Chapter 5
830words
Some from her father, others from Damian.
Photos of Damian's inappropriate behavior spread through New York's elite circles, tanking Sterling family stocks. Lydia's father—who'd entered high society only through marriage—raged at her over the phone.
"You've disgraced the Thorne name! You think you can afford to offend the Sterlings? Go apologize to Damian immediately!"
"I call you father only out of courtesy. Without that, you're nothing but a kept man," Lydia coldly interrupted. "That villa you're living in? Already listed for sale. Mother's assets were protected by prenup and will. You won't see a penny."
That money—she couldn't spend it in ten lifetimes. Better to die and donate it all than let it fall into his hands.
Furious insults erupted from the phone.
Another day passed. When she tried using her black card for the suite, the clerk politely informed her that all her accounts and cards had been frozen.
The relationship had completely fractured. She was truly homeless.
Lydia suddenly thought of that morning—Caleb, red-faced, silently accepting her humiliation.
She dialed his number.
"Mr. Saint."
Upon hearing her voice, a pause, then an abrupt click as the call disconnected.
He was truly angry.
Caleb studied Criminal Justice at NYU and lived alone in a small Brooklyn apartment. His life was simple: classes, garage work, gym. Before she appeared, his world was clean as a blank page.
Lydia waited outside his building until midnight.
Caleb returned from work in a faded black T-shirt, oil stains on his arms. He carried an eco-friendly bag filled with tomatoes and vegetables from the market.
Seeing her, Caleb's expression froze. He pretended not to notice and walked straight toward the building entrance.
Lydia stood from the steps and looked up pitifully, attempting to appear vulnerable.
"Caleb, I have nowhere else to go."
He ignored her and strode toward the stairs.
"Then I'll just sleep here," she said, her voice carrying to nearby windows. "Who knows what might happen to me. I guess everything you said at the hotel was a lie—about responsibility, about dating..."
Neighbors were already poking their heads out curiously.
Caleb stopped, his expression dark, and forced two words through clenched teeth:
"Come in."
The old one-bedroom was a hundred times cleaner than she'd imagined. The tablecloth and walls looked too fresh for a bachelor pad. The blanket was folded into a perfect square. A cheap but fresh soap scent filled the air, and green onions grew in yogurt containers on the windowsill.
Everything reflected its owner: disciplined, tidy, even slightly obsessive-compulsive.
"...What are you doing here?" Caleb refused to soften his expression.
"I'm homeless now, Caleb," she sat unceremoniously on his desk piled with textbooks, resting her chin on her hand. "I have no choice but to impose on you."
But he wouldn't be fooled so easily again.
"You can sleep here tonight, but leave tomorrow." He avoided looking at her, busying himself in the small kitchen.
"I'm hungry."
He washed vegetables, cut tomatoes, sautéed with green onions, and made two steaming bowls of tomato and egg noodles.
"Eat. This is all I have."
Lydia certainly didn't stand on ceremony.
She just hadn't expected such ordinary noodles to smell so delicious.
They ate in unusual silence. She complimented his cooking; he merely grunted in response.
He washed dishes while she showered.
"Where's the shampoo? Conditioner? Body wash?" She stared dumbfounded at the bathroom shelf's sole occupant—a bar of soap.
"That's all there is. Take it or leave it." His cold voice carried from the kitchen.
Caleb's short hair meant he didn't own a hair dryer.
When he finished the dishes, he found her sitting on the bed in his T-shirt, wet hair dripping, looking up innocently. The oversized shirt barely covered her thighs, a large patch soaked from her hair.
Eventually, Caleb went to borrow a hair dryer from a neighbor.
The neighbor, a warm-hearted middle-aged woman, covered her mouth and smiled: "Oh, Caleb's finally come to his senses? Bringing a girlfriend home?"
Caleb turned back scowling, only to find Lydia peeking through the doorway, smiling sweetly at the woman.
"Thank you, ma'am. Tomorrow Caleb will buy me a new hair dryer."
She slipped under Caleb's blanket, instantly enveloped by clean soap fragrance. Accustomed to expensive custom perfumes, this simple scent somehow gave her an unprecedented sense of security.
The apartment had only one bed.
Caleb made a bed on the floor.
In the darkness, she heard him turning over, his breathing steady.
She quietly slid off the bed and crept under his blanket.
Making a floor bed was one thing, but sleeping fully clothed?
Such caution... truly irritating.
Suddenly, she felt the muscles in his back tense, his breathing pausing momentarily.
The next second, Caleb flipped over, one hand gripping her wrists like iron, firmly pinning her beneath him.
In the darkness, his warm breath brushed her cheek, his voice containing a severely suppressed warning.
"Lydia, behave yourself."
"Otherwise, get out."
