All Chapters of The Guy Who Lives Next Door : Chapter 61 - Chapter 69

Ruby didn’t avoid Kai.That was the part that hurt the most.She walked past him in the hallway like he was part of the wall—present, solid, irrelevant. No glare. No flinch. No tight jaw or shaking hands. Just… nothing.Kai noticed immediately.He noticed the way she didn’t speed up or slow down when he was near. The way she didn’t pretend to be busy on her phone or whisper to friends. The way her eyes slid over him without catching, like she genuinely didn’t see him.Silence.He’d taken anger before. He knew how to fight that. He knew how to mock it, provoke it, twist it until it cracked.This was different.This felt like being erased.The school, meanwhile, was loud.By the second period, the slap had already evolved into ten different stories. Some said Ruby had thrown the first insult. Others claimed Kai had laughed afterward. A few swore she’d been crying when she did it, which wasn’t true—but truth had never mattered much at St. Celeste.In the bathroom, two girls whispered ope

She laughed it off, “ really, just like a superstar right?” she said. And they both laughed.Kai on the other hand didn’t go to the first period.That alone sent a ripple through St. Celeste High.By the time the bell rang and his seat remained empty, people noticed. By the second bell, they whispered. By the third, the absence felt loud.Kai Kingston didn’t skip.He arrived late, effortlessly. He charmed his way out of consequences. He smirked and teachers sighed and life moved on.Except today, he didn’t show up at all.He was on the rooftop instead, leaning against the cold railing, knuckles raw from gripping it too hard. His phone buzzed nonstop in his pocket—group chats, missed calls, questions he didn’t want to answer.Where are you?You good, man?Bro, you’re seriously skipping?He turned the phone face-down.For the first time in a long time, he didn’t care who noticed his absence.What he couldn’t stop seeing was Ruby.Not crying.Not furious.Not begging him to explain.Thri

Ruby didn't say a thing, she just smiled.The donor event was supposed to be untouchable.That was the word everyone used.Untouchable, like the Kingstons themselves.Ruby hadn’t planned on staying long. She was only there because the debate committee had been asked to help usher guests—smiles, programs, directions, polite small talk. The gym had been transformed into something glittering and unreal: white drapes, soft lighting, banners with the school crest, tables lined with glossy pamphlets listing benefactors.At the top of the list, as always:Kingston Family Foundation.Ruby noticed the first crack before anyone said a word.Kai stood near the stage, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in that practiced way of his. But his eyes kept drifting to the entrance. Every few seconds. Every opening door.Waiting.People noticed. They always noticed Kai.“Are his parents late?” someone murmured behind Ruby.“They’re never late,” another voice replied.Minutes passed.Then more.The hea

The next morning Kai didn’t plan to lose control.That was the thing everyone always got wrong about him.He didn’t wake up wanting to explode. He didn’t stalk the halls looking for a target. Control had been stitched into him since childhood—tailored suits, measured words, the kind of silence that bent rooms to his will.But fear had a way of loosening seams.It started in chemistry.He hadn’t slept. Again. The house had been too quiet the night before—no parents, no voices, just the low hum of security systems and the echo of Ruby’s words looping in his head.You don’t lose people. You outgrow the version of them that lets you hurt them.He sat at his lab station, leg bouncing, jaw tight. The teacher droned on about reaction rates, but all Kai could hear was the whispering behind him.Not subtle. Not even careful.“…told you his name wouldn’t save him forever.”“…saw the security footage, right?”“…Kingston finally slipping.”His fingers curled around the edge of the desk.Then some

Kai had always known the house was too big. It swallowed the sound. Even his footsteps felt temporary, like the floor didn’t bother remembering him once he passed. Tonight, the halls were lit brighter than usual—staff moving quietly, a dinner table set for people who weren’t hungry, for people who weren’t coming.He stood in the doorway of the study, jacket still on, tie loosened and forgotten. His father sat behind the desk, glasses perched low, absorbed in something that mattered more than a son. His mother lounged on the couch, scrolling through an event recap she hadn’t attended. They didn’t look up.“Sit,” his father said, eyes never leaving the papers.Kai didn’t.“I don’t want to talk about optics,” Kai said. His voice surprised him—steady, low, resolute. “I want to talk about us.”That earned a glance. Brief. Calculating.“We don’t have time for melodrama,” his mother said, eyes still on her phone. “If this is about the school—”“It’s not,” Kai cut in sharply. “It’s about you