"You weren't mine, but I acted like you were. That's where the war began."
~Annie Flame~
Chapter 8 – Eiden's invitation
A month passed by and everything was back to normal.
And then one day Eiden invited Reen to his home. Eiden offered if she should come pick her up but she refused that she'll be fine.
The cab slowed down and stopped in front of a big, quiet house. It looked too clean, too perfect—like it was hiding something dark behind those walls. Reen stepped out, feeling a nervous tightness in her chest. She pulled her hoodie straight, ran a hand through her hair, and looked up at the tall gates.
She had never been here before. Not once. But today was different. Eiden had invited her, casually, like it meant nothing. But everything about it meant something. The kind of something that made her stomach knot and her palms clammy.
The house was massive. Modern on the outside, but eerily still. Like it hadn't been touched in weeks. When the gates clicked open, she wondered how he saw her from inside. Cameras maybe? Or just… instincts?
The front door opened before she even reached the top step.
"Hey," Eiden said, leaning against the doorway, one hand braced above him like he was posing for a moody magazine shoot.
Reen smirked, lifting a brow. "Staring out the window waiting for me?"
He didn't answer. Just stepped back and let her in.
"I thought your parents would be—" she started.
"Abroad," he cut in. "They are gone for a while."
The way he said it… was too casual. Too smooth. But his eyes were gleaming—like he had just won something.
"So… it's just us?" she asked.
He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "I was hoping for that."
The air thickened. Her heartbeat wasn't exactly cooperating.
The inside was cleaner than expected. Minimalist, sterile, but with hints of life here and there. A crooked photo frame. A pair of sneakers tossed near the stairs. Reen's gaze wandered.
"Damn. Fancy," she murmured, taking it all in.
He watched her like she was some piece of art—like she was the only thing in the house worth paying attention to. "Want the grand tour?"
She laughed. "Sure. Show me your secret murder dungeon, rich boy."
"I only give tours to the girl I like." (He was talking about Reen and she could get the hint.)
"Oh?" she teased, stepping closer. "Guess I'm special then."
His expression twitched. Something sharp beneath the smile. "You have no idea."
Later, as they sat in his room—his room that looked nothing like him and exactly like him all at once—Reen let her guard down a little.
She traced the bookshelf with her fingertip. "It's weird being here," she admitted. "I've only ever seen you in the world. At school. In crowds. Alone with you feels…"
"Different?"
"Intense."
He chuckled low, leaning back on his bed, arms behind his head. "Good intense?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were on him now—on how the soft lighting hit his cheekbones just right, on the line of his jaw, on how absurdly pretty he was. Pretty in a way that made her question if the universe had given him the wrong gender.
But then her gaze trailed lower. The veins on his arms. The muscle lines under his shirt. Nah. That was all man.
She blinked fast, snapped out of her own traitorous thoughts.
"Stop staring," he teased, voice smug.
"You wish," she fired back, tossing a cushion at him.
They both laughed, and for a moment, it was simple. Silly. Light.
Until Reen was about to slip
But Aiden caught her from her wrist.
The world seems to stop.
His fingers weren't rough—but they weren't gentle either. They lingered. And his eyes locked on hers.
He said breaking the silence.
"You always tease when you're nervous?"
"Do I look nervous to you?" she challenged, leaning in a little too close.
"You look like you're trying to stay in control."
She paused. Tilted her head. "And what if I am?"
"Then I'll keep pushing until you lose it."
There it was. That darkness. Peeking through the charm like a blade beneath silk.
But instead of pulling away, she smiled.
"You're insane."
He let her go. "Maybe. But you're still here."
Later that evening, as Reen sat curled up on his couch, sipping from a mug he had made her (tea, not poison, disappointingly), she caught him watching her again. That same look. Hungry, but patient.
"Why'd you invite me here, Eiden?" she asked, even though she already knew.
He walked over, stood in front of her, leaned down.
"Because when you leave, I want you to miss it."
She stared up at him, heat crawling up her neck.
"And?" Reen probably knew what she was saying. Provoking him intentionally.
"And I want this house to remember you."
She set her mug down.
"This house might," she whispered, "but I'm harder to keep."
"We will see..."
He smiled. But it wasn't a smile of defeat.
It was a promise.
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End of Chapter 8
To be continued....