All Chapters of The Roomie Complex: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Damon’s POVHe always knew it would come to this.The moment he saw Cheryl for the first time — in that slinky red dress at that bar, soft curls falling over her shoulders like poetry in motion — he knew he'd never stand a chance. Not when Aiden was involved. Aiden always got what he wanted, he looked like a guy that got everything he wanted. The girls. The glory. The forgiveness. Even after everything.But not this time.Not anymore.Damon lit a cigarette and took a long drag, leaning against the black Impala parked under the sickly orange glow of a dying streetlamp. The road out here was cracked, half-swallowed by overgrown weeds. The silence of the place clawed at the back of his neck, broken only by the distant echo of a rusted windmill creaking with each breeze.The warehouse ahead of him stood like a tomb — abandoned, graffitied, the scent of oil and mildew bleeding from its rusted frame. It used to be a car assembly plant, once. Now, it was the kind of place nightmares came to

Cheryl’s POVThe morning light streamed through the pale curtains, brushing my room in gold, but it only made the pounding guilt in my head stronger.I sat up slowly, rubbing my arms, feeling the faint bruises of last night's chaos beneath my skin. It was almost absurd how normal everything looked. The smell of bacon frying downstairs, the creak of the old wood floors in my aunt’s house, the chirping of birds outside.But inside me?Nothing felt normal.Every time I closed my eyes, the gunshot echoed in my brain — loud, sharp, deadly. My fingers twitched at the memory, and I recoiled, wrapping my arms around my knees like they could somehow hold me together.I had shot someone.Not just anyone. Damon.I hadn't meant to — God, I hadn't meant to. It was instinct, pure reflex. I had seen the gun pressed to Aiden’s head and I hadn’t thought — I had acted.Like some wild animal, desperate to protect.But the more I thought about it… the more I realized the sinking truth:I wasn’t sure I ha

CHERYL'S POVThe sky hung heavy and gray above me as I drove, casting the entire town in a muted haze. It was the kind of weather that whispered secrets and warned of storms—fitting for the place I was heading. Damon’s house. Or, more accurately, the house Damon bought for me. My grip on the steering wheel tightened as I turned onto the long, winding driveway. The structure loomed into view like a forgotten secret—modern, cold, and elegant. It hadn’t changed. White concrete walls, dark paneling, glass edges that reflected the world but let no one in. It was still as breathtaking and lonely as the man who owned it.I parked and stepped out slowly, gravel crunching underfoot. The keypad beside the tall black door blinked awake as I approached. I didn’t hesitate—my fingers moved by memory, punching in the code he had set using my birthday. There was a soft click, and then the door opened with a sigh, as if the house had been holding its breath all this time.Silence met me inside.Thick

CHERYLMy heart slammed against my ribs so loudly I could hear it—like it was trying to speak before I could.Aiden’s voice still rang in my ears, soft but firm. “Come with me. I'll explain everything, I'll tell you everything.”And then Damon’s—darker, lower. “Don’t move.”I stood between them like the axis of some cruel universe, their opposing gravities tugging at my ribs. The silence that fell wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind that howled beneath your skin. The kind you find just before a car crashes or a gun fires.My feet didn’t move. But everything inside me did.Aiden was looking at me like I was salvation, or maybe a last chance. And Damon? Damon’s face was unreadable—except for his eyes. His eyes were sharp and cold, yet… pleading.That was the worst part. Damon never pleaded.My gaze dropped to his chest, to the white bandage stark against his olive skin, to the dried blood that clung stubbornly to the edge of his open shirt.I did that. I shot him.He should hate me. But in

CHERYLI hadn’t laughed like that in a while.Not the polite kind of laughter, This was different. It was real. The kind that made my cheeks warm and brought tears to my eyes. The kind I used to have back when life was simpler and happiness didn’t feel like some expensive thing you had to earn with heartbreak.Oliver Barker.I couldn’t believe I’d run into him—here of all places, looking like he had just stepped out of some casual fashion catalog: dark jeans, a grey henley that clung to his arms in a way that hinted he’d been doing more than reading books lately, and that same untamed hair, a little longer now, brushing his forehead like it had a mind of its own. There was still something reserved about him—like he existed a beat away from the world—but that was part of the charm.I remembered him instantly.Back in high school, he was the quiet one in science class who always got the formulas right, the typ who wrote the answers with a bored flick of his wrist while everyone else scr