Chapter 2
In the end, I couldn't bring myself to send Lucas packing.
The real reason? I cracked open that food container.
Inside were some fancy matcha mousse cakes—sweet but not overwhelming, and they just melted in my mouth.
Cooking skills? Ten out of ten.
As I ate, I sized him up through the crack in the door.
He was still standing there, head down, radiating "I'm so pitiful" vibes.
"Come in," I sighed.
Lucas's head snapped up, his eyes lighting up with pure joy, like his tail was wagging behind him.
He walked into my apartment, messy enough to look like a dog's den, didn't even blink at the chaos, and went straight to the shoe rack like he owned the place. Then he slipped on... a pair of pink bunny slippers he'd brought himself.
"Uh... I noticed you didn't have any extra slippers, so I brought my own," he said, scratching his head awkwardly. "Hope you don't mind?"
I stared at this tall guy, over six feet, wearing pink bunny slippers. The whole scene was so jarring and bizarre that it almost felt unreal.
Eh, whatever. As long as he was my meal ticket, I wouldn't complain.
"Whatever," I said, pointing at the only halfway clean couch. "Sit."
Lucas sat down, back ramrod straight, hands on his knees—like a student waiting for a lecture.
I polished off the last bite of cake, licked my lips, and kicked off the interview.
"Name?" I asked.
"Lucas Reed," he replied.
"Age?" I asked.
"Twenty-three," he replied.
"Occupation?" I asked.
He paused, then muttered, "Uh... I'm basically a jobless bum."
I nodded, totally satisfied.
No job meant he got all the time to mess with lock-up games.
"Why do you want this gig?" I asked.
Lucas looked up, his eyes so intense it was borderline intimidating.
"Because I've been into you for a long time," he said.
I nearly spit out my cake.
"Do we know each other?" I asked.
"No," he shook his head, then nodded right away. "But I see you every day."
My heart sank.
Here we go, he was about to reveal his stalker tendencies.
"I work at the coffee shop downstairs," Lucas explained. "You'd always sit by the window for hours, not saying a word, not looking at anyone—just lost in your own world."
As he spoke, his gaze turned kind of hazy, like he was lost in thought.
"Honestly... you just seemed really lonely.
"I just want to keep you company."
I listened, my face completely blank.
He meant he had been keeping an eye on me for a while, and I was a super easy-to-control introvert.
Nice, he got the possessive psycho vibe.
"So, moving in next door was all part of your plan, huh?" I asked.
Lucas's face went beet red, the blush spreading all the way to his ears.
"I... I just wanted to be closer to you," he mumbled.
"And that message you sent me, about locking me up—were you actually serious?" I pressed.
He nodded so hard, like he was scared I wouldn't believe him. "I've watched a ton of movies and read all kinds of novels about possessive relationships and captivity! I've seriously studied this—I can pull it off!"
As he spoke, he reached into his totally normal-looking backpack and pulled out a bundle of thick rope.
Then a roll of duct tape.
And, to top it off, a pair of handcuffs.
I was lost for words.
He really brought all the gear for this.
He held up the handcuffs, his eyes shining like he was showing off something he just bought.
"Look, these are custom-made—they won't leave any marks.
"And this rope? It's cotton, really soft."
I looked at his innocent, puppy-like face and the dangerous stuff in his hands, falling into deep thought.
So he was basically a rookie possessive psycho—all theory, no practice?
It felt like ordering takeout and getting a brand new delivery guy who showed up with a toolkit for every possible breakdown, just in case something went wrong on the way.
It was kind of hilarious, and weirdly enough... kind of cute?
"Alright," I cleared my throat. "We'll kick things off with a trial period."
"Trial period?" Lucas looked confused, caught off guard.
"Yep," I said, totally making stuff up with a straight face. "Every job has a trial run. Three months—if you pass, you get to be official.
"Rule number one: you handle all my meals, but I get to pick what you cook."
Lucas's eyes sparkled even more. "Deal!"
"Rule number two: no touching me without my permission. That includes, but isn't limited to, using any of your... toys," I added.
His face instantly fell, and he slumped over.
"Oh..."
"Rule number three, and this one's the biggie. You need to remember your role: you're supposed to be a psycho, a stalker, a total control freak. I want to feel like your eyes are always on me, like my whole life is in your hands."
I paused, coaxing him, "Understand? I want the kind of love that makes me feel like I can't breathe."
Lucas nodded, half-understanding, half-confused.
I grinned, totally pleased with myself.
Training up my own obsessive boyfriend? Honestly, that sounded kind of fun.
"Alright, interview's over," I said, waving him off. "You can head out now. Tomorrow morning, I want bread and milk."
Lucas looked like he'd just been pardoned, jumped to his feet, scooped up his stash of gear, and kept looking over his shoulder every few steps as he left.
Watching him disappear out the door, I gave a big stretch, feeling like my whole life was finally turning around.
Perfect. Meal ticket secured, no more socializing, and my top-tier retirement plan was officially kicking off!
I had no clue that, right outside my door, all the shyness and uncertainty on Lucas's face disappeared in a flash.
He leaned against the wall, raising his hand to inhale the lingering scent of me on his fingertips from when he'd pressed against the door.
His usually soft eyes now looked deep and cold, swirling with obsession and craziness.
He took out his phone and dialed a number.
"Take care of the coffee shop downstairs for me.
"And keep an eye on her best friend, Chloe Harper. Don't let her out of your sight."