The first thing you wanted to do was scream, throw your arms in the air, and let out a sound that would shatter the silence of the mansion, but as soon as your throat opened, fear froze you in place because the figure standing in the kitchen could be anyone, a thief, a criminal, someone dangerous, and there were no guards tonight since Mrs. Black had given them the night off, leaving you completely alone, defenseless, and trapped with whoever this intruder was.
Your stomach knotted, your hands trembled, and your pulse thundered in your ears with each beat reminding you that you were entirely at the mercy of this stranger.
He wasn't Elliot. Of that, you were certain, not that small mischievous boy who made your life miserable. It wasn't Mrs. Black either. Even in heels, she was far too small and gentle to seem threatening in this way. Mr. Black was out of the country, in Spain for work, which left only one terrifying possibility, a thief or maybe someone far worse, someone not just here to steal but to harm.
The thought made your whole body tremble, a cold sweat running down your spine, but there was no time to hesitate. You had to act.
Your eyes darted around the kitchen desperately until they landed on the wall of pans, gleaming faintly in the dim light as if calling to you. Not the smartest plan, not the safest plan, but it was a plan.
You whispered a short, shaky prayer and crept toward the wall, every step measured, careful, trying not to make a sound. Your fingers closed around the cold metal of a pan, the weight solid and surprisingly comforting.
For the first time in what felt like hours, a spark of hope flickered in your chest. You might actually survive this.
Heart pounding, you lifted the pan, imagining the moment you would strike, imagining knocking him out cold, imagining calling Mrs. Black afterward and finally leaving the kitchen alive. The thought alone made your adrenaline spike, making your muscles twitch, your breaths short and rapid. He was dressed oddly for a thief, an oversized black hoodie, baggy black jeans, white sneakers, casual, confident, relaxed, and it frustrated and terrified you because it didn't fit the image of a desperate, clumsy criminal you expected.
You whispered to yourself, "You can do this, Soo Yoo. One strike, then call Mrs. Black, then go home. Step by step." Your mind was a storm of fear, adrenaline, and determination.
Just as your muscles tensed to swing, a calm, firm voice cut through the silence. "Whatever you're doing, stop." You froze, your lungs locking, your heart hammering violently. He hadn't turned, his back still facing you. A faint crunching sound echoed. Was he eating? Talking to himself? Insane? The thought made your stomach lurch, but you forced yourself to take another step, to approach again, pan raised, every muscle taut.
Suddenly, he turned. Your chest jumped into your throat. His eyes, black-green, sharp and calculating, pierced into you like knives. You froze entirely, pan still raised, breath caught in your throat, mind screaming at you to run while your face burned in shame. He was calm, chewing an apple slowly, like nothing about this situation phased him, and he smirked faintly, an expression that made your stomach twist. "I saw you through the window, idiot," he said casually, rolling his eyes. Heat rushed to your face. Of course there was a window. Of course he had seen you the entire time.
"S-shut up," you stammered, trying to sound stern. "Tell me who you are and what you're doing here." Your voice wavered, your chest tight, your breath short, but you refused to lower the pan, refusing to appear weak. He stepped closer, deliberate, confident, his smirk growing as he asked, "You have no clue who I am, do you?"
Panic twisted in your stomach. You swallowed hard. "I don't believe I'm supposed to know. Go before I call the police," you warned, your voice louder now. He laughed softly, low and amused, like he had all the time in the world.
It was now or never. You swung the pan with every ounce of strength and adrenaline you had, clumsy and desperate. He moved effortlessly, like a shadow, evading every strike. Your face burned with frustration and embarrassment as your wild swings met nothing but air.
Then suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist mid-swing, warm, firm, and impossibly fast, drawing you dangerously close so you could feel his breath against your neck. You froze, terror and anger flooding every nerve. "I'm afraid the police won't be able to help you, shorty," he whispered. Rage surged, and you shoved him violently, lifting the pan again, but before you could swing, the lights snapped on.
Mrs. Black stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, astonished. Relief and dread collided in your chest. She ran past you straight into his arms, tears welling in her eyes. "Son! When did you arrive?" she cried, hugging him tightly. He laughed softly, pulling her into another embrace, and your heart sank. You had been ready to fight a thief, only to find out the intruder was Kai Black, and he had been watching every move you made with amusement.
You opened your mouth to explain, to apologize, but he looked at you casually, smirk tugging at his lips. "By the way, Mother, I think a thief broke in." Your jaw dropped. Mrs. Black glanced at you and shook her head, letting out a soft laugh. "No, no, she works here," she said calmly.
Your hands slipped from the pan as embarrassment flooded you like a tidal wave. He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief, clearly entertained by your panic and desperation. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. Not only had you tried to defend yourself, you had tried to attack Kai Black, and now he was standing there, alive, calm, and completely unbothered while you wished you could disappear.