My head felt heavy. My mouth tasted like I had swallowed dust. And my body was wrapped in something warm that did not belong to me.
I opened my eyes slowly.
The ceiling above me was high, smooth, and unfamiliar. The sheets were not mine. The room smelled faintly like cedar and something expensive that I could not name.
This was not my dorm.
I shot up, almost slipping off the mattress because it was too soft. Too big. Too everything.
"What the hell," I whispered.
Before I could panic properly, voices drifted from outside. Not many. Just one. A low voice humming something under his breath. The sound of something sizzling.
No.
No way.
I walked to the bedroom door, cracked it open, and peeked.
And there he was.
Asher Hayes.
Standing in a huge open kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair messy, flipping pancakes like he did this every day. The morning light came through the tall windows behind him. It made his storm gray eyes look even lighter.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
Then the second passed and anger replaced everything.
I stomped into the kitchen.
He looked up the moment he heard me. His mouth curved slightly. Not a smile. But something close.
"Good morning," he said.
"What am I doing here?" I snapped.
"Breakfast first," he said. "Questions after."
"No," I said. "Questions now. Why am I here? How am I here? What happened last night?"
He raised an eyebrow, the teasing kind. "Do you remember last night?"
My stomach dropped. My mind went blank. I remembered laughing. I remembered Liam dropping me off. I remembered Asher showing up. After that, everything was blurry. Too blurry.
My face burned.
He observed me, and something warm flashed in his eyes. Did we...?
Then he sighed. "Relax. Nothing happened. You drank too much. You could barely walk straight. You would not let go of my sleeve. I brought you here because I did not want you alone."
"You could have taken me to my dorm," I argued.
"You were not steady enough for stairs. And dorm security would have given me ten useless forms to fill out. I did not have the patience." EXCUSES.
I folded my arms. "Still not your decision."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You were not safe. That made it my decision."
The worst part was that he said it as if it were a simple fact. Not a threat. Not a claim. Just the truth, according to him.
I looked down at myself and froze.
I was wearing a huge shirt. Definitely not mine. And shorts that were too big. His clothes.
"Who changed my clothes?" I demanded.
"Asher," I warned.
He lifted both hands like I was holding him at gunpoint. "Relax. I did not. I have female staff in this house. One of them helped you."
I blinked. "You have female staff. "
"I have staff," he corrected. "Some happen to be women. And you really think I had women's clothes lying around? they put you in the first thing they looked for in my closet."
My head hurt more.
He slid a plate of pancakes toward me. "Eat. You barely touched dinner last night."
"I want to go home."
"You can go after you eat."
"I can eat at home."
He gave me a long look. "You can. But you will not. And you look like you are two steps away from passing out."
"I am fine," I muttered.
"You are not. Sit."
"I am leaving."
"Unless you want to walk thirty minutes in this cold, sit down."
I stared at him. He stared back, calm and stubborn and annoyingly sure he would win.
And he did.
Because my fingers were already freezing.
I sat.
He placed a glass in front of me. Clear water but with thin slices of lemon, mint, and something pink I could not identify.
I took a sip.
It tasted like the exact drink I order every time after class. My order. The one with the specific ratio of lemon to mint that every server forgets.
I frowned at him. "How did you make this?"
"I did not."
"Then who?"
"I had someone prepare it."
"How would they know what I like?"
He answered so casually that it almost irritated me more. "Because I called the manager of the juice bar you go to."
I stared at him. "You did what?"
"You get the same thing every time. Lemon water with mint and crushed raspberries. They know your order."
"You called them?"
"Yes."
"At night?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He tilted his head slightly. "You like it. And you looked like you needed it."
My heart did something strange and annoying. I pushed the feeling down and took another bite of the pancake.
It was good. Annoyingly good.
He watched me eat like he was memorizing every movement. Like he was studying me. Not in a creepy way. Just… intensely.
After a few bites, I finally asked, "Where did you sleep?"
"Guest room," he said. "You took the entire bed. You kicked your feet at the pillow like it offended you."
I almost choked. "I did not."
"You did."
"I am a calm sleeper."
"Not last night."
I glared at him. He looked way too amused.
Then I realized something. "Why is your house so… big?"
He shrugged. "It is comfortable."
"That is not comfort. That is a hotel."
"It works," he said.
"Why do you live alone in a place like this?"
His expression changed. Just a little. Softer. More guarded. "Because I want to."
I waited for more. He did not offer it.
With a quiet sigh, he pushed another plate toward me. Fruits. Fresh. Cut neatly. Too neatly. No one cuts fruit like this except trained staff.
"Asher," I said, quieter now. "You should not have brought me here."
He looked at me for a long moment. So long that I felt something gather between us. Something warm and slow.
"You were not okay," he said. "I did what I wanted to do. I made sure you were safe."
My chest tightened. I hated how that sounded. I hated how it made me feel. Like he cared. Like he actually cared.
I finished the fruit slowly and pushed the plate away. "Now can I go home?"
He nodded. "There are clean clothes in the wardrobe down the hall. Change. Shower if you want. I will drop you off."
"I said I will go myself."
"And I said I am dropping you."
"You cannot order me around."
He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. His voice went quiet. "I am not ordering you. I am taking you home."
I held his gaze. He held mine right back.
Something inside me shifted. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just a small shift. A dangerous one.
Fine. I would let him drop me. But only because I wanted to get out of here. Not because he told me.
I stood up slowly.
He watched me as if watching me was the easiest thing he had ever done.
The car moved through the quiet streets, the morning sun just starting to spill over the buildings. I could not stop my curiosity. I had tried searching online, and there was almost nothing about him. No family, no posts, nothing. It bothered me. All there was about his private life was that he lived with his grandfather until he died a few years back.
"Why don't you live with your parents?" I asked, my voice casual but probing. I tried to sound nonchalant, but I knew my eyes were probably too wide with curiosity.
Asher's hand on the wheel tightened for a moment, and his storm-gray eyes flicked to me. He said nothing at first.
"They're dead," he said finally, his voice flat and calm, like it was just a fact, not something that hurt him.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said softly. My stomach sank a little. I did not push. I knew he would not tell me more. But I could not stop thinking.
I stared at him for a long moment, the way the light hit his face, how controlled he looked even with such a simple answer. I wondered about the life he had before, why there were no traces of him online. It was almost impossible.
"Did you… grow up here?" I asked, trying to fill the silence. My voice sounded small even to me.
He shook his head lightly, eyes back on the road. "No," he said. "I moved around a lot."
I nodded, even though I had so many questions. Some things, I realized, were meant to stay private. I did not press further.
For the rest of the ride, I looked out the window, watching the city wake up. His silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. Somehow, it made me want to know him more, even if he did not want to share.
And I knew I would wait. Even if the answers came slowly, I would wait.