KINA
If he smirked at me one more time, I was going to break that stupidly handsome face with the hairdryer I just threw on the couch. I stormed back into my room, kicking the door shut with a little more force than necessary, and flopped on my bed face-first.
What the hell did he get from doing that? Riling me up like it was a damn hobby? If he wasn't recovering from a literal gunshot wound, and if he hadn't practically rained a fat stack of bills into my account, I might've already poisoned him. Lightly. Just a little. Nothing fatal. Just enough to make him to regret underestimating me.
I exhaled deeply into my pillow, trying to empty my brain of him. Instead, it shifted to something softer. Something more stable.
Aaron.
He'd called me. On a weekend. That never happened.
Usually he was too busy—meetings, travel, late-night emails, whatever it was CEOs did everyday I guess. But today he'd actually called, asking how I was, sounding just as calm and soothing as ever. Like a glass of ice water on a hot, emotionally constipated day.
Tomorrow was Monday. So I'd get to see him again. And maybe… maybe we could finally go out. Just us. A real dinner. Somewhere fancy. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far away from this.
I rolled off the bed and went straight to my closet, flinging it open like a dramatic heroine in a shoujo anime.
"Okay," I mumbled to myself. "He said he likes soft colors. Clean lines. Modest but still kinda elegant. We're aiming for… IU if she had to survive corporate hell but still went out for soju with a glossy lip."
I pulled out dress after dress. Wrinkled. Too loose. Too clingy. Ugh. This one made my arms look like wet breadsticks. That one made me look like someone's aunt at a PTA meeting. My fingers stopped on a pale blue blouse I hadn't worn in ages. Maybe with a fitted skirt? The good clothes I owned had been worn too repeatedly that people could almost guess what outfit I was going to show up in every day.
But even as I tried pairing things together, I could already feel my confidence sagging. Most of my clothes were old. Secondhand. Functional. Not the type of wardrobe that turned heads, or made emotionally repressed CEOs confess their feelings in elevators.
I groaned, threw a few maybe-options onto my bed, and collapsed again.
I didn't mean to nap. But exhaustion crept in like fog, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up with a dry throat and a weird line imprinted across my cheek from a necklace I'd accidentally been lying on.
I blinked at the clock.
Five p.m.
"What the—? How long was I out?!"
I rolled off the bed, rubbed at my face, and decided right then, I needed to go shopping. Clothes. Groceries for the week. Soap. Maybe a nice perfume. I had money now. Might as well use it before chaos burned my apartment down again.
After a quick change into a hoodie and jeans, I grabbed my wallet with my card in it and headed for the door.
And of course.
There he was.
Kieran.
Sprawled like a goddamn jungle cat across my couch, still infuriating, with a bandage peeking from beneath his T-shirt, legs open like he paid rent on the air around him. He was watching SpongeBob. Like, fully tuned in. Eyes glued. Not blinking.
Somehow I had to get used to this or maybe I already did.
I slowed to a stop.
He turned his head. Eyes meeting mine. Slowly. Casually. Almost like it was choreographed.
"Where're you going?"
His voice was low. Rough from sleep or boredom, I couldn't tell which.
"Store," I said quickly. "Groceries. Maybe clothes."
He blinked once. Silence followed. Then sat up straighter. "Wait for me."
"…What?"
"I'm coming with you."
And I, stood there.
Staring.
Wondering how I'd let a bullet-ridden, infuriating cartoon addict become my accidental roommate with the audacity of a Greek god.
"I don't think you should be walking around yet," I muttered as I eyed him tugging on a hoodie like he wasn't still healing from a literal bullet wound. "You're still recovering—like freshly stitched up recovering."
Kieran glanced at me, amused, already reaching for the jacket Rocco left behind. "You worried about me, Princess?"
"No," I said too quickly. "I just don't want to explain to paramedics why my roommate collapsed in the canned goods aisle."
He chuckled, deep and low, the kind of laugh that had no business sounding that attractive. "I'll be fine. But I need a cap and a mask."
I blinked. "You're seriously going?"
"Of course. You think I trust you to pick out food or snacks?"
"That's not—!" I groaned, throwing my hands up. "You don't need to go, okay? I've managed to shop alone my entire life."
"And yet you keep buying that cereal that tastes like cardboard and sadness."
"I like that cereal!"
"Sure you do," he said smugly. "Now where's the mask?"
I clenched my jaw, marched to my room, and snatched a black cap and face mask out of my drawer, throwing them at him on my way out. "Fine. But if we run into trouble, I'm leaving you behind."
"Aw, cold. After all we've shared?"
I didn't answer. I was too busy praying to every deity I'd never believed in that this man wouldn't attract chaos like a magnet in public.
The store wasn't far, just fifteen minutes down the street, but I still debated calling a cab. My anxiety was clawing at my throat. Kieran might've been acting chill, but his body was still healing. What if he passed out? What if someone recognized him? What if we got stopped by police and I had to explain why a six-foot tattooed Greek god was limping beside me in a hoodie like a crime scene?
We'd just stepped out into the courtyard when it happened.
"Kina-ya!"
My soul left my body.
I turned slowly, heart pounding.
Mrs. Kim, my landlady-slash-nosey-retired-villainess-from-a-K-drama, was standing outside her door holding a tray of kimchi and judgment.
"Who's that handsome young man behind you?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "Is that the coworker from that night?"
Shit.
I had told her Kieran was a coworker. I lied and I was about to get caught and evicted and murdered by the mafia all in one week.
"I, uh—"
"I'm her boyfriend," Kieran said smoothly, stepping forward like the lying demon he was.