Sasha
I wake up to the smell of bacon. For a moment, I’m disoriented, the unfamiliar softness of the mattress and the scent of lavender from the sheets confusing my sleep-addled brain. Then yesterday comes rushing back. The ridiculously cheap rent. The warm welcome. The cold, violent hatred in Owen’s eyes.
My stomach twists into a knot that has nothing to do with hunger. I should just stay in here. Live on the protein bars I have stashed in my bag. I could probably survive for a week before anyone noticed.
But that’s not who I am. I’m not a coward. I’ve faced down sleazy landlords and final exams from hell. I can face one surly, beautiful man who looks at me like I’m something he scraped off his shoe.
Taking a deep breath, I pull on a pair of jeans and a sweater and head downstairs, my footsteps sounding too loud in the morning quiet. The smell of cooking gets stronger, leading me to the kitchen.
Maya is at the stove, humming softly. Liam is at the table, nursing a mug of coffee. They both look up when I walk in, and their faces break into welcoming smiles that feel a little too bright.
“Sasha! Good morning,” Maya chirps. “Did you sleep alright? The bed is comfortable?”
“It was great, thank you.” I inch toward the coffee maker. “It’s the best I’ve slept in years.”
“Wonderful.” She gestures with her spatula to a plate on the counter piled high with eggs, sausage, and at least six strips of bacon. “I saved a plate for you. You have to eat.”
I stare at the mountain of food. It’s more than I usually eat in a full day. “Oh, that’s… a lot. I’m really not a big breakfast person. Coffee is usually enough.”
Maya’s smile falters. A flicker of something like panic crosses her face before she smooths it over. “Nonsense. You’re too thin. A girl needs her protein. Especially a student. Brain food.”
Liam gets up and pulls out a chair for me. “She’s right. It’s a house rule. You can’t study on an empty stomach.”
Their insistence is strange. It feels less like hospitality and more like a command. Not wanting to cause a scene on my first morning, I give in and sit down. “Okay. Thank you, it looks delicious.”
The relief that washes over them is immediate and just as bizarre as their insistence. I pick at the eggs, feeling their eyes on me. It’s like being watched by two benevolent, slightly neurotic prison guards.
“I was thinking I’d finish unpacking today,” I say, trying to make normal conversation.
“Great idea,” Liam says, his smile back in full force. “I’ll help you. There are still a few heavy boxes, right?”
“Just my books, really. I can manage.”
“Don’t be silly,” Maya scolds gently from the stove. “Let him help. We take care of each other here.”
An hour later, Liam is in my room, treating my boxes like they’re filled with priceless artifacts. He lifts a small one marked ‘Kitchen Stuff’ with a grunt.
“This one feels heavy,” he says, his brow furrowed in concentration. “What’s in here?”
“My coffee maker and a few pans,” I say, picking up my desk lamp. Before I can take two steps, he’s there.
“Whoa, let me get that. No need for you to be lifting things.” He takes the lamp from my hands. It weighs maybe three pounds. I stare at him, baffled.
“Liam, I’m not an invalid. It’s a lamp.”
He just laughs, a warm, booming sound that doesn’t quite reach his watchful eyes. “Just being a gentleman. Besides, you look like a strong breeze could knock you over. We need to fatten you up.”
He says it like a joke, but it’s the second time my size has been mentioned this morning. I’ve always been slender, a combination of genetics and a student budget. But they talk about it like it’s a medical condition they need to cure.
“Where do you want the desk?” he asks, gesturing to the antique wooden desk against the wall.
“Actually, I think it would be better under the window.”
“Good call.” Before I can tell him I can help, he grips one side of the heavy desk and slides it across the floor with an ease that is frankly impossible. He doesn’t strain. He doesn’t even breathe heavily. He moves a piece of furniture that should take two people to budge like it’s made of cardboard.
I just stare, my mouth slightly open. “How did you do that?”
He winks. “Lots of protein.”
We’re almost finished when the floorboards in the hallway creak. I look up to see Owen standing in the doorway. He’s not looking at me. His cold gray eyes are fixed on Liam.
“We’re running drills in ten,” he says. His voice is a low rumble, devoid of any warmth.
“Got it,” Liam replies, his own voice losing its easygoing lilt. He stands up straighter, his posture shifting from friendly helper to something else. Something more alert.
Owen’s gaze finally drifts to me. It’s like having ice water poured down my spine. The look is pure contempt. He scans the room, his eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on the now-empty boxes, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Then, without another word, he’s gone. The air in the room feels cleaner, lighter, the moment he leaves.
“Sorry about him,” Liam says, his friendly demeanor snapping back into place like a rubber band. “He’s just… stressed.”
“Right.” I don’t believe him for a second. That isn’t stress. That’s hatred. And for some reason, it’s all aimed at me.
Later that afternoon, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water. The house is quiet. I assume the ‘drills’ are happening somewhere far away. I’m pulling a glass from the cabinet when I hear footsteps. I don’t even have to look to know who it is. The atmosphere in the room plunges.
I turn, and Owen is there, heading for the refrigerator. He moves with a silent, predatory grace that is both beautiful and terrifying. I pretend to be deeply interested in the pattern on my glass, hoping he’ll just get what he wants and leave.
He stops at the fridge, his back to me. I can see the tension in the hard lines of his shoulders. He doesn’t open the door. He just stands there, perfectly still. Waiting.
Is he waiting for me to leave? A spark of defiance flickers inside me. This is my house too. I paid my three hundred dollars. I have a right to stand in this kitchen and drink water.
I take a deliberately slow sip, my heart hammering against my ribs. The silence stretches, thick and heavy.
Finally, he speaks, his voice a harsh rasp that scrapes against the quiet. “Are you going to stand there all day?”
I jump, startled. I lower my glass. “I was just getting a drink.”
He turns his head just enough to pin me with a sideways glare. His gray eyes are like chips of flint. “Then get it and go.”
“I am.” My own voice sounds small, breathless.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he sneers. He turns fully to face me then, leaning back against the refrigerator. He crosses his powerful arms over his chest, trapping me with his presence. “What do you want?”
“What?” The question is so absurd I can only blink at him.
“Everyone wants something,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “You show up out of nowhere, move into a house where you don’t belong. So what is it? Money? Protection?” His eyes rake over me, and the disgust is back, tenfold. “Or are you just looking for a meal ticket?”
The accusation stings more than his glares. He thinks I’m some kind of freeloader, a parasite. All the fight drains out of me, replaced by a familiar, weary shame.
“I’m just a student,” I whisper, my eyes fixed on a scuff mark on the floor. “The room was cheap. That’s all.”
“Nothing is ever that simple.”
He pushes off the fridge and takes a step toward me. I instinctively take a step back, my hand trembling so much the water in my glass sloshes over the rim. His gaze drops to my shaking hand, and for a split second, that same flash of agony from yesterday flickers in his eyes. He stops dead, his jaw clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grind.
He looks from my hand to my face, his expression unreadable. Then he turns on his heel and stalks out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, the front door slams shut with enough force to make the windows rattle in their frames.
I stand there for a long time, my knuckles white on the glass, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Everyone else treats me like a delicate flower that might break at any moment. Owen treats me like a disease.
At dinner that night, the contrast is a physical thing. Maya serves a massive roast chicken, piling my plate higher than anyone else’s. Liam and the other two guys, Ben and Marco, keep the conversation light, asking me about my classes and telling funny stories about their own college days. They are all so kind, so gentle, so intensely careful with me.
And at the far end of the table, Owen sits in absolute silence. He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel his anger radiating across the table. It’s a cold, dark energy that sucks all the warmth from my side of the room. He eats with a mechanical efficiency, his focus entirely on his plate. The moment he’s finished, he stands up.
“I have patrol,” he says to no one in particular, and walks out.
Liam sighs softly once he’s gone. “He takes his responsibilities very seriously.”
“What responsibilities?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Just… looking out for the house. The family,” Maya says quickly, offering me another piece of chicken, which I decline.
Later, in the quiet of my new room, I lie on the four-poster bed and stare at the ceiling. The whole day has been a study in contradictions. Unsettling kindness and unexplained hostility. It feels like everyone in this house is playing a part in a play I don’t have the script for.
They see me as something fragile, something to be protected and handled with extreme care. Something human.
Owen is the only one who doesn’t. He looks at me and sees a threat. A contamination. An invasion.
I should be scared of him. A part of me is. But a bigger part, the part that has fought for everything I have, is just angry. And curious.
I’m not made of spun glass. And I am not a threat. I’m just Sasha. And I am going to figure out what is so terrifying about that to the brooding, broken man who slams doors and looks at me like I’m the end of his world.
