I woke up to the smell of something cooking. Slowly, I sat up on the bed, eyes still closed. I inhaled again, and the scent made my stomach growl. I forgot I didn't eat anything last night.
I opened my eyes and checked the time—it was already afternoon.
Is he cooking?
I got out of bed and headed straight to the bathroom. After washing my face, I stepped out of the room and immediately froze at the sight in front of me.
There was Elijah—topless, wearing only boxers and an apron. Despite the apron, his toned, muscular body was on full display.
My lips parted in surprise. Is this how he usually looks in the morning?
"What are you standing there for? Come here," he called out when he noticed me standing like a statue.
I stared at him for a second, brows furrowed in confusion. He noticed my silence and, for a moment, frowned. Then suddenly, a cheeky grin appeared on his face. He looked down at his body, then quickly shifted his gaze back to me.
"Like what you see?" he asked, smirking.
"What are you talking about?" I scoffed, pretending to be unaffected. I walked to the dining table, which was right across from the kitchen bar where he was cooking.
Then, very deliberately, he took off his apron—revealing his perfectly defined six-pack abs. I subconsciously bit my lip.
He chuckled, clearly amused, then flexed his muscles just to provoke me.
"Ew," I said in disgust. "Have some decency. There's food in front of you."
"Oh please, you were practically drooling a second ago," he teased.
My cheeks burned in embarrassment. I shot him a glare. "I was disgusted. And your body doesn't look that great anyway."
That was a lie. His body looked better than any guy I've met at the gym.
He frowned at my comment. Sensitive, huh? But he loves teasing people.
He cleared his throat. "Here. Eat your food," he said, placing the plate in front of me. Sunny-side up eggs, sausage, and garlic rice. I raised a brow.
He knows how to cook?
"Next time, you're the one cooking," he said.
My eyes widened in disbelief. "What?"
"What what? I cooked today, so it's your turn next," he replied nonchalantly.
I frowned deeper. "I don't cook for anyone," I said firmly.
"Did you forget that you're living in my condo now?" he countered, then took the seat across from me.
"I'll just leave then," I snapped, standing up to go pack my things.
"Go ahead. Your dad already has a ticket ready for you," he said casually, continuing to eat.
I froze at the mention of my dad. He knows?
I stomped my feet in frustration and sat back down. "I hate you," I grumbled.
"Don't be a brat. If you don't want to be sent back, just follow my rules," he said smugly, eyes directly meeting mine.
I wanted to rip his smug face off.
We ate our—well, technically—lunch in silence. I wasn't exactly in the mood for conversation. Honestly, what would I even say? We're not close, and to be frank, I really can't stand him.
He's way too full of himself.
I glanced at him discreetly and frowned at how he ate—messily, rice falling from his spoon.
Gross.
If it were Lhiam, he'd eat properly. He actually knew what etiquette meant. I suddenly lost my appetite.
"Why? You don't like the food?" he asked while chewing.
"We need to set some rules while I'm here," I said, folding my arms and staring straight at him.
He paused and looked confused. "What rules?"
"First, don't interfere with my business. Second, keep the noise down. Third—"
"Hold on, why are you the one making the rules? Is this your condo? Is it?" he asked sarcastically, which annoyed me even more.
"We're living under the same roof. There should be rules to avoid problems," I replied with an eye roll.
He scoffed in disbelief. "You only think about yourself."
"As I should. And besides, didn't you say yesterday that you have no choice? Because my dad forced you into this setup too, right?" I said with a grin.
Instead of getting annoyed, he just stared at me meaningfully.
"W-What?" I stammered, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. But then he suddenly laughed quietly.
"Fine, I'll listen," he said, leaning back in his chair.
"O-Okay. So, my three rules—again. One, don't interfere with my business. Two, don't make noise. And three—don't bring girls here." I emphasized the last one.
He smirked, clearly amused. I frowned.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, irritated.
"Who said I bring girls here?" he replied with a chuckle, as if I'd just said something absurd.
I frowned harder. "Do I even have to ask? No offense, but you look like a total fuckboy."
"Whoa. Easy on the F-word. Don't judge me based on looks," he said, but I just rolled my eyes.
"Don't worry, I don't bring girls here—"
"Okay, that's a relief—"
"I bring boys."
I stopped cold, blinking in disbelief. My jaw dropped. I stared at his smirking face.
Did he just confirm that…?
"Y-You? Really?" I asked, stunned. He nodded, clearly enjoying my reaction.
"Why? Interested in becoming my boy toy?" he teased.
My cheeks burned instantly. "F*ck you!" I snapped.
He laughed hard. "Your pissed-off reaction is the best!"
"Those are my rules. Got it?" I said sarcastically, trying to end the conversation.
Once his laughter died down, he grew more serious. "I've got rules too. First, we take turns cooking. Cleaning isn't a problem—auntie comes in once a week. Second, you must be home by 8 PM—"
"What the hell?! I have a curfew?" I stood up in disbelief.
Me? A curfew? I'm not a child!
"Your dad asked me to take care of you. How am I supposed to do that if you're never around?" he explained.
"You can lie! Tell him I'm with you or something—use your imagination! I don't care, I just don't want a curfew!" I argued.
He clicked his tongue. "You think that's easy? I have to update your dad every day. You expect me to lie to him daily?"
"Yes! You have my full permission to do that!" I snapped.
"Seriously, Ravi. Your dad's worried about you." His tone turned serious, his voice firm.
"Dad's just paranoid. I'm an adult. I can take care of myself," I insisted. But clearly, my words weren't getting through.
"Then I'll just tell him that you're stubborn and refuse to let me take care of you," he said threateningly.
I raised an eyebrow. "My dad told you to watch over me, not baby me. There's a difference!"
"You're the worst for using my dad against me!" I growled, crossing my arms again and glaring at him.
That irritating smirk returned to his lips. He loved seeing me squirm, and that only pissed me off more.
I hated being ordered around—only my dad could get away with that. But because Elijah had something to use against me, I had no choice.
For the first time in my life, I felt powerless. And I hated every second of it.
"Third rule," he added, "You're going to school with me and coming home with me—so you'll always be back before 8 PM."
That was it. I slammed my hands hard on the table.
I can't believe this.
He's basically saying I'll be stuck with him all day.