Chapter 5 Behind Closed Doors

Mila

I slid the hairbrush into the top drawer and gave myself one last glance in the mirror. Simple-blue jeans, white tank top, and clean white sneakers. Nothing fancy, just comfortable. I grabbed my bag off the chair, zipped it, and slung it over my shoulder.

Another Monday. Another week of school.

I was already thinking about the test I didn't study for.

I opened my bedroom door, ready to call out a quick goodbye-maybe grab a slice of toast on the way out.

But I froze.

Halfway down the hall, just outside Lucy's room, I stopped dead in my tracks.

The door was slightly open, and inside... there was a man.

He was tall, standing near Lucy's bed with a tray in his hands. His back was to me, but even from here, something about him felt-off. Like he didn't belong here. Not really.

I didn't hear Lucy speak. I didn't hear anything.

Just silence.

And something I couldn't name tightening in my chest.

I stood there, quiet, gripping my bag strap, heart suddenly beating a little faster-because even though I didn't understand it yet...

I could feel it.

Something was wrong.

I stayed just beyond the doorway, eyes fixed on the man inside my sister's room.

He spoke softly. "Hey, hun. Good morning. Breakfast is served."

He placed a tray gently on the side table, then knelt beside Lucy's bed. The way he touched her hair, kissed her forehead, smiled down at her like she was the only thing in the world-it looked... sincere.

And Lucy smiled back.

Maybe I was wrong.

I turned, quietly heading down the stairs.

In the kitchen, I found Mom and Dad already seated at the table. I hesitated before stepping in, unsure how to bring it up without sounding weird.

"Who's the guy in Lucy's room?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Mom looked up with a soft smile. "That's Mike. Her boyfriend."

"Oh," I said, surprised. "He's... here?"

Dad gave a small nod. "Arrived early this morning."

"He made breakfast, too," Mom added, motioning to the neatly set table. "For everyone. Quite the gentleman, really."

I sat down slowly, eyeing the warm food, the folded napkins, the too-perfect layout.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "He seems... nice."

But I couldn't help thinking: people who want you to like them always seem nice.

I grabbed a slice of toast on my way out, still thinking about him-Mike.

He seemed too polished. Too perfect. The breakfast, the smile, the way Lucy didn't flinch when he kissed her. I didn't know what I expected, but it wasn't that.

I stepped outside, tightening my jacket against the early morning breeze-and then stopped.

Parked at the curb was a sleek black car, gleaming even under the soft morning light. Not just any car-luxury. The kind you only see in magazines or outside fancy hotels. And there was a driver standing beside it, dressed in a crisp black suit, hands folded in front of him like he'd been trained for this his entire life.

My eyebrows lifted.

Seriously?

I turned right back around, reentered the house, and tiptoed to the kitchen doorway.

"Um... did you guys see his car?" I whispered, eyes wide. "There's a driver waiting outside."

Mom and Dad paused mid-bite, glancing at each other.

"A driver?" Mom repeated.

Dad set down his fork. "What kind of car?"

"Expensive. Black. Shiny," I said. "The kind that looks like it costs more than this house."

That got their attention.

Mom tilted her head, thoughtful. "He didn't say what he does for a living..."

Dad nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Maybe it's time we find out."

---

~

Lucy

The door creaked open.

I tensed beneath the covers as Mike stepped into the room, the tray still in his hands, his eyes warm-too warm.

He crossed the space between us with that familiar confident stride and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, then my cheek.

I tightened the blanket around me, pulling it up to my chin like a shield.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said, placing the tray gently on the side table. "I thought you could use a little spoiling today."

I forced a smile. Tired, but practiced. "Thanks... this is sweet."

His gaze lingered on my face, studying me too closely, too long. I kept the smile in place until I heard Mila's steps move down the hallway and then down the stairs.

And then I let it fall.

The smile vanished like it had never been there.

Mike was still watching me, and for a second, neither of us said a word. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a hand along my arm-gentle, but heavy in its intention.

"You didn't tell your family about me," he said softly, not angry-yet.

"I needed space," I replied, equally soft. "You showed up before I could."

He didn't respond right away. Just smiled again.

But I knew that smile too.

And I knew how quickly it could turn.

Mike's fingers tightened suddenly around my arm.

I gasped, the sting sharp, his grip like a vice. "Mike-"

"You're hurting me," I whispered, my voice trembling as I tried not to flinch. "Why do you say you love me... but you hurt me every time?"

Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill. I hated that I was crying. I hated that he always made me cry.

His hand stayed for a second too long... then finally, he let go.

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair as he started pacing across the room. His jaw clenched tight, muscles twitching under the tension in his face.

"You left me," he muttered. Then louder: "You didn't say anything. You just fucking left me."

I stayed quiet, eyes on the tray he brought-toast, eggs, strawberries. Like a bribe dressed as kindness.

He turned toward me, eyes dark. "Why?" he demanded, voice cracking. "Why do you make me hurt you?"

That's what he always asked.

Like I was the reason.

Like I had control over what came out of his fists or the fury behind his words.

I didn't answer. I just curled my knees up tighter under the blanket, wishing Mila hadn't gone to school...

I kept my voice low, steady. "Mike, please. My parents are downstairs."

He stopped pacing, breathing hard, his back turned to me. His shoulders rose and fell with every inhale like he was trying to wrestle the anger back down.

"They don't even know me," he muttered.

"They will," I lied gently, because I knew that's what he needed to hear. "They will. Just not like this."

He didn't turn around. His silence stretched too long.

I sat up slightly, wincing as I rubbed my arm where he'd grabbed me. The bruise hadn't formed yet, but I knew it would. Just like the others.

"I didn't leave to hurt you," I added softly. "I just... I needed space. Time to think."

Mike finally faced me. His expression was a mix of heartbreak and fury, like he couldn't decide whether to collapse or explode.

"Don't make me into a monster, Lucy," he said. "Don't make me something I'm not."

I nodded slowly, heart hammering, voice barely audible. "Okay."

From downstairs, I heard plates clinking, the low murmur of my parents talking. So close-but completely unaware.

And here I was, stuck upstairs with a man who said he loved me...

... but only when I behaved exactly the way he needed me to.