The morning sun peeked through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. Kimberly stirred, stretching lazily before realizing something strange. Her hand was holding someone else's.
Her eyes widened when she traced the strong, warm grip up to the face beside her bed. Roy. He sat slumped in the chair, his hand caught in hers, his jawline sharp even in sleep, his brows perfectly neat, his whole presence maddeningly composed.
For a moment, she just stared. Her heart skipped as a temptation she didn't recognize whispered to her fingertips—touch his face.
"You can touch if you want to." Roy's voice, deep and low, rumbled through the quiet. His eyes stayed closed, but a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
Kimberly's cheeks flamed. She cleared her throat quickly, yanking her hand back. "Ahem—hmm. And what are you doing in my room?"
Roy finally opened his eyes, calm as ever. "Good morning, ma'am. I hope you slept well."
"I did… and why are you here?"
"It's nice you slept well. I'll leave you to do your thing." He rose smoothly, bowed slightly, and turned for the door.
"Roy!" she shouted after him.
But he didn't stop. Didn't even look back. The door clicked shut.
Kimberly growled in frustration and hurled her pillow at the door. "Argh! That psychopath. Acting all high and mighty just because he saved me!" She shook her fist at the air.
But then last night's memory replayed in her mind—his fists pounding Kelvin, his arms carrying her with such care, his jacket covering her bare shoulders. A smile crept onto her lips before she could stop it.
"Stop smiling, you silly girl!" she scolded herself, slapping her cheeks. Then she marched into the bathroom to shower.
By the time she emerged, her clothes were neatly arranged on the bed as usual. She slipped into a sharp suit, tied her hair into a sleek ponytail, and added light makeup. Checking her phone, she rolled her eyes at the endless missed calls from her father.
"Yeah, the news has reached you," she muttered.
She headed downstairs, heels tapping against the tiled floor, and took her place in the dining room. Just as she bit into toast, her phone rang again—this time Natasha.
"Hey, girl!" Natasha's voice nearly blasted her eardrum. Kimberly yanked the phone from her ear.
"Do you want to make me deaf? Why are you screaming?"
"Was I?"
"Yes. What is it?"
"Is that how you say good morning to your one and only best cousin in the world?"
Kimberly sighed, chewing her food. "Good morning to my one and only best cousin in the world. Now talk."
"Thank you. So, how are you? And how is Mr. Handsome?"
"I was fine until I saw my dad's multiple missed calls."
"Wow, that's fire, girl."
"I know, right? And honestly, I'm not ready for this drama this morning."
"Want me to come with you?"
"No, it's fine. My problem, my mess."
"Kim, don't blame yourself, okay? If I'd known Kelvin was gonna show up, I never would've dragged you to that club."
"It's not your fault, Tasha. None of this is on you. It's Kelvin."
They talked for a while longer before Kimberly ended the call. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, rose gracefully, and walked outside.
Roy was waiting by the car, straight-backed, eyes alert as always.
"To my dad's," she said curtly.
Without a word, he opened the door for her. She slid inside, and the ride began. The silence between them pressed heavier than words. Kimberly folded her arms, staring out the window, but she could still feel his presence—steady, unshakable.
When they arrived at her father's mansion, Roy stepped out and opened her door again. She climbed out, inhaling deeply as her eyes settled on the imposing gates she had known since childhood.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Roy asked, his voice unreadable.
"No, it's fine. It's not a big deal. I'll be fine."
Kimberly drew in another breath, squared her shoulders, and walked into her father's house.