Unexpected home

(Fiona’s POV)

The school campus hummed with students dragging suitcases, and hugging friends tightly before scattering across different cars and the university bus for the long holiday.

But my mind wasn’t on the chaotic noise, I hadn't seen Paris since our last argument and it broke my heart, a part of me wanted to reach out to her so bad, but I knew we needed some space.

I zipped up my suitcase, then carefully wrapped the canvas of Jalen’s portrait in a soft blanket before securing it inside a large flat box. I handled it like it was a piece of my heart—because it obviously was. It held days of emotion, stolen glances, and memories I didn’t know how to describe.

With one last look at my depressed room—the unmade bed, and scattered snack wrappers—I dragged my suitcase into the hallway. The building echoed with chatter, but I felt strangely disconnected from all of it. I just wanted to hear my own thoughts.

I walked past Paris’s room and her door was shut. No sign of her, she must have left with a goodbye. I don't think she even cared I was leaving.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked out of the hostel for the last time in a long while.

The ride was already waiting outside to pick me up but the journey to Jalen’s home felt bizarre —it didn't feel like I was going to a teacher’s house.

The school entrance opened slowly, unveiling a driveway banded with trimmed flower hedges, fountains, and tall trees that carried the whispers of singing birds as the wind brushed past them.

I remain silent as the cab zoomed off. My eyes were glued to the window like I was registering the route to his house so I could wiggle in at any time. Soon, we arrived at a massive building that screamed quiet luxury—my breath caught as i step out the car.

His house—no, his mansion—was tall, trendy, and elegant. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows reflected the sunset. For a moment I thought i was lost, i never would have imagined such a beautiful sight judging by his look and character. Black inflections wrapped around the structure like it had been designed for kings… or someone who lived far above the rest of us—like a mortal.

Before I could lift my suitcase off the ground, the front door swung open.

And there he was.

Jalen stood casually against the doorframe wearing a free grey joggers and a black T-shirt that clung to his body in all the right ways. I've never seen him in such easy allure before. His hair was slightly messy but neat, falling over his forehead, and his eyes—God, his eyes—softened the moment they met mine.

“You’re here,” he said gently, his voice low and welcomig.

I nodded, unable to hide my smile. “Yeah… miss me?”

He stepped forward, taking the suitcase from me before I could protest. “You should’ve called me to come out earlier. This bag looks heavier than you,” he murmured and I chuckled.

“I’m stronger than I look,” I shot back playfully.

He chuckled, the sound sending a ripple of warmth down my spine. “Come inside.” his husky voice gestured.

I followed him through the massive wooden doors. The interior was even more beautiful—open spaces, white marble floors, soft beige furniture, and a chandelier dripping crystals like frozen raindrops, the rays reflecting on it casted a soft shadow on the walls. Everything smelled like pine and something distinctly him.

“This place is… beautiful,” I whispered, turning slowly to take it all in.

He watched me with an unreadable expression. “I’m glad you like it.”

I liked it too much. I used to think Dad's got a gorgeous house but this—this was on another level of exquisite.

“How about Marian?” I asked carefully, even though I didn’t want her name in my mouth.

He shrugged. “She left earlier this morning. Business trip. Don't worry, she won’t be back until tomorrow night.” he said, a faint smirk curved up his face.

My shoulders relaxed and I let out a sigh.

I hadn’t realized how tense I was until he said that.

“Come,” he said softly. “Let me show you your room.”

He led me up a spiral staircase, down a hallway banded with abstract paintings, and stopped in front of a white door. He opened it slowly, revealing a wide room with a soft pink rug, a large bed, white curtains dancing gently by the window, and shelves filled with books and art.

“This is… mine?” I whispered, stunned.

“For as long as you’re here,” he replied.

The moment he said it, my chest snatched with a feeling I couldn’t explain. something similar to home, but no, it didn't come close.

“I’ll let you freshen up,” he said, stepping back. “And get you something to eat.”

I blinked, imagination flooding my mind. “You cook?”

His lips tugged into a small smirk. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

He shut the door before I could tease him further. I dropped onto the bed, the softness swallowing me whole. The painting box lay beside my suitcase delicately, waiting for the right moment. I had planned on doing a lot of paintings with Jalen.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock.

“It’s me,” Jalen said before pushing the door open.

He walked in holding a tray with a steaming bowl of ramen, neatly sliced boiled eggs, vegetables, lots of meat and a cup of juice. The smell loomed into the room, instantly making my stomach growl.

“Homemade, I hope you like it,” he said proudly.

I giggled. “Are you trying to impress me, Prof?”

But just as he was setting the tray on the bedside table, a drop of the hot broth splashed onto the back of my hand.

“Ouch!” I winced, dragging my hand back.

His eyes widened. “Shit—Fiona, I’m so sorry.”

He placed the tray down instantly and took my hand carefully, turning it palm-up. His touch was gentle, almost trembling.

“You okay?” he asked, voice thick with worry.

“It’s fine,” I whispered, though my heart thumped wildly at the closeness.

He lifted my hand to his lips and blew softly on the reddened spot. Warm air brushed my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. His brows knitted in concern as he kept blowing, almost like each breath was a plea for the pain to disappear.

My senses spun. Everything around me stopped until the only thing I saw was him. His face was inches from mine—His lips felt soft, and warm…

His eyes holding a softness only I was permitted to see when we were alone.

“Jalen…” I breathed.

He lifted his gaze, and something flickered between us—a silent pull, deep and impossible to ignore.

Before doubt could steal the moment, I leaned forward, licked my lip, my eyes stagnated on his until I pressed my lips to his.

The kiss was soft and gentle at first but then, His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer as our lips deepened into a slow, passionate rhythm that made my chest flutter wildly. The world faded. Everything dissolved until it was just him and me.

When we finally pulled away, breathless, his forehead touched mine.

“We should… slow down,” he whispered, though his voice shook slightly.

I nodded, unable to speak.

He brushed a thumb across my lips, staring deeply into my eyes—and I parted it in response, silently pleading that he push it into my throat, then he stood up. “Eat and rest. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

I nodded. His exit felt like the room losing its warmth.

I ate slowly, savoring the ramen and trying to distract myself until the plate was empty, I tried to stay calm but my clit won't stop squeezing.

“Girl…Relax Fiona, it was just a kiss.” I scolded myself. Then I unpacked a little—the clothes for the week, my sketch pencils, and finally placed the wrapped painting gently against the wall.

The room glowed with soft sunlight filtering through the curtains. I traced my fingers along the bedframe, the shelves, and the walls, absorbing every detail. It felt unreal to think I would be sleeping here. Existing in the same house as Jalen.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door, and my heart skipped. “Come in.”

The door opened revealing Marian. And I froze, Jalen said… my thoughts hung midway.

Her eyes ran over me from head to toe, cold and calculating. Her smile was thin—stretched only for pleasantry.

“So,” she said flatly, “you’re here.” she asked as she scanned through the room.

“Yes,” I replied calmly, refusing to shrink.

“I see.” She tilted her head, folding her arms. “Make yourself not too comfortable.” she spat. “Know your place and remember not to be a bitch—especially around my husband.”

I felt cold, but I didn’t flinch. She lingered for another second before stepping out and closing the door gently, the soft click of her heels echoing like a warning.

Night crept in quietly. I lay on my bed scrolling through my phone, expecting Jalen to show up, I went through my chatbox hoping to see Paris’s text but there were no messages from Paris. None from Jude.

It shouldn’t have hurt the way it did, but it did.

I typed a message to Paris but deleted it.

Typed another to Jude—deleted that too.

I needed to speak to someone so I opened my dad's chatbox:

Dad,

I’ve reached Jalen’s house safely.

Hope you both are doing okay? How was your trip?

I’ll call tomorrow.

Love, Fiona.

And I hit send, placing my phone down, before exhaling deeply, and let the silence of Jalen’s home settle softly around me. My eyes were wide open, and thoughts fought my sleep. I got up sharply, stepping out of the room to get some water.

I tiptoed down the hallway until a red light pulled me closer to an isolated door. I felt familiar as I walked closer and closer to it. Just then, a voice echoed behind me.

“What are you doing?”