My apartment… was not my apartment.
The same walls, same structure, but everything else?
Gone. Upgraded. Transformed.
The floors were clean, my mismatched chairs replaced with modern ones that didn't creak. A new couch. My poor, almost-dead rice cooker? Replaced with a sleek one that looked like it belonged in a K-drama. The entire kitchen was revamped. Appliances I didn't even know the name of gleamed under the warm morning light.
I stared. My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Behind me, he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, sipping his tea. "So? You like it?"
I turned slowly. "What. Did. You. Do?"
He grinned. "I fixed your little poverty palace. You're welcome."
"You—you can't just—this is—you—"
"I also cooked. You're about… twelve hours late. But don't worry, I ate your share."
"I can't—what—why would you—"
"Your landlady thinks we're married now," he added helpfully. "And she's bringing over more kimchi. So we might as well get matching robes."
I stood there in my wrinkled clothes, dark circles under my eyes, cramps creeping lower, and a growing urge to scream into the abyss.
Kieran just took another sip of tea.
"Seriously," he said, tilting his head. "What happened to you? Did your imaginary rich boy forget you existed halfway through dinner?"
I blinked at him. "I'm going to take a shower. If you value your life, don't talk to me until I come out."
"Duly noted," he said, not even hiding his amusement. "But leave the towel outside when you're done. Yours smells dangerously good."
My eye twitched.
I slammed the bathroom door behind me.
The moment I stepped into the bathroom, I knew something was off.
Clean. Too clean.
And not my kind of clean, the frantic, barely-scrubbed kind you do when someone says they're coming over in ten minutes. No, this was sparkling, organized, expensive kind of clean.
My eyes moved to the shelves. Glass. No longer that cracked plastic rack hanging on for dear life.
The mirror had been replaced too. Frameless and sleek, no rust or water stains along the edges. The tap didn't leak anymore. And the light, God, the light was soft and warm and didn't flicker like a horror movie intro.
Even the floor mats were different. Plush. Actual cotton. Not those cheap synthetic ones I got at a clearance sale.
I stood in the middle of the room for a second, just… blinking.
Then I sighed and pulled my shirt off slowly, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Yikes.
Mascara smudged, lips chapped, face a bit puffy. I looked like a wet napkin someone forgot in their purse.
I reached behind to unclasp my bra, shaking my head.
I should've said thank you, I thought bitterly. Before storming in like a hungover goblin.
He'd done so much. Spent so much.
First the money. Then replacing half the house. And now the bathroom?
What the hell does he even do?
The question sat loud and obnoxious in my head as I pulled my bra off and tossed it into the laundry bin. I stepped closer to the counter, running my fingers over the new soap dispenser. Marble. Actual marble.
Is he rich? I mean, obviously. But like, rich-rich? Or sketchy rich?
Drug dealer?
Probably.
Arms dealer?
That smirk says yes.
Organ trafficker?
I slapped my cheeks gently. "No, Kina. Get a grip."
Still, the thought lingered.
Does it even matter? I wondered. He hasn't hurt me. He hasn't asked for anything.
Unless… maybe this was it. The soft approach. Give her everything, make her depend on you, then collect.
My fingers hovered over the waistband of my pants.
God, I'm spiraling.
I let out a long breath and finally pushed my pants down.
And froze.
Blood.
Not a dot.
Not a smear.
It looked like someone lost a battle down there.
I stared at the spot, mind racing.
No. No no no no,
It wasn't supposed to start yet. My period tracker didn't say anything. And with the cramps, the hangover, and now this,
Perfect.
Just perfect.
I sat down on the toilet, dropped my head into my hands and let out the most pained sigh imaginable.
I had one objective.
Sneak from the bathroom to my room.
No noise. No interaction. No Kieran.
Just me, my war zone uterus, and the stash of pads in the bottom drawer of my dresser.
I cracked the bathroom door open just a smidge and peeked.
Coast clear.
I didn't hear his voice. No footsteps. No obnoxious teasing. Just the faint clinking of a mug against something ceramic.
He was probably in the kitchen, being his annoyingly domestic self.
Perfect.
I wrapped the towel tighter around me like it was battle armor, then tiptoed out of the bathroom with the cautious precision of a raccoon stealing snacks at 3 a.m.
My thighs protested every step. The cramps had moved from dull ache to full-blown demon possession and I was holding myself together by the sheer willpower of shame.
My room was just a few feet away.
Almost there.
Almost—
"Need help?"
I jumped like I'd been tasered.
I spun around too fast and winced as my gut twisted from the sudden motion. Kieran was leaning against the hallway wall like a damn villain, sipping from that obnoxiously fancy tea mug and smirking at me like he'd been waiting there for hours.
"Jesus! You scared the hell out of me."
He raised an eyebrow. "You look like you're about to pass out. Should I be concerned?"
"I'm fine," I said, gripping my towel tighter like I could squeeze the pain out of my insides. "Just… tired."
His eyes narrowed. I could tell he didn't believe me, but thankfully, he didn't press.
He took a long sip of tea, not moving. Not budging.
Great. He was going to stand there and watch.
I turned slowly, casually, totally not in pain, and walked the last few feet to my room with the grace of a dying flamingo.
Once inside, I closed the door gently, dropped the towel, and basically fell onto my bed.
"Mother of—" I groaned, curling up for a second before dragging myself to the drawer.
I yanked it open and retrieved my proud, trusty pads, the thick ones that felt like adult diapers but could soak up the wrath of hell itself.
Minutes later, I was bathed, padded up, and dressed in the largest, softest shirt I could find.
But walking? That was no longer an option.
I waddled back to the bed like I had a brick between my thighs and a butcher knife lodged in my gut.
I flopped back onto the sheets, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a dying whale.
I was warm, sore, mortified, and bleeding out.
And I still had to face him.
Kill me now.