For a mont, I thought I was hallucinating.
That was the only explanation my mind could offer—the only one that made sense. Ro standing there, half-swallowed by shadow, lilies in one hand and an expensive box of chocolates in the other, looking as real as the cold night air pressing against my skin.
My back hit the door hard behind .
"Ro..."
The na slipped out before I could stop it.
His gaze locked onto mine.
And my breath left all at once.
The Ro in front of looked colder than I rembered. There was sothing in his eyes that unsettled deeply—sadness, yes, but also sothing closer to accusation. As if his eyes were asking questions his mouth hadn’t yet ford. As if he were demanding answers I didn’t even know how to give.
"How long have you been there?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it.
"Long enough," he said.
The weight of those two words settled heavily in my chest.
My pulse hamred painfully against my ribs. I took an instinctive step back, my hand fumbling blindly for the door handle behind .
I needed space.
No—I needed distance from that look.
"Ro, I—"
"Let’s talk," he cut in, his voice low. "Sylvia. Please."
I shook my head, panic tightening my throat. "This isn’t a good ti."
I turned toward the door, desperate to retreat into the safety of the house—but before I could even twist the knob, his hand shot out.
The next thing I knew, my back was pressed flat against the wall beside the door, his arm braced above my shoulder, blocking my escape. The suddenness of it stole my breath.
"Ro!" I gasped, fear bursting through . My scream clawed its way up my chest—
He moved instantly.
His face ca dangerously close to mine, so close that one small movent would have brought our lips together. His other hand pressed lightly but firmly against the wall beside my head. I didn’t know why, but it only made panic more—the frantic pounding of my heart echoing in my ears. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper.
"Don’t," he said urgently. "You’ll make the kids panic."
Paris.
Egypt.
Cairo.
My breath hitched.
"They’ll hear you," he continued, his voice softer now, a plea threading through it. "And I know you don’t want that. Not after tonight. Not after so guy nad Bern visited you."
I froze.
He was right.
If I scread, if I caused a scene, the kids would co running. Worse, they’d see Ro outside our house. They’d start asking questions—questions I wasn’t ready to answer. They were still struggling to move on from Bern’s sudden visit. I couldn’t pile more confusion onto them. I couldn’t let them see this.
Slowly, I raised my hands—not in surrender, but in silent agreent.
"I won’t scream," I said, my voice barely above a breath. "Ro... let go."
His jaw clenched.
For a second, I thought he wouldn’t.
Then he stepped back.
The space between us returned, but the tension didn’t leave. It clung to the air, thick and suffocating.
"I just want to talk," he said again, quieter now. "Please."
I swallowed hard.
I glanced toward the door, pressing my palm against it to ground myself. I took a mont to steady my breathing, then knocked softly and cracked it open just enough to peer inside.
The kids were still in the living room.
Paris and Egypt sat cross-legged on the rug, whispering to each other over sothing on the tablet. Cairo was half-asleep on the couch, a blanket tucked around his shoulders.
I closed the door gently.
When I turned back to Ro, I folded my arms around myself.
"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, bracing myself.
He hesitated.
Then, quietly, "Not here."
My brows furrowed. "Then where?"
He glanced down the street.
"Can we talk at my place?" he said. "I don’t think this is the right place for us."
I followed his gaze.
A few houses down, porch lights were still on. Curtains glowed faintly with life behind them. Neighbors. He probably didn’t want anyone to see talking to so random guy outside my house. People would talk. Gossip would spread.
"You don’t want anyone to see us," I said.
He didn’t deny it.
I looked back at him, searching his face. "Where do you think we’re going to talk? In your car?"
He shook his head. "No. At my house."
He lifted his hand and pointed.
To the old vacant house just a few steps away from ours.
My breath caught.
That house.
The one I’d passed countless tis—the one that had always felt abandoned. The one that made uneasy for reasons I could never explain. The one where, especially at night, I sotis felt a familiar presence watching .
Confusion flooded .
"That’s your house?" I asked.
He nodded once.
The realization hit slowly, then all at once.
Ro owned that house.
All this ti... it had been him.
A chill crawled up my spine.
So I hadn’t imagined it. I hadn’t been crazy when I felt like soone was there—when I sensed eyes on from behind drawn curtains.
And yet—why did that matter now?
Why did my chest ache at the thought?
I shook my head, forcing the questions away.
"Fine," I said quietly. "But we go now."
He stepped aside, allowing to walk first.
I kept my distance as we crossed the street, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. When he unlocked the door, a man stepped forward from inside.
"Sir," the man said politely.
I froze.
I recognized him imdiately.
He was the one who often brought breakfast to our house—the one I had assud was the hoowner, helping us out of kindness.
My eyes snapped to Ro.
"This is my assistant," he said calmly.
The floor felt unsteady beneath my feet.
So it had all been him.
Every bit of help.
Every quiet kindness.
The man excused himself quickly and disappeared down the hall.
Ro closed the door behind us.
The interior of the house stunned .
From the outside, it looked abandoned—empty, cold.
Inside, it was elegant and expensive.
And yet—
It felt hollow.
The furniture was beautiful but untouched. The air was clean, but lifeless. It felt like a place designed to be lived in... but never was.
No soul.
I swallowed.
Ro turned to face .
"Why," he asked quietly, his voice steady but brittle, "was soone nad Bern inside your house tonight?"
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