crying.
By the time she finished cleaning his wounds and bandaging his arm, the night had grown silent again. She sat beside him on the bed, exhaustion finally taking over. Her fingers brushed his hair out of his face, and she sighed softly. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?"
Eric stirred slightly but didn't answer. When she finally drifted to sleep, her hand was still resting on his.
The next morning, when she woke, he was gone.
For a second, she wondered if she had imagined everything. But then she saw the towel and bloodstained bandage in the sink, and her chest tightened again.
At breakfast, he was already there, calm, unreadable as always.
"You're late," he said, not looking at her.
She wanted to say thank you or ask how he felt, but he cut her off before she could speak. "About that night… nothing happened, right?"
The words stung more than she expected.
She forced a smile. "Right. Nothing."
But when she turned to leave, he said quietly, "You shouldn't worry about me."
She froze. There was something soft in his tone — something almost tender. When she looked back, his gaze was on her again, intense, restless, like a man fighting his own heart.
Later that week, Eric offered to drop her off at school. The ride was quiet, except for the sound of her shallow breathing and the hum of the car engine.
When they arrived, students turned their heads. Whispers filled the air — about the car, about him, about her.
As she stepped out, a classmate ran to her and hugged her. Eric's jaw tightened instantly. He didn't know why his chest burned seeing another man's hands around her.
He drove off, but halfway down the road, he stopped and looked back through the rear mirror.
There she was, smiling — not at him, but at someone else.
He gripped the steering wheel, eyes dark.
He told himself it was just irritation.
But deep down, he knew — it wasn't.
It was jealousy.
And maybe, just maybe… love.
The next morning was quiet, too quiet for a house that big.
Kiki came downstairs, her hair still damp from her shower, dressed simply but with a quiet grace that somehow caught every bit of morning light. Eric was already at the dining table, scrolling through his phone like always — pretending not to notice her.
But he did.
He always did.
Every step she took closer made his heartbeat louder in his chest. He hated it. He hated how her scent clung to the air, how her presence made the room feel alive.
"Good morning," she said softly.
He looked up just once, then back to his phone. "Morning."
But his voice had lost its usual chill — it was rough, low, uncertain.
She sat opposite him and began eating.
After a moment, she noticed something strange.
Her favorite breakfast — toast, scrambled eggs, the exact brand of juice she liked — was all laid out before her.
Her fork paused halfway. "You told the chef to make this?"
He didn't look up. "Maybe."
Her lips curved into a small, teasing smile. "You're not very good at lying, you know."
That made him glance up — just for a second. Their eyes met. For that one heartbeat, the world went silent. Then she looked away, pretending to be busy with her food.
After breakfast, Eric offered to take her to school again.
Kiki hesitated. "I can go alone. You're busy."
He shrugged. "I want to."
That "want" lingered in her ears all the way to the car.
This time, the drive was filled with a strange kind of warmth. The silence between them wasn't awkward anymore — it was charged.
When they reached the gate of her college, students turned, whispering again. Kiki tried to step out quickly, but Eric leaned slightly toward her. His voice dropped, almost possessive.
"Don't let anyone touch you today."
She blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"
He met her eyes, his jaw clenched. "You heard me."
She stared at him for a moment, confused, maybe even a little shaken. Then she smiled faintly, grabbed her bag, and stepped out.
He watched her walk away — the sway of her steps, the way she laughed when her friend waved at her. For some reason, it hurt to see.
He told himself he didn't care, that she was just part of the deal.
But his hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.
That evening, he couldn't focus at work.
Every email, every phone call blurred in his head. All he could think about was her.
Her laugh. Her voice. Her eyes when she looked at him like she could see the parts he tried to hide.
When he got home, she was already in the garden, watering flowers. Her hair glowed under the fading sunset, and for a moment, Eric just stood there watching. He didn't even realize he was smiling.
Then she looked up and caught him staring.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
He cleared his throat quickly, breaking his gaze. "No. Just… checking the time."
She giggled. "You don't even have a watch on."
He turned away before she could see the flush that threatened his composure. "You talk too much."
She laughed again, light and real — the kind of sound that could make even his cold heart stumble.
That night, Eric lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
She's changing me, he thought. And I hate it.
But deep down, he didn't hate it at all.
And somewhere in the next room, Kiki whispered to herself,
"I wish he'd stop pretending he doesn't care."