What Am I Doing in Your House?!

Amara Cross POV

All I feel is a heavy weight pressing on my eyelids. I try to open my eyes, but they refuse to listen. Sleep feels like a magnet pulling my soul deep down.

I turn on the bed. My skin brushes against something very soft, silky smooth. I touch it gently and sink into its softness before rolling to the other side.

I open my eyes a little.

I frown in confusion. These are not the walls of Asla’s small room.

I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes. Thick silence wraps around me. Nothing breaks it except the sound of my own breathing.

My mind starts to wake up.

My eyes widen in panic. I throw the blanket off my body fast.

“I am still wearing my clothes.”

I push the comforter away completely and try to stand. My winter shoes are placed neatly beside the bed, perfectly aligned. That alone feels wrong. I never do that.

“Did my fears come true? Was I kidnapped?”

I sneak toward the door. My shaking hand grips the cold handle with extreme care, afraid it might creak and give me away. No guards. No whispers. Nothing. Just emptiness.

I close the door and lean my back against it, breathing deep, trying to calm my heart that is beating like a mad drum inside my chest.

“If you are kidnapped, Amara, you need to escape now.”

I clench my fists, fear mixed with excitement. I step into the long hallway, walking on my toes like a ballet dancer trying not to touch the floor. I go down the stairs slowly, following the light at the end of the hall, until I reach a place that steals my breath.

“Wow. This must be the kitchen my grandma always dreamed of. It is beautiful.”

I walk toward the double door fridge. The moment I touch it, it opens smoothly with impressive technology.

“Technology,” I whisper in awe.

My shock doubles when I see what is inside. It is full from top to bottom with the best food. I sit on the floor, staring at a huge bowl overflowing with bright red strawberries and green grapes. My eyes shine with desire.

I reach out, but my pride slaps my hand lightly.

“Is it shameful to eat from a kidnapper’s fridge?”

I turn to leave, but my stomach betrays me with a loud growl.

“I know, my dear. I want strawberries too, but…”

I do not resist for long. My hand slips back to the fridge. I pick the biggest strawberry. It is cold. Its smell fills my nose.

“I will surrender. Just for the beauty of this fruit.”

I bite into it and close my eyes. Sweetness melts on my tongue. I take another. Then another, with childish hunger.

I wash my hands quickly, but suddenly footsteps echo closer.

I freeze. Cold fear runs through my veins. My blood feels like ice.

I search wildly for a weapon. My eyes land on a heavy frying pan in the last drawer. I grab it with both hands, fingers squeezing the handle until they turn white.

I hide behind the wall, watching the shadow approach.

The moment his body appears, I lift the pan with all my strength and swing it toward his head.

He dodges it with smooth skill. I stumble.

In a blink, a strong arm wraps around my waist. My wrists are pinned behind my back in a professional move. The pan flies away.

“Get away from me, you filthy bastard,” I scream, biting my lip in rage, thrashing hard in his arms.

My back is pressed to his wide chest. His warm breath brushes my neck.

“Quiet, Amara. You will cause a disaster if you keep struggling. And you will not like the results.”

I go still.

That deep, rough voice.

“Dorian.”

Something hard presses against my lower back. I flinch in shock. Every hair on my body stands up.

“Do you like hitting kidnappers with frying pans?”

His whisper at my ear feels like a drug. It steals my strength.

When his grip loosens, I spin fast and shove him toward the wall. He does not step back. He moves with me calmly, annoyingly calm.

“Mr. Dorian? What are you doing here? Were you kidnapped too? Do not worry. I will get the pan and we escape together.”

He stares at me, stunned and thoughtful, then grabs my wrist with his large hand when I try to go back for the pan.

“Amara, what nonsense are you saying? What kind of kidnapper lets himself walk free in his own house? This is my house.”

Fear fades, replaced by shock that freezes my thoughts.

“Your house? Then what am I doing in your house?”

“Do you really not remember? You were exhausted yesterday. When we reached the neighborhood, I asked for your address, but you suddenly passed out.”

I cover my mouth. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.

What a disaster. Why did I sleep like a corpse?

“Did you try to wake me up?” I ask nervously, studying his face.

He lifts a brow with a sly look. “I tried. But do you know what you did?”

My palms sweat. Tension claws at me.

“What did I do? I did nothing. I am sure.”

He steps closer. Places his hand on my head. Messes with my hair in an annoying way, then steps back.

“It is better I do not say.”

I cross my arms, annoyed.

“See? I told you. I did nothing at all.”

He ignores me completely. Pours himself a glass of cold water.

When he turns around, I freeze.

He is shirtless.

His broad chest is bare. Sculpted muscles stand out under the soft light. Tattoos decorate his arm like dark, mysterious art. I cannot look away from his body, which challenges the idea of being forty.

“I swear I wish my future kids could inherit genes like these,” I think before his voice pulls me back.

“Do you like what you see?”

“Huh?” I gasp, deadly embarrassed, my body jerking back when he steps close suddenly.

“I mean the strawberries. Yes. The strawberries were very delicious.”

The words tumble out of me. The air between us heats up, nothing to do with the weather. I place my hands on the cold marble behind me, but my body is clearly shaking.

“Mr. Dorian, what is wrong with you?”

He ignores the question. His eyes lock onto mine with a focus that messes up my breathing.

Suddenly, I gasp when his hands grab my thighs and lift me easily, placing me on the counter.

His hands are cool even though I am wearing jeans, but the heat of his touch burns through the fabric. He does not move them away. I do not push him back either.

His closeness feels good. And terrifying.

His gaze travels over my face, then settles on my lips. My cheeks flush deeper. No man has ever trapped me like this before.

He brushes a long strand of my hair behind my back. His fingers touch my heated skin. My body trembles under the weight of his look, a look that tells me he knows exactly how much power he has over me.