Onyx's POV
We were already seated when I noticed it.
The table looked wrong.
Not wrong in a disastrous way. Just... unfamiliar. The dishes were arranged neatly, steam curling upward in slow spirals, but the scent wasn't the one I grew up with. It wasn't the quiet comfort of my father's cooking—the familiar rhythm of soy sauce and garlic that meant home.
This was different.
Brighter. Louder. Almost expensive.
I studied the containers, the branded packaging half-hidden under serving plates, and that was when it clicked.
"You didn't cook this, Pa? Did you buy dinner?" I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly as if I were conducting a forensic investigation.
Pa beamed as if I had just praised him instead of interrogated him. "Ah! Jace brought it. Try it. It's really good!" he said cheerfully.
Of course he did.
I lifted my gaze slowly.
Jace was seated beside me, sleeves casually rolled up, eating as if he had always belonged at our dining table. He did not even attempt to look at me. He simply focused on his food, composed and unbothered.
As if he hadn't disappeared for two days.
As if nothing had happened.
"Where were we again, Jace?" Pa asked, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"Oh. The Basketball championship league next week," Jace replied smoothly.
"Right!" Pa snapped his fingers.
And just like that, they continued.
They spoke as if they were old friends reconnecting after years apart. As if I were the guest here.
I chewed silently.
Basketball.
Statistics.
Favorite players.
League schedules.
I might as well have been a decorative plant placed between them for aesthetic balance.
What exactly had he been doing these past two days?
He did not look injured. No visible bruises. No cuts. No stiffness in the way he moved.
So, no accident.
Then what?
Something else.
Something he wasn't saying.
I resisted the urge to ask.
Not now.
If Pa even sensed that something had happened between us, he would immediately take Jace's side and tell me to make peace. Again. As if I were always the one responsible.
And the thing was—I did not even do anything.
He had been the one acting strange.
It was impressive, actually.
He managed to irritate me more while not being around than when he was sitting right beside me.
"So how was school today, Onyx?" Pa asked suddenly.
I looked up.
Oh. He remembered I existed.
For a split second, I almost said, "Oh, you noticed I'm here? I thought you were busy bonding with your new son."
But I swallowed it.
"It was okay. Peaceful," I answered instead.
"Don't tire yourself too much, Onyx. Jace said you always do schoolwork like you don't even rest anymore. I'm a bit worried," Pa said.
I turned slowly toward Jace.
He nodded.
As if proud of himself for reporting on me.
"I'm not tiring myself," I said flatly. "It's normal."
"That's good," Pa replied. "When I was in college, I didn't focus much on academics. So I'm not strict with you. But I still want you to graduate on time. Of course."
On time.
My eyes shifted to Jace.
He did not graduate on time.
Because of me.
He was already looking at me.
His face was unreadable. Calm. Blank. Almost bored.
"Yeah," Jace said casually, though his gaze remained locked onto mine. "It's kind of annoying not to graduate on time. I even have to attend just one unit a day."
I swallowed.
Why did that feel directed?
I lowered my eyes to my plate.
"Tell me about it, Jace. What happened?" Pa asked.
Jace leaned back slightly.
"Well," he began, voice smooth, almost conversational. "It was because of a project I wasn't able to submit on time. The same project Boss and I are working on now."
Boss.
My grip tightened on my spoon.
"And that time, something came up," he continued, "so I couldn't finish it. I hired someone to do it for me."
My breathing stalled.
I focused on his mouth. I refused to look into his eyes.
Guilty did not even begin to describe what I felt.
"You asked someone to do it for you?" Pa asked, surprised.
"Yeah. A friend of a friend said there was someone in our department who could handle unit requirements—for a price," Jace explained. "I didn't care how much it cost. But damn. I shouldn't have trusted a stranger."
My heart thudded harder.
"Was that person not able to do what you requested?" Pa asked.
"He said it was done," Jace replied calmly. "Didn't send me anything. Not even a preview." His jaw tightened just slightly. "Said he'd submit it himself. That was the first red flag." A pause. "Pretty sure I got scammed."
I wanted to speak.
I wanted to say I finished it.
That the server I used to send the files crashed.
That the Wi-Fi router got unplugged that day by Pa himself because he was cleaning.
That it was not intentional.
That—never mind.
But I stayed quiet.
Because what would I even say?
"Did you get your money back?" Pa asked.
"Yeah," Jace answered. "But I didn't care about the refund. It cost me more than money. It cost me time. It delayed opportunities. Real job offers."
That was when it hit.
I had never thought of it that way.
Time.
Opportunities.
A job.
I felt smaller by the second.
Pa nodded slowly. "I'm sorry to hear that, Jace. But forgive me for asking—don't rich people have it easier when it comes to jobs? Can't your parents just give you one considering they own a family business?"
Jace's jaw tightened faintly.
"I'd rather not get help from my dad," he said calmly. "He'd make it feel like I owe him. I want to do things myself."
Pa smiled, almost proud. "That's good. You stand on your own. I appreciate that."
He reached over and tapped Jace's shoulder.
"Thanks, Pa," Jace said.
I exhaled slowly.
The more he explained, the worse I felt.
"Anyway," Jace continued lightly, as if it did not matter. "What's done is done. I failed. That's it. I just need to graduate this time and finally leave that stupid house. And my dad."
There it was again.
That edge.
"You seem to hate him," Pa said gently. "I know you told me that he is strict. But aside from that, If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"
Jace only smirked.
A small one. Controlled.
"It's okay if you don't feel good talking about it," Pa added quickly. "I understand. But if you ever need someone to talk to... my house is always open. You can stay here twenty-four seven."
I nearly choked.
Twenty-four seven?
"Great," Jace said immediately, smirking as if he had just won something he had not even asked for.
Absolutely not.
The idea alone was enough to make something in my chest tighten—not sharp, not immediate, but steady and insistent, like a system warning I could not ignore.
I could already see how it would play out.
Every time I will tell him he cannot not stay, every time I will try to establish something as simple as a boundary, he will lean back with that same unreadable expression and say it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world—
"Pa said I could stay anytime."
My grip tightened around the fork, and I drove it into the piece of meat with more force than necessary.
This was getting out of control.
And the worst part?
He had not looked smug. Not victorious. Not like someone who had just gained an advantage.
He had looked comfortable.
Like this—this house, this space, this routine—had already settled around him.
Like he had already decided it was his home.
* * *
By the time dinner ended and the plates were cleared away, the house grew quieter—dangerously quiet.
Now it was just the two of us in my room.
And somehow, in the span of five minutes, Jace had made himself look like he owned it.
I was seated beside my study desk, posture straight, laptop open, trying to salvage what little dignity I had left in my own territory. Meanwhile, he had stretched himself across my bed like a spoiled heir inspecting new property—one arm behind his head, legs relaxed, completely at ease.
The audacity.
Then, without warning, he pulled his shirt over his head.
I did not look.
I absolutely did not look.
"It's really warm. Can you at least open the window?" he said.
I kept my eyes firmly on my screen. "Why don't you open it yourself? You're the one who asked for it," I replied.
"You're the one nearest to it," he said lazily.
"Not my problem."
He clicked his tongue.
Then he stood up from my bed and stomped his foot onto the floor—not dramatically, not exaggerated, just enough to show irritation.
I did not react.
If he expected me to flinch, he would be disappointed.
I continued typing calmly, pretending I was immune to the fact that he was walking around my room shirtless.
He reached the window and pushed it open. Cool night air rushed inside, brushing against the curtains and sweeping through the room.
"Finally. Some air," he said.
I glanced up—briefly.
He stood with his back to the window, leaning against the frame. His hands gripped the edges, elbows slightly bent, chest rising and falling steadily.
He tilted his head upward, eyes on the ceiling, as if he were savoring something far deeper than oxygen.
I looked away.
"So you're really staying here for the night?" I asked.
"Why?" he teased. "Are you going to force me out?"
I sighed.
If I forced him out, Pa would simply drag him back in and scold me for being inhospitable. I had already lost that battle.
I returned my attention to my laptop.
"I'm hoping you did your Capstone project. You were gone for two days. I won't accept answers that you were busy and couldn't do it," I said evenly.
"Actually," he replied casually, "I was really busy. So I wasn't able to do it."
I looked up slowly, eyes narrowing.
"What were you doing for the last two days?" I asked. "You didn't even respond to my messages. I was confirming what you were up to because I'm concerned our timeline might get delayed."
"You weren't worried about what actually happened to me?" he asked, tone light but edged with something else. "Did your world even feel quiet without me around?"
"I did feel my world was quiet," I answered honestly. "It was relaxing. Peaceful."
He stared at me.
"You didn't feel lonely?" he asked.
"No. Why would I? I'm used to being alone. Remember?"
He exhaled deeply.
"I thought I'd make you beg for me to come back," he said. "I was planning not to show up for a few more days. But then I realized you might get too lonely, so I showed up."
"Your realization is incorrect," I replied. "Now grab your laptop and do your project."
"Can I just rest tonight?" he asked.
"Rest from what? You had two full days. Unlike me, I go to university in the morning and come home in the evening. You have one class. The rest of the time is yours."
"I told you, I was busy. Some things happened."
"Whatever those things are," I said, "it's not my fault you don't know how to manage your time."
He stared at me for a moment, jaw tightening.
"If you weren't my friend," he said, "I would have smacked you already."
I paused.
Friend?
That word did not sit where I expected it to.
I had always thought he saw me as his convenient problem-solver. His so-called "Boss." A disguise. A joke.
Before I could respond, a phone began ringing from my bed.
It was not mine.
But from where I sat, I could clearly see the caller ID.
"Your dad is calling," I said.
"What now?" he muttered.
He did not move.
"Aren't you going to answer?" I asked. "He might be worried."
"Worried?" He chuckled darkly.
"It's annoying, Jace. I hate the ringing. If you don't want to answer it, I will."
I stood and reached toward his phone.
He moved instantly—faster than I expected—and grabbed it before I could touch it.
Good.
"I'm going outside to answer this stupid call," he said, irritation flashing across his face.
I nodded once.
The moment he stepped out, I released a breath I did not realize I had been holding.
"I wonder why he hates his dad so much," I murmured to myself. "I understand strict parents, but isn't it good that someone looks out for you?"
Thunder rumbled faintly across the sky.
Not loud—just a warning.
Rain would come soon.
I glanced toward the door.
He should have heard that. If it starts pouring, he can come back inside.
My phone buzzed.
Papa:
Onyx, can you please go out and bring the laundry clothes inside and place it on the couch? I'm finishing something. It will rain soon.
Sent: 9:45 p.m.
Me:
Okay. I'll get it now.
Sent: 9:45 p.m.
I stood and went outside.
The air had shifted—cooler, heavier, charged.
The clothes hung on the line, swaying gently.
As I reached for the first shirt, I heard his voice.
"No. I don't want to come," he said sharply.
I froze.
Even when speaking to his father, he sounded stubborn.
I grabbed one piece of clothing and reached for another.
"I don't care if she's nice to me. That's not the point," he continued, his voice rising. "Mom just passed away two years ago. It wasn't even that long. And now you replaced her so easily?"
My hand stilled.
I swallowed.
His problem with his dad...
This was not shallow.
This was not about pride.
End of Chapter 20