A sudden click echoed through the quiet hallway as Sherina unlocked the door to her apartment. She slipped inside, Leon following close behind like a shadow. Both removed their shoes by the narrow entryway, his tall frame making the modest space feel even smaller.
Leon, still holding the plastic bag of convenience store food, set it down gently on the round table—its surface so small that the bag nearly covered it entirely.
His eyes scanned the apartment, taking in every detail. A one-bedroom unit, bare but clean, with a plain white fridge tucked beside the tiny sink, two mismatched chairs by the table, and a wooden sliding door leading into the bedroom. It wasn't much, but it was hers—and that alone made it carry a kind of warmth.
Sherina disappeared into the bedroom without a word, the door sliding shut behind her. Leon stood there, silent, his gaze fixed on the closed door. When she emerged moments later, she tossed something at him—a shirt.
"Don't complain. That's all I've got. The washroom's over there." She pointed lazily toward the white door near the entrance.
Leon caught the shirt and unfolded it. A plain, oversized men's tee… with a bright yellow smiley flower printed in the middle. His lips curved into an amused grin.
"Your boyfriend's shirt?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Sherina brushed past him, heading straight for the sink as she set a pot of water to boil. "It's mine. If you don't like it, then go out," she shot back flatly, her voice sharp, though her ears betrayed her with the faintest shade of pink.
Leon chuckled under his breath, the sound deep and careless, before strolling toward her. He leaned close—too close—and bent down until his lips hovered by her ear.
His breath brushed against her skin as he whispered, "I didn't know Ms. Sze had a taste for cute things."
Sherina jolted, nearly dropping the ladle in her hand, her cheeks flaring red. Just as she turned to glare at him, Leon smoothly slipped the ladle from her grip, his chest brushing lightly against her shoulder.
"I'll do it," he murmured in that low, velvety tone of his, eyes never leaving hers. "Go freshen up. You've worked long enough."
Her pulse hammered, but she forced her brows together, mustering the strength to counter him. "Do you even know how to cook?" she demanded, though her voice came out weaker than she intended.
Leon tilted his head, his gaze darkening as he leaned even closer, so near she could see the faint gleam in his eyes. "Then…" his voice dropped lower, almost like a dare, "do you want to cook together?"
Heat surged across her face, her thoughts scattering like sparks. Panicking, she shoved him lightly in the chest, avoiding his eyes. "Alright! Just… just don't burn anything!" she blurted, spinning around before he could see how flustered she truly was.
Without waiting for his reply, Sherina rushed toward the bathroom, her heart still racing, leaving Leon by the stove with the ladle in hand—and that smirk of his growing wider.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and Sherina leaned against it for a moment, pressing her palm to her chest. Her heart was thundering like it had no intention of slowing down.
"Why does he always have to get so close…" she muttered under her breath, glaring at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips parted slightly as if she had forgotten how to breathe properly.
She stripped out of her clothes and stepped under the warm stream, letting it wash over her skin. The water should have been soothing, but her mind betrayed her. It kept circling back to him.
The way he leaned in, whispering by her ear.
The brush of his breath on her skin.
That reckless smirk like he was always two steps ahead of her.
She bit down on her lip, shaking her head as droplets slid down her face.
"Get a grip, Sherina. He's just teasing you… like he always does."
Through the thin walls, she heard the scrape of a chair being pulled, the faint hiss of boiling broth.
Sherina shut her eyes, letting the water stream down, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wash away the image of him standing in her kitchen, cooking like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And the thought struck her, uninvited but sharp—
If I'm not careful, this man might ruin me
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Leon's POV
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I sat there, eyes fixed on the simmering broth, watching as the bubbles gently surfaced around the noodles, the soft whites of the egg, and the thin slices of meat I'd dropped in. The steam curled upward, carrying a savory warmth that filled the tiny apartment.
Everything was ready—two bowls side by side, sliced bread neatly stacked, and cold water poured into the glasses.
A smirk tugged at my lips as a thought crossed my mind.
'Our first meal together. Not bad. I'm sure this will be the best-tasting food I'll ever have in my life.'
The sudden click of the bathroom door snapped me back to reality. I lifted my gaze—and there she was.
Sherina.
Her damp hair clung to her shoulders, a towel loosely hanging around her neck. The faint gleam of water still traced her collarbones. She wore a light tank top and small shorts, exposing more skin than I had ever seen her allow. For a second, the sight stole the air from my lungs.
She gave me a quick glance then her eyes falling to the ramen. "Ohh, that's looking good," she said, her voice tinged with approval, oblivious to how amused—how utterly captivated—I was by her presence.
She sat across from me, picked up a spoon, and scooped up the broth without hesitation. The way her lips curved into a chuckle after tasting it nearly undid me.
"Mm. Tastes good."
Ah, if only she knew.
She doesn't realize how much I crave her.
How much restraint it takes for me not to pull her across the table and devour her lips, her skin, everything I've dreamed of touching again.
She trusts me—so much that she can sit in front of me like this, careless and unguarded. And she has no idea how dangerous that is.
I lifted my own spoon, took a sip, and let the warmth spread across my tongue. She was right—it did taste good. But what made it unforgettable wasn't the flavor.
It was her—sitting there, smiling in quiet satisfaction, eating something I had prepared with my own hands.
That feeling? It was priceless.
"By the way," she spoke suddenly, snapping me back to the present.
"My classes start at ten in the morning. You can stay here and sleep for now, just lock the door when you leave." She casually bit into her boiled egg as if the offer wasn't tugging at every last shred of my control.
I leaned forward slightly, watching her. "Can I walk you to school?" My voice came out lighter, teasing, but there was a hint of something real beneath it.
Her answer was flat, almost immediate. "Nope. You probably can't handle crowded trains and buses. And besides, you've got work, right? You should go back."
I pouted slightly, resting my cheek against my palm as I leaned on the table, watching her eat. The refusal didn't sting, but it left a quiet weight inside me. I didn't argue, though.
.
When we finished, I insisted on washing the dishes. She didn't fight me on it, disappearing into the bedroom to tidy things. My hands moved over the plates and spoons automatically, but my thoughts… my thoughts were restless.
This.
This was exactly what I wanted. The quietness of it. The way we moved around each other naturally, as if we'd done this a hundred times before. Like we were a couple who belonged in the same space.
It had always been my dream—to snatch her away, to keep her only for myself.
Back then, I held back. I couldn't force her into something she wasn't ready for.
But now? Now I'll make her want me. I'll make sure of it.
When the last dish was set to dry, I walked toward the bedroom. The bed foam had already been separated into two, each one neatly arranged on opposite sides.
"You sleep there. I'll sleep here," she said pointing at the bed foam beside the small window
I raised a brow. "Can't we just share one bed?"
"Nope," she shot back instantly, and without another word, she slipped beneath her blanket, turning her back to me. "Goodnight. I have school tomorrow."
I lay down on the other foam, resting an arm behind my head, and turned toward her. She fell asleep too quickly, too carelessly, as if she trusted me far too much for her own good.
My eyes lingered on her, on the way her chest rose and fell softly with each breath. She looked almost fragile in sleep. Carefree.
Not yet.
I can't touch her yet.
Not until she looks at me the way I look at her. Not until she wants me—truly wants me.
And when that day comes…
Then she'll be mine again.
The room had grown quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside the window and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
I lay there, eyes fixed on her back, tracing the curve of her shoulders beneath the blanket. Her hair spread across the pillow like a dark river, still faintly damp, the faint scent of her shampoo drifting in the air and reaching me where I lay.
It was maddening—sweet and intoxicating, like a drug I shouldn't touch but couldn't turn away from.
She shifted slightly in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips. My chest tightened.
God, she had no idea what she did to me.
I clenched my fist, forcing it to stay where it was, resting beside me on the mattress. My heart thudded painfully, as if punishing me for holding back.
But I had to.
Because the truth is, I don't just want to touch her—I want her to want me back. To need me. To choose me, this time.
She looked so vulnerable, her lashes brushing her cheeks, her lips parted softly.
Innocent. Unaware.so unaware of the storm inside me.
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End of POV
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Sherina stirred awake, eyelids heavy, only to squint at the clock on the wall. Almost nine o'clock. Her chest tightened—she needed to move fast if she didn't want to be late. With a small groan, she pushed herself up and turned to the other side of the room.
There he was.
Leon.
Still asleep on the floor bed she had prepared for him last night, his broad frame stretched out, his expression softened in rare tranquility. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his lips slightly parted, the faintest shadow of exhaustion clinging to his features.
Sherina's gaze lingered on him longer than she intended. Something inside her softened at the sight. He looked so different from the sharp, confident man who always teased her—here, he looked almost… vulnerable. She smiled faintly before carefully slipping off her bed, gathering her clothes and bag without a sound. She shut the bedroom door behind her, determined not to disturb his rest.
She took a quick shower and wear her jeans and shirt for her first day at the university. Hair still damp, she reheated the ramen from last night, the steam fogging up the small kitchen window, and placed it neatly on the table. Digging for a pen, she scribbled a note on a scrap of paper and left it by the bowl:
Eat breakfast before leaving. Lock the door, okay? Work hard!
(:) drawn at the corner in a playful doodle.*)
Satisfied, she slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out into the crisp morning air.
The narrow alley behind her apartment was already buzzing with neighbors sweeping, vendors setting up carts, and the familiar smell of fried bread drifting in the air. Sherina quickened her pace, weaving through until she reached the train station just a minute away. That was why she chose this location—convenience mattered when time was always slipping from her fingers.
Inside the train, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against rails gave her a moment to breathe. She unlocked her phone—no messages from Delly.
Sherina chewed on her lip. Should I tell her Leon stayed the night at my place? But then she remembered Delly's words, sharp and clear: "I don't want any interruptions from my family."
She let out a small sigh and pocketed the phone. Maybe silence was better.
The next station arrived. Sherina stepped out, her eyes landing on the towering gates ahead.
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Winston University.
The largest and most prestigious university in Eden Country. Its gleaming buildings reached for the sky, students in neatly pressed clothes swarming the courtyards. Sons and daughters of millionaires—future heirs, socialites, business magnates in the making—filled the place with an air of superiority.
Sherina, however, couldn't help but smile, the corners of her lips tugging upward as she adjusted her strap. A full scholarship had carried her here. Despite the weight of her past, despite the gap of years she had lost, she had made it to the very center of Edenia City's elite grounds.
Walking into her classroom, she noticed the faces—bright, younger, some curious glances directed at her. Most of them were probably two years her junior. The reality stung for a second, but she lifted her chin. Only one year away from graduation—that was all that mattered.
And yet, as the lessons dragged on, her thoughts drifted.
Has Leon left yet? Or is he still asleep?
The image of him sprawled on the bed flickered in her mind.
He had looked so… worn out.
She had seen it before—the countless nights at the villa where he seemed endlessly at work, bearing more than most men his age could handle. Perhaps that was why he didn't want to return home last night.
Perhaps, for once, he just needed a place where he could rest without a hundred eyes watching him.
Sherina's pen stilled over her notes, her thoughts far from the classroom.
Maybe… he just wanted to breathe.
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Leon's POV
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I opened my eyes slowly. For a moment, I didn't move. The faint scent of lavender and soap lingered in the sheets, and I realized this was her room. Sherina's.
I turned my head. Her bed was empty.
I rose and pushed the door open. The small apartment greeted me with its simplicity—the round table, the compact kitchen sink, the plain fridge with tiny magnets clinging to it, and shelves that carried only the bare essentials. It was nothing like the vast, empty halls I lived in. This place felt lived in. Human. Real.
That was when I noticed it.
On the table, steam still faintly rising from the bowl, sat reheated ramen. And beside it, a folded piece of paper.
I stepped closer, curiosity tugging at me. Picking up the note, I read her handwriting—soft strokes, a little uneven but so distinctly hers:
Eat breakfast before leaving. Lock the door, okay? Work hard!
(:) drawn at the bottom, almost childlike.*)
For a second, I just stared. A laugh escaped me—quiet, disbelieving. My chest felt uncomfortably tight, as though something warm had lodged itself there without permission.
I lowered myself into the chair and glanced at the ramen. Simple, reheated, nothing fancy—but because she made it for me, because she thought of me, it might as well have been the most luxurious meal in the world
Every sip was grounding, like I was being pulled deeper into her world. I could almost picture her rushing around in the morning—hair damp from the shower, notebook under her arm, hurrying but still remembering to leave something for me.
For a fleeting moment, I imagined what it would be like to come home here every night. To see her moving around the kitchen, to hear her humming faintly while she washed the dishes. To live in a space that wasn't drenched in wealth and expectation but filled with her.
I let out a breath, folded the note carefully, and tucked it into my pocket. A piece of her I wasn't going to throw away.
Standing, I washed the bowl and set it back neatly, exactly where she'd find it later.
My shoes waited by the door. I slid them on quietly, glancing one last time around the apartment. It was so small, almost fragile, yet it felt more like home than the sprawling mansions where I slept surrounded by marble and silence.
Before stepping out, I turned the lock gently from the inside, just as she told me.