The room falls silent, tension weaving through the air like a spider's web. I can feel Black's eyes burning into me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. Instead, I turn toward the window, watching the city blur.
With a bitter laugh, Black turns away, his shoulders rigid as he sits in his chair. He chuckles, low and unsettling. You are mine. You just are. It's written all over you."
"Spare me the poetry," I snap, turning to face him. "I'm not your muse or your prisoner. You don't get to dictate my life because you think you 'fancy' me."
Black stands, the chair scraping against the floor. He doesn't rush toward me this time. Instead, he moves slowly, and deliberately. Black chuckles, low and guttural, like a predator amused by its prey. "You think walking away is that simple?" His voice is calm, too calm, and it unnerves me. "This is not just about money anymore."
"Then what is it about?" I challenge, stepping closer, though my heart hammers against my ribcage. "Control? Ego? Some twisted fantasy of yours?"
"You don't understand, do you?" His voice softens, almost tender, but his eyes burn with something darker. "You make me feel something I haven't felt in a long time. That's why you're here."
I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. "You call this feeling? This... obsession of yours? It's toxic, Black. And I refuse to be part of it."
For a moment, he says nothing, just studies me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve. Then, with a sigh, he steps back. "You have never fallen in love before?" His tone is almost resigned, but the glint in his eyes promises this is far from over.
"That does not mean I'll love you," I hiss.
His eyes flicker, a flash of hurt, but he masks it quickly. "Why?"
"Because you ruin people's lives for a living," I hiss, my words sharp, cutting through the silence.
He doesn't move, doesn't speak. Instead, he watches me, as if weighing the truth of my words.
What if I stop? he finally says, stepping closer and holding my hand. I hadn't noticed he was shaking. What if I leave all of this, will you love me? His voice trembles with uncertainty.
For a moment, I feel pity for him, but I don't. I can't, Black. I say, the weight of my words hanging between us.
You hate me? he laughs, a bitter edge to his chuckle.
No, I don't. But I don't love you either, I reply, my heart a mix of pride and resolve. He stares at me, searching for something I can't give.
Black's anger simmered like a storm barely contained, his sharp words slicing through the air. "See why I take what I want by force? Gentle conversation doesn't get the job done," he hissed, his dark eyes burning into me. "I really did wish you'd say yes. Or even lie to me."
I met his gaze, unflinching. "You can force people to do whatever you want, but that's all. They'll end up hating you," I said, my voice steady despite the tension thickening around us.
His reaction was swift and brutal, a fist to my mouth that sent pain radiating through my jaw. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, and I spit it out, letting the crimson streak his face. He flinched but didn't wipe it away.
"That'll be all," he said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. "'I will see you tomorrow."
I didn't bother replying. I turned on my heel and walked away, my steps echoing in the silence of the step. But one thought burned clear in my mind: This will be the last time he will ever see me.
The morning air carried a crisp scent of antiseptic as I stepped into my grandmother's hospital room. The dim, cold atmosphere that had haunted me two days ago was gone. Instead, sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a golden glow over her frail but recovering frame.
"Zhan," she said, her voice steadier than before as she slowly sat up.
"Grandma," I responded, my chest lightening with relief. A smile stretched across my face as I walked over and hugged her.
"You look tired," she observed, her tone sharp despite the warmth in her eyes.
"And hungry," I admitted with a chuckle.
A nurse entered just then, checking her vitals with practiced ease. "You should be going home today," she said with a smile.
"Thank you very much," I replied, but my mind was already racing. Where would we go? We had no home, but I have money
"I'll be right back, Grandma," I said, pressing a reassuring hand over hers before leaving the room.
Down at the reception, I settled the hospital bill, feeling the weight of each note I handed over.
The sun was high by the time I left the hospital, its warmth pressing against my skin as I walked toward the market, searching for the house agency. The agent led me through a few places, but they were either too expensive or too run-down. Then, we arrived at a rooftop shared apartment. The moment I stepped onto the balcony and felt the open air, I knew.
"This is good," I said, turning to the agent.
"It has four rooms," he explained. "Two are already taken."
"That's fine. I'll take one and share it with my grandma," I replied.
The agent nodded, and we handled the paperwork quickly. I handed over the deposit, I felt giddy we had a roof over our heads.
As I walked back through the market, my stomach twisted. We still had one big problem: the loan shark. If we were really going to start over, I needed to pay him back. Otherwise, it wouldn't matter where we lived, he'd find us.
I took a deep breath. First, I'd get Grandma settled. Then, I'll pay him.
At the thrift market, I moved through the crowded stalls, carefully picking out what we needed for our small rooftop studio. The space was limited, but I wanted to make it as comfortable as possible for Grandma.
First, I found a simple wooden bed frame with a thin but firm mattress, it wasn't luxurious, but it was better than sleeping on the floor. I added two pillows and a soft, faded blanket that felt warm to the touch.
Next, I looked for a foldable table and two chairs, something small enough to fit in the corner but sturdy enough for meals and other tasks. I also found a secondhand shelf, perfect for storing clothes, and any small essentials.
For the bathroom, I picked up a plastic storage rack to hold soap, toothbrushes, and a few neatly rolled towels. I also grabbed a bucket and a plastic scoop, just in case the water supply wasn't reliable. A shower curtain was a lucky find, it would give us a little privacy in the small space.
Since the kitchen was shared, I only bought a single electric kettle for making tea or quick meals in the room. I also got a small plastic container to store essentials like salt, sugar, and instant noodles.
To brighten up the place, I picked out a cheap but colorful rug for the floor and a small potted plant, something green to make the space feel alive. Finally, I grabbed a battery-powered lamp, knowing that rooftop apartments sometimes had weak lighting at night.
With my arms full of bags, I took a deep breath. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Now, it was time to make this little space feel like home.
When I arrived at the house, the afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the rooftop. The breeze carried the distant sounds of the city cars honking, people chatting, the occasional burst of laughter from the streets below.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The room was small but clean, the plain wallpaper giving it a simple charm. I decided to leave it as it was.
I started with the bed, setting up the frame against the farthest wall. I spread out the mattress, tucked in the blanket, and placed the pillows neatly at the head. Already, the space felt more welcoming.
Next, I arranged the foldable table and two chairs near the window, where we could sit and enjoy the view of the city lights at night. The wooden shelf went beside the bed, and I just remembered we have to buy clothes.
In the bathroom, I placed the plastic storage rack in the corner, arranging the soap, toothbrushes, and rolled-up towels on it. I hooked up the shower curtain, giving the small space a bit of privacy. The bucket and plastic scoop sat neatly by the wall just in case.
I set the electric kettle on the table and placed the small container of food essentials beside it. The battery-powered lamp found its place on the shelf, ready for nights when the rooftop's lighting failed.
Finally, I unrolled the colorful rug in the center of the room and placed the potted plant near the window. A tiny touch of warmth.
I stepped back and exhaled. It wasn't perfect, but it was ours. A fresh start.
By the time I got the hospital, the evening had settled in, casting a warm orange glow over the streets. The sky was a blend of deep blues and purples, streaked with the last remnants of sunlight. Street vendors were packing up, their voices still calling out last-minute deals, while the scent of grilled meat and freshly baked bread filled the air. My stomach tightened at the smell—I was starving—but tonight wasn't about me. It was about getting Grandma home.
Inside, the hospital halls had quieted, the usual rush slowing down. I signed the necessary discharge papers, thanking the nurses who had taken care of her. Then, carefully, I helped Grandma into a wheelchair before carrying her out the doors. her cheeks was brighter than before.
As we approached the apartment, she looked around curiously. "Where are we going, Zhan?" she asked, her voice tired but laced with curiosity.
"You'll see," I said, smiling.
When we finally reached the rooftop studio, I pushed the door open and stepped aside to let her see. She froze, her eyes widening as she took in the neatly arranged space—the bed tucked in the corner, the small table, the simple but cozy setup. Her mouth opened slightly in shock before she turned to me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
"This... this is ours?" she whispered.
I nodded. "It's not much, Grandma, but it's home."
She covered her mouth, shaking her head in disbelief, then slowly reached out to touch the bed, the shelf, the little potted plant I had placed by the window.
"It's perfect," she finally said, her voice breaking with emotion. Then she looked up at me with a smile so full of love and gratitude that my exhaustion melted away.
"Come here," she said, opening her arms. I stepped forward, and she hugged me tightly, her frail hands pressing into my back.
No matter what came next, we had this moment. We had a home.