Neva stares at him in utter disbelief—her cheeks and ears burning so hot she can almost feel them burst.
Her lips part slightly… then press shut again, words failing her completely.
Then she glances around, her brows furrowing in thought—her almond eyes wide and shimmering, like those of a startled doe.
Then she feels it—a gentle warmth brushing through her hair, a lingering touch resting on the crown of her head.
An electric jolt shoots through her nerves at once, sending her stumbling back—
her mind reeling, dead startled.
Another step, and she'll crash straight into the store's rack, knocking down the neatly stacked goods—embarrassing the heck out of the new girl in the neighborhood.
A step back—
And in a sudden whirl of charged tension, he reaches for her—his warm fingers wrapping firmly around her slender wrist.
A sharp gasp escapes her as he pulls her toward him, her chest colliding with his for a fleeting heartbeat—suspended in a clouded haze of breath and shivering heat.
She freezes against the mystery man,
her thoughts splintering into silence at the sudden closeness.
Then, gathering her breath, she presses her palms against his stomach and pushes him away—abruptly, almost desperately.
"H–how dare you!" Neva snaps, fists clenched against her chest, ready to defend herself—convinced he's trying to take advantage of her.
How could she?! How could she let her guard down so easily?!
He lifts his hands, stepping closer. "I just—"
"Don't you dare take another step!" she warns, her fist raised inches from his face—her stance sharp, precise, like that of a trained fighter ready to strike.
He halts just a step away, towering over her, an amused glint flickering in his eyes.
Then he laughs softly... So cruelly sweet it sends a chill rippling down her spine.
Neva blinks hard—and shakes her head.
"How dare you make fun of me?! I can dislocate your bones and put them right back!" she hisses, fists trembling with barely contained rage.
A mischievous spark flickers in his eyes—alive, unrestrained. Those deep, magnificent eyes that could make even her untold truths strip themselves bare.
" Oh really?" he murmurs, squeezing his clothed bicep—broad and solid beneath the thin fabric. "Then I suppose I'm in for quite the massage," he adds, a faint, cocky smile curving his lips.
Neva grits her teeth. If only—if only she'd taken those karate lessons before moving to Vernellia, she could've easily bruised him purple and black.
She narrows her eyes, studying his form. Maybe—just maybe—she could land a punch on his face. Break a nose, knock out a tooth or two. But that's about it—if she even manages to land a strike.
And he—he's a big man. Broad. Muscled. Easily six feet, and a little more.
No… she doesn't stand a chance. Attacking him would be summoning her own death.
She moved here to start anew—to live, to finally enjoy life. She's not dying before she's even found a purpose for it.
She closes her eyes and sighs, her muscles finally loosening as her arms fall to her sides. Then she feels it—eyes, whispers.
Her gaze darts about, scattered; customers steal quiet, judging glances before pretending not to look.
At the same aisle ahead,
a woman with a little boy draws Neva's attention; the child tugs and whines until the mother catches his eye,
grabs his hand, and hustles him and the cart away—erasing their small, awkward scene.
"Having second thoughts?" the mystery man asks, meeting her eyes with that same teasing calm.
Neva's brows knit into a displeased frown. "I don't want to cause a scene here!" she snaps, gripping her cart—overflowing with both essentials and a handful of useless things she'd grabbed to stall—and pushes it toward the cash counter.
"Then perhaps we can find another, private spot?" he suggests, his hushed footsteps trailing behind hers.
She huffs in anger but doesn't respond. How dare he?! Does he think she's stupid?
---
She steps out of the convenience store, her face flushed with anger, brows furrowed tight. He follows a beat later,
the automatic doors sighing closed behind him—then falls into stride beside her, silent, unbothered, as though shadowing her is the most natural thing in the world.
"Let me help you with the bags," he says, falling into step beside her, his tone smooth—too casual, too comfortable for a man who's been frustrating her to the core.
"No!" she snaps, though the two heavy polythene bags strain her frail arms, the plastic cutting into her palms.
Her lack of exercise mocks her now, regret hitting her with cruel precision at the worst possible moment.
"I won't run away with your groceries," he says, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie as he strolls beside her, maddeningly calm. "Just trying to be of help."
"I don't need any help!" she retorts, quickening her pace, her voice sharp with irritation.
"Seriously! Why do you keep following me?!" she snaps, staring straight ahead, the soft beauty of the autumn street unable to reach her—the lanterns flickering to life as the sky bleeds into crimson dusk.
The world grows quieter, emptier, only a few passersby wandering the narrow road leading toward the Rose Byrne Apartments.
"I'm not," he murmurs, his calm tone only fueling her frustration.
She shoots him a sharp glare.
"I'm just on my way home too." A small smile tugs at his lips, the amber glow of the streetlight painting his face in deceptive warmth—so devastatingly handsome it almost makes his words believable.
"You better not be playing with me," she warns, her voice tight with nerves and stubborn pride.
Her heart blazes with one singular goal—to reach her apartment safe and sound, without further humiliation.
Then she'll lock the door, eat, sleep, and forget this entire mortifying encounter ever happened.
---
The world is swallowed in shadow by the time she reaches Rose Byrne Apartment—tall, charming, its few lit windows glimmering faintly through the glass.
Victorian lanterns line the stone walls of the property, their golden light spilling across the red and orange leaves beneath,
brushing the flowerbeds in a soft glow that brightens the quiet autumn night.
Neva climbs the open staircase to the first floor, her steps quick and uneven.
The plastic handles bite into her reddened palms, the weight of the bags burning through her tender skin as she silently begs for relief.
As she reaches her apartment door,
Neva sets the grocery bags down with a dull thud, the sound echoing softly through the quiet, lamplit corridor—its patterned iron railings casting delicate shadows along the walls, framing the hush of the evening.
She straightens slowly, hands resting on her hips, shoulders sagging as she exhales a long, relieved breath—finally.
Then she glances toward the mystery man, casually stepping into the corridor.
"Tailing me around still?" she thinks to herself.
She gave him a chance.
She even tried to believe him when he said he was on his way home too.
But there are barely any apartments near Rose Byrne.
That man—how dare he!
He's not only been following her around but now has the audacity to invade her personal space as well!
"I'm calling the cops! You dare deceive me?!" she snarls, pointing a trembling, accusing finger at him.
"I just got this place—and now I'll have to move again because of you! You dare invade my privacy?!"
"But this is my home," he says with a casual shrug, amusement floating in his deep chocolate eyes as he watches her from a few steps away.
"This is my home!
Now you're trying to claim my property? You've got some iron guts!" she snaps, cheeks puffed—not with the flutter of a maiden's heart this time, but flushed red with pure, indignant fury.
Neva's eyes widen as instinct drives her a step back.
Her heart drops as the mystery man advances—slow, deliberate, unfazed,
his expression shifting, something unreadable—intense, flickering in his gaze for a brief, chilling heartbeat.
Her back meets the door with a soft thud, breath catching at the sudden closeness—the heat of him, the faint trace of cedar and smoke in his scent.
She flinches as his palm comes to rest against the wood beside her head, caging her in.
Her throat tightens; she swallows hard, forcing herself to look up—into those eyes, dark and unwavering, studying her face as though memorizing every flicker of fear and defiance that passes through it.
A slow, satisfied smirk curls his lips as he finally steps back, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer—
measured, knowing—before retreating just enough to let her breathe again.
She quickly fumbles for her phone, breath uneven and shallow, fingers trembling as she swipes across the screen—desperate, frantic for signal, for safety, for something solid in this dizzying moment.
But when she looks up, he's already at the door next to hers, fingers gliding over the digital keypad. A soft beep—the lock clicks open, followed by the familiar chime.
Neva freezes—unblinking, dumbfounded—
as he disappears inside without a word, the door shutting softly behind him.
Her thumb hangs suspended in the air, a breath away from pressing the call button.
The door clicks open again, and the mystery man leans out, his head tilting slightly as his calm gaze meets hers.
He chuckles softly, the sound deep and disarming.
"I never deceive, Angel," he says. "Seems like fate's playing its hand well tonight. The universe must've planned this moment—"
he winks, voice dipping into a teasing lilt, "—because, see? I'm your neighbour."
And with that, he slips back inside, the door closing with a quiet click that leaves Neva drowning in stunned silence.
What—what just happened?
The door next to hers creaks open again.
He peeks his head out.
"Oh, you're still here," he drawls. "You'll catch a cold, gorgeous. Go warm up inside… or"—his smirk deepens, shameless and teasing—"do you wanna come in here and let me help you get warm myself?"
Neva gasps, her face draining of colour—flushed, then pale, then flushed again—as she spins around, messy fingers fumbling over the keypad.
She darts inside, slamming the door shut with a thud…
only to crack it open a second later, just wide enough for her arm to shoot out and snatch the nearly forgotten grocery bags.
Then slam—the door closes again, harder this time, sealing her mortification within.
From the other side, laughter ripples through the corridor—low, rich, and amused. The mysterious man leans against his own doorframe, eyes glimmering with warmth and dream beneath the hallway light.
He can't help it—she's sinfully cute.