"Mom, please tell me you remembered to take your medication this morning."
Through the phone screen, Mom's smile looks tired, the kind of exhaustion that settles into bones and doesn't leave. But her eyes still have that warmth. "I did, sweetheart. Stop worrying so much."
"Yeah, well." I force a grin. "Somebody has to keep you on schedule."
She laughs softly. "You sound just like your father when you talk like that."
The mention of Dad makes my chest tighten. It's been eight years since the accident. Eight years, and some days it still feels like yesterday.
"I wish he could see you now," Mom continues, her voice gentler. "Working so hard, taking care of everything. He'd be so proud."
My eyes sting. I blink fast, looking away from the camera. "Yeah. I think he would be."
"Have you found a place yet?"
I sigh. "Still looking. Saw another one today, but the rent was double what they listed online. Classic bait and switch."
"Emma, you know you can always come back home—"
"Mom, no." I cut her off gently. "Your apartment is tiny. You need your space. And I need to be closer to work anyway."
"The commute is killing you."
"I'm fine. Really." I'm not fine. Two hours each way on public transit, leaving at six AM just to make it to my desk by eight-thirty. But she doesn't need that stress. "I've got a few more places to check out tomorrow. Something will work out."
She studies me through the screen, that mom look that sees right through my brave face. "You've been looking for almost two months now, honey. Maybe you should consider..."
"I'll find something. Promise." I check the time. "I have to go, Mom. Early morning tomorrow."
"Okay, sweetheart. I love you."
"Love you too."
I end the call and let my head fall back against the couch cushions. My roommate's couch, technically. The one I've been crashing on for six weeks while I apartment hunt.
Jessica's been amazing about it, but I can feel the strain. The subtle hints about needing her space back. The way she's started closing her bedroom door more often. I can't blame her. Nobody signs up to have a permanent couch guest.
I pull up the apartment listing app on my phone and scroll through options I've already seen a hundred times. Too expensive. Too far from work. Requires first, last, and security deposit that I absolutely don't have. Scam. Definitely a scam. Possibly haunted.
Then I see it.
New listing. Posted twenty minutes ago.
2BR/1BA - $1,200/month - Utilities included - Roommate required
I sit up straighter. Twelve hundred for a two-bedroom in this city? That's... actually affordable. Suspiciously affordable.
I click on the listing.
Spacious 2-bedroom apartment in safe neighborhood, 15 minutes from downtown. Fully furnished common areas. Utilities included in rent. Washer/dryer in unit. Looking for responsible, clean roommate to share space. Rent is $1,200 total ,you pay $600/month. Available immediately.
My heart starts beating faster. Six hundred a month? With utilities included? That's half what I've been budgeting for.
I scroll through the photos. Hardwood floors, big windows with actual natural light, a kitchen that doesn't look like a health code violation. The living room has a decent couch, a coffee table, even some plants.
It looks... normal. Nice, even.
What's the catch?
I read through the listing again, looking for red flags. No mention of pets. No weird restrictions. The neighborhood is decent—I've been through there before, it's safe enough.
The only weird thing is how vague it is about the current roommate. Just "responsible, clean roommate needed." No details about who I'd be living with.
Probably another woman, right? The listing would specify if it was a guy. That's standard practice.
I screenshot the listing and text it to Jessica.
Me: Found one that might actually work. Too good to be true?
Her response comes back immediately.
Jessica: OMG yes! That's a steal! You should message them RIGHT NOW before someone else grabs it.
Me: You think it's legit?
Jessica: Who cares? At this point, you need to try everything. Message them.
She's right. I've looked at forty-seven apartments in six weeks. Forty-seven. This is the first one that's even remotely in my budget.
I click the contact button and start typing.
Hi, I saw your listing for the 2BR apartment. I'm very interested and would love to schedule a viewing as soon as possible. I'm 24, working full-time in marketing, non-smoker, no pets. Clean, quiet, and responsible. Please let me know when I can see the place. Thanks! - Emma
I hit send before I can overthink it.
Then I wait.
Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown Number: Can you come by today? I'm home now if you want to see it.
I glance at the clock. Seven-thirty PM. Kind of late for an apartment viewing, but desperate times.
Me: Yes! I can be there in 30 minutes. What's the address?
They send the address. I plug it into maps. Twenty-two-minute bus ride.
I jump off the couch, suddenly energized. This could be it. This could actually be the one.
I grab my bag, check my reflection in the hallway mirror. Presentable enough. Professional. Responsible-looking.
The bus is nearly empty at this hour. I spend the whole ride refreshing the listing, making sure it's still there, that it hasn't been snatched up by someone else.
It's still there.
The neighborhood looks better in person than I expected. Tree-lined streets, older buildings with character, a coffee shop on the corner that's still open. People walking dogs. It feels... safe. Normal.
I find the building. Four stories, red brick, well-maintained. There's a small garden area in front with actual flowers.
I check the apartment number. 3B.
I buzz the unit.
"Hello?" The voice is male, deep, slightly distorted through the intercom.
My stomach does a weird flip. Male voice. But that doesn't mean anything. Could be a boyfriend. Could be anyone.
"Hi! It's Emma. I'm here about the apartment?"
"Come on up. Third floor."
The door buzzes and I push through into a clean, well-lit lobby. Stairs to my left. I take them two at a time, suddenly nervous.
Third floor. Apartment 3B.
I knock.
Footsteps approach. The door swings open.
And I freeze.
Standing in the doorway is quite possibly the most attractive man I've ever seen in real life.
Tall—like, really tall, at least six-three. Broad shoulders filling out a simple black t-shirt. Dark hair that's slightly messy, like he's been running his hands through it. And his eyes.
Amber. Not brown, not hazel. Actual amber, like honey held up to sunlight.
"Emma?" His voice is even deeper in person.
"Uh. Yes. Hi. I'm—yes. Emma." Real smooth.
His mouth quirks into a small smile. "I'm Kai. Come in."
He steps aside and I walk past him into the apartment.
It's even nicer than the photos. The living room is spacious, with those big windows I saw in the listing. The furniture is simple but good quality. Everything's clean, organized, lived-in but not messy.
"So, um." I turn to face him, my brain still trying to catch up. "You're the roommate?"
"I am." He closes the door. "Is that a problem?"
Yes. No. Maybe?
"I just—the listing didn't mention—I assumed—" I'm babbling. Stop babbling, Emma.
"That it would be a woman?" He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with those unsettling amber eyes.
"Well. Yeah."
"Would you have come if you knew it was a guy?"
Honest answer? Probably not.
"I don't know," I say instead.
He nods slowly. "I get it. It's not a typical setup."
"Why didn't you mention it in the listing?"
"Because every time I do, I get zero responses." His expression is unreadable. "People assume things. But I need a roommate, and I'm running out of time."
"Running out of time?"
"Rent's due in a week. My last roommate moved out a month ago. I've been covering the full amount, but I can't keep doing it."
That explains the low price. He's desperate.
"Look," he says, straightening. "I know this is weird. If you want to leave, no hard feelings. But if you want to see the place, I'll show you around. Your call."
I should leave. This is exactly the kind of situation Mom would freak out about. Living with a strange man I met on the internet?
But six hundred dollars a month.
With utilities included.
In a beautiful apartment I can actually afford.
"Show me around," I hear myself say.
His expression relaxes slightly. "Okay. This is the living room, obviously. Kitchen's through here."
He leads me through the apartment. The kitchen is small but functional. Gas stove, full-size fridge, decent counter space. The bathroom is clean, recently updated.
"There are two bedrooms," Kai explains. "Mine's the smaller one." He gestures to a closed door. "The other one would be yours."
He opens the second door and I step inside.
It's perfect.
Big window with a view of the street below. Enough space for a bed, dresser, and desk. Hardwood floors. A closet that's actually a decent size.
"It's furnished?" I notice the bed frame, the dresser.
"Yeah. My last roommate left some stuff. You can use it or replace it, whatever works."
I walk to the window, looking out at the quiet street below. The coffee shop on the corner. The trees lining the sidewalk.
This could be mine. This room, this space. A place that's actually mine.
"What do you think?" Kai's voice comes from the doorway.
I turn to face him. He's watching me carefully, like he's trying to read my reaction.
"It's really nice," I admit. "Better than anything else I've seen."
"But?"
"But I don't know you. At all."
He nods. "Fair. What do you want to know?"
"Why do you need a roommate? You seem like you can afford this place on your own."
Something flickers across his face. "I work freelance. Income's unpredictable. Having someone split costs makes things more stable."
"What kind of freelance work?"
"Consulting. Business strategy." He says it smoothly, but something about it feels practiced.
"And your last roommate? Why'd they leave?"
"Got a job in another city. It was planned, not because of me."
I study him. He seems normal enough. Clean, put together, polite. But there's something about him I can't quite pin down. Something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, just slightly.
Not in a dangerous way. Just... different.
"I'd need references," I say.