Vivian woke slowly, her eyes gradually adjusting to the soft, diffused sunlight filtering through Noah’s neutral gray curtains. She lay still for a moment, absorbing the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting surroundings. Her gaze drifted around the minimalist space: dark hardwood floors, high ceilings, and sleek furniture arranged meticulously with clinical precision. Noah’s apartment was neat—almost painfully so—with none of the clutter or personal touches one would normally associate with a home.

  She turned slightly, spotting Noah sleeping awkwardly on the sleek black leather couch. His tall frame was cramped, his neck tilted at an uncomfortable angle, clearly not built for restful nights. Vivian’s eyes softened, and she watched him quietly, feeling an unfamiliar warmth at the memory of how gently he'd cared for her injury.

  Her gaze moved down to her neatly bandaged hand, the pristine dressing sharply contrasting with the chaotic, unsettling events of the night before. She vividly recalled the impulsive, tender moment she'd cupped Noah’s face. It had been gentle, intimate, entirely out of character—and yet, somehow, it felt right. Confusion mingled with warmth within her chest. Why did his presence feel so reassuring, so familiar?

  Suddenly, the vivid image of a young boy in front of an old television resurfaced in her mind. Her brows knitted together in mild frustration. Noah had said the drugs could cause false memories, but this vision felt so tangible, so incredibly real. She shook her head gently, dismissing the thought for now, and eased herself from the bed. Her bare feet padded silently across the cool, polished hardwood toward the bathroom.

  Inside the bathroom, Vivian was momentarily surprised. Noah had carefully set out her personal toiletries: her toothbrush, neatly folded towels, and even some basic skincare items he'd thoughtfully retrieved from her dorm. Despite herself, a soft, appreciative smile appeared. Everything was arranged methodically on the dark stone countertop, perfectly aligned and organized, much like everything else in the apartment.

  She splashed cold water onto her face with her uninjured hand, relishing the sharp, refreshing sting that chased away residual grogginess. She examined herself closely in the mirror, noting the bruise on her cheek fading into muted shades of purple and yellow. Tiny scratches from her confrontation with Mochi stood out starkly, a stark reminder of the violence she'd willingly embraced.

  Mochi.

  A sharp chill ran through her. She vividly remembered the icy rage she'd felt gripping the knife, the startling ease with which she'd driven it into Mochi’s thigh. Even more unsettling was the calm certainty she’d felt when walking away, knowing Noah intended to finish what she'd started. Her stomach twisted uneasily. Was she becoming someone she didn’t recognize, someone dangerously comfortable with violence?

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She exited the bathroom to find Noah awake, stretching slowly, rubbing his stiff neck with a quiet groan. When he saw her, his expression instantly brightened, eyes warm despite his obvious discomfort.

  “Good morning,” Noah greeted her cheerfully, his tone bright with an unexpected tenderness. Inwardly, he felt a surprising thrill seeing Vivian there in his controlled, carefully guarded space.

  Vivian responded softly, still subdued. Noah immediately noticed her unease but chose not to address it directly. Instead, he casually asked, “Have you eaten?”

  She shook her head slightly, prompting Noah to move decisively to the compact, meticulously organized kitchen area. He navigated the high-end, minimalist appliances effortlessly, preparing a simple breakfast—toast and eggs—with practiced ease. Vivian watched him, noticing the high-end espresso machine, the neatly labeled glass jars, and the sharp, professional-grade knives that seemed out of place in the kitchen of someone who lived alone and rarely entertained.

  As coffee brewed, Noah glanced over. “Want coffee?”

  Vivian hesitated briefly, then shook her head. Noah regarded her thoughtfully, turning back to quietly prepare jasmine tea without asking. Moments later, he handed her the steaming mug.

  Vivian raised her eyebrows in mild surprise, accepting the tea. Noah smiled gently, explaining, “Where most twenty-something girls’ rooms smell like perfume, yours smells like this.”

  Vivian couldn’t suppress the small, genuine smile that broke through. Noah watched, a nostalgic warmth stirring inside him—he remembered how, even as children, Vivian’s smiles had always felt rare and precious.

  “I almost forgot you’ve been in my dorm room twice,” Vivian murmured softly, sipping her tea.

  Noah frowned slightly, puzzled. “Once.”

  “No,” Vivian corrected gently, “When you stole back your clothes—while I was at the police station.”

  Noah's expression turned sheepish. “Oh. Right. That wasn’t me.”

  “Huh?” Vivian’s confusion deepened.

  Noah rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, avoiding her gaze. “I might’ve asked Mochi to dress like a college student and break into your room.”

  At the mention of Mochi’s name, Vivian’s face fell, her demeanor growing quiet and withdrawn again.

  Noah watched her cautiously before returning his attention to the stove, flipping the eggs. His voice softened as he spoke, “You know, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. What you did with Mochi—it took courage. And remember, you’re not alone in this.”

  Vivian hesitated, biting her lip before finally admitting, “But what if I’m becoming something Vince and Serena never wanted me to be?”

  Noah stilled momentarily before responding carefully, his tone gentle yet firm. “If they truly love you, they’ll love you no matter what you become.” He wasn’t entirely sure if his words were meant for her, or as reassurance for himself.

  Vivian sniffed softly, wiping a stray tear. “I suppose you’re right.”

  They shared a comfortable, quiet breakfast, conversation sparse but meaningful. Afterward, Noah offered painkillers, but Vivian stubbornly insisted she felt better than she appeared, politely declining despite his gentle urging.

  As they cleared the dishes together, Noah carefully broached a new subject. He shared Mochi’s lead—the freelance hitman named Key who might hold answers about Serena’s disappearance. Both quickly agreed that tracking down Key was their next priority.

  Just as they settled on their decision, a firm, unexpected knock resonated sharply against Noah’s apartment door, shattering the quiet tension and pulling both of them sharply back to reality.