The Stranger in My House

NIA’S POV.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. The whole room went quiet. Even the air felt still.

My mother looked between me and Kingston, forehead already creasing. “What do you mean?”

I forced a short laugh that sounded wrong even to me. “I… I mean… what are the chances? I thought he’d be older. You know. Closer to Victor’s age or something.”

Kingston’s eyes flicked to mine for half a second. He caught on fast.

“Yeah,” he said, voice steady. “I get that a lot.”

Victor chuckled, easy and warm. “People always expect a thirty-something-year-old because of my age. Can’t blame them.”

My mother smiled again, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Well, now you’ve met. Sit down, Kingston. There’s still plenty of food.”

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat. I stared at my plate. The salmon looked cold now. I picked up my fork just to have something in my hand.

Victor asked him about work. Kingston answered in short, normal sentences. Long day. Meetings ran late. Nothing interesting. Every word felt too careful. I kept my eyes down.

Every time I almost looked up, I saw the tattoos on his arms again and the hotel room came back—his mouth, the way his hands had held my hips, the sound he made when he came. I gripped the fork tighter. The metal dug into my palm.

Kingston noticed. I felt him glance at my hand, then away.

My mother kept talking like nothing was strange. “Nia just finished school. Marketing. She’s been sending out applications nonstop.”

“That’s good,” Kingston said.

I nodded once without looking at him. “Yeah.”

The rest of dinner dragged on. Clinks of silverware. My mother filled every silence. Victor asking ordinary questions that suddenly felt loaded. I answered when I had to. Kingston did the same. We never looked at each other longer than a second.

When the plates were mostly empty, Victor sat back. “Kingston, why don’t you show Nia around? She hasn’t seen the rest of the place yet.”

I sat up straighter. “That’s okay. I can find my way.”

“It’s no trouble,” Victor said. “He’s lived here long enough. Give her the full tour.”

My mother was already stacking plates. “Go on, baby. We’ll clean up.”

There was no clean way out. I stood. Kingston stood too. We walked toward the hallway without speaking.

The second we turned the corner and the voices of our parents faded, the quiet hit hard. Our footsteps sounded too loud on the marble. He stopped near a wide window that looked out over the darkening city. I stopped a few feet away and crossed my arms.

For a long moment neither of us said anything.

Then Kingston spoke, low.

“Tell me that’s not your mother.”

I let out a short breath. “Tell me that’s not your father.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus.”

I stared at the skyline without really seeing it. “We’re screwed.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. We are.”

I finally looked at him. He looked tired. Still composed, but the calm felt forced now.

“My mom married him before I even got to Atlanta,” I said. “A week before. I didn’t know anything about a son.”

“Dad never mentioned a daughter.” Kingston shook his head. “Not once. He just said he was getting married and asked me to stick around for a while so the place didn’t feel empty.”

“So neither of them knew.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

We went quiet again. Somewhere down the hall a cabinet closed. Ordinary sounds from a normal night that wasn't normal at all.

Kingston leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Nobody can ever know.”

I nodded. “It never happened.”

“Exactly.”

“We just… act normal.”

“That’s the plan.”

I scoffed under my breath. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who just moved in.”

“I’m the one who has to see you every day now,” he said. Not mean. Just stating it. “Kitchen. Hallway. Living room. It’s all shared.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

He pushed off the wall. “Come on. If we stay out here too long they’ll notice.”

He walked me through the rest of the penthouse in short, practical sentences. Gym down the hall. Guest bathroom. His room was on the opposite side from mine. Office Victor sometimes used. I barely heard half of it. My mind kept circling back to the hotel and the fact that the man from that night now slept under the same roof.

When we got back to the main area my mother was wiping the counter. Victor was putting glasses away. They looked up and smiled like everything was fine.

“All set?” Victor asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks for the tour.”

Kingston nodded once. “Anytime.”

I went straight to my room and closed the door. The quiet felt thicker in here. I sat on the edge of the bed and finally unzipped my suitcase. Most of the clothes were still folded the way I had packed them days ago. I pulled out the jeans I had worn that night at the club—the dark ones with the small tear near the knee—and shook them once before tossing them toward the laundry pile.

Something small and hard hit the floor with a soft clink.

I frowned and reached down.

Two black cufflinks. Heavy. Smooth. The kind that belonged on a dress shirt, not in a girl’s jeans pocket.

I stared at them in my open palm. I must have grabbed them by accident when I was getting dressed in the dark hotel room. Or they had fallen into the fold of my pants and stayed there. I hadn’t noticed.

I set the cufflinks on the nightstand and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

A soft knock came at the door.

It wasn't my mother’s light tap. I dropped my hands.

“Yeah?”

Kingston’s voice came through.

“It is Kingston.”