Wally parks the car way too fast and rushes to join his wife and daughter, leaving me no choice but to drag my feet after him toward the platform — just in time to see Ella opening the door.

  “Sam?” Ella calls out, holding back the excited dog trying to jump on her.

  I hear something slide, and then a window opens in the back of the kitchen — a small opening in the wall above the counter. From it, a bottle of wine slips out of the cabinet.

  “Did something happen?” His voice is completely muffled, but that is enough for Furious to lose interest in us entirely.

  “The river took the tent,” Ella answers as I watch the dog freeze by the counter.

  The loud sound of rushing water echoes from inside. I assume Sam is getting out of the bathtub.

  As if curious, the cat leaps onto the dog's back, then onto the counter, peeking through the window.

  “We moved our stuff to get the tent away from the river, but the current got to it before we could,” Ella says.

  And just like that, the cat jumps through the window. What follows is a chaotic symphony — water splashing, a blood-curdling yowl, glass shattering, frantic barking from the dog, who now has his head shoved through the tiny window, unable to squeeze into the madness.

  Could this get any worse? Actually, I’m kinda enjoying it. It’s like karma is playing dominoes with him.

  We interrupted his relaxing bath. The cat is probably clawing at him, and he doesn’t have a single piece of clothing to protect himself. And since he doesn’t like being around me either, the idea of spending even a second longer with me must be his personal nightmare.

  Then the cat bursts back out, covered in foam, sprinting around the table like a lunatic.

  “You okay?” Ella asks hesitantly.

  What if he doesn’t answer? And not because he’s gone back to his silent phase, but because, well… he's dead?

  “I’m fine,” he finally responds.

  Ella hesitates to take a step closer, then looks at her husband, who instantly gets the message.

  She’s a woman, and he’s most likely naked. If someone has to go in there to help, it better be another guy.

  “It’s just Felina being Felina. As for your tent, you can sleep here.”

  “We don’t want to impose.”

  “Don’t make me look like a heartless bastard who’d leave you out in the rain.”

  “We’ll sleep in the car, it’s fine. One night won’t kill us,” I clarify, leaving no doubt that I don’t need him. I refuse to owe him anything else.

  “Let him finish his bath, and we’ll talk,” my cousin suggests.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Sam says.

  The cat tries to climb back in, but the man shoves it out, slamming the window shut. “No.”

  The cat meows, pawing at the window in protest.

  “Should we dry the cat off to help?” Zoe steps closer, but the cat arches its back, hissing a warning.

  “Probably best not to touch Felina right now,” the man mutters, reopening the window just to dump the shards of a broken wine glass into the trash hole in the counter.

  ***

  A few minutes later, the automatic door slides open, revealing the man, effortlessly elegant in a loose olive-green silk pajama set, a towel draped around his neck.

  He holds one end of it, lazily drying his messy hair — now longer, reaching his shoulders, thanks to his still-damp curls.

  I hear Zoe shift beside me, a grin spreading across her face like she’s just seen something magical.

  What is it with this guy? Sure, Sam is good-looking, and he helped us, but he’s an arrogant ass.

  The worst part? He stays silent, pretending to be indifferent, when in reality, he’s judging us. He acts like he’s not pretentious, but everything about him screams superiority: I know everything, I can do everything, I don’t need anyone, I have better taste than you, I’m smarter than you. I live in the middle of nowhere but like a damn lord. Caviar, wine, champagne, a freaking bathtub.

  I think I get it now — why he hates me. I might have the looks. I might have the money, but I will never have his sophistication. Is it what bothers him? I almost measure up, but not quite.

  He steps forward, his face barely masking a wince as he limps. The door closes behind him, and I move closer, expecting to see the damage beneath the towel wrapped around his foot.

  “You stepped on glass,” Ella rushes ahead of me.

  “I didn’t see a shard,” he mutters, craning his neck to take another step, visibly ignoring the pain. “Where’s Felina?”

  “Can we check your foot first?”

  “It’s nothing.” He’s still distracted, looking for the cat. I point behind the table.

  “I’ll grab my first aid kit,” Ella says, hurrying off with her husband right behind her.

  The man tosses the towel from his neck and grabs the cat, which instantly starts flailing and yowling like it’s being murdered.

  Realizing what he’s about to do, I snatch the furball and towel from his arms and shove them both into the dryer under the couch.

  “Now, sit down,” I tell him, helping him onto the sofa.

  I don’t like him, but I’m still human.

  “Does it hurt?” Zoe asks, trying to climb up beside him.

  “No. Only when I pulled it out,” Sam answers.

  Zoe makes a face, clearly sympathizing, while I help her up.

  “Let me see.” Ella returns, slightly out of breath, kneeling in front of him. “Unwrap the towel carefully.”

  “Ew, that’s a lot of blood,” Zoe blurts out as the inside of the towel is revealed, completely soaked in red.

  “The cut isn’t deep,” Ella reassures, beginning to clean the wound.

  “Good. Thanks,” he mumbles awkwardly, letting her tend to him.

  Why so shy all of a sudden? Must be a virgin who’s never felt a woman’s touch — that would explain the whole brooding, grumpy attitude, and why he takes it out on me.

  “It’ll be okay, my mommy will fix your boo-boo,” Zoe says comfortingly.

  He keeps his gaze fixed ahead, focusing hard on not showing any pain. Always playing the tough guy, never letting a weakness slip through.

  Then my niece leans in, studying her mother’s work.

  “My daddy’s foot is so hairy and ugly compared to yours. Yours looks just like mine, just bigger,” she observes, lifting her own foot for comparison.

  Interesting.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The whole tough, cold, insensitive hero act gives him this old-school, rugged cowboy or battle-hardened soldier vibe. And yet… his frame is more delicate than mine.

  Next to Wally, he looks tiny—despite not being short. And compared to me? I’m a damn Neanderthal, with my calloused hands from years at the gym. He doesn’t even have callouses. How is that possible? I’ve seen how skilled he is with physical labor.

  “Uh… thanks?” Sam mutters as Wally steps in, and the man gives him a polite nod.

  Such an old-fashioned mindset. As if Ella needed her husband’s permission to touch another man. And just to avoid some weird ‘honor duel,’ he keeps his respectful distance from another man’s wife.

  “Sleep in my room,” he finally says. “The madam and the kid need a proper bed.”

  Sam is infuriating. Always so damn dismissive, like I don’t even exist. But fine, let’s focus on the real issue here — Sam is an infuriating... misogynist. Acting like she’s some fragile thing that needs protection. Like she’s some possession.

  Yeah, that’s why I want to shove him against the wall, wrap my fingers around his neck, and choke the smug, sarcastic grin off his face.

  It’s not that I really want to hurt him... not exactly. But the way he stands there, all smug and entitled, is like a spark that sets something inside me on edge. I just want him to look at me — really look at me — whether it’s with hatred or respect, but at least acknowledge who I am. And that... makes me want to do things I’m not sure I can control.

  “But what about you?” I ask, suspicious. He’s being way too… considerate.

  “I’ll sleep in my office.”

  Sam answered me. Directly. No attitude, no irritation. He’s definitely up to something.

  He gestures toward the bathroom door. That must be behind the locked door. I step closer and hold out my hand, waiting for him to say the code so I can enter it. No way I’m letting them walk into a trap without knowing how to get out.

  I can’t afford to be locked in with them, so I’ll sleep in the car, or on the couch. But knowing the code would help if I need to get them out.

  “No, the top door,” he corrects me.

  Only then do I realize the door is split in half?

  The top section slides open like the bathroom door, revealing a massive king-size mattress taking up the entire space. The soft patter of rain echoes against the glass ceiling above.

  “That’s pretty,” Zoe stretches onto her tiptoes, though she still can't see the bed from where she stands.

  “And where are you sleeping?”

  “In my office.” He points at the locked door, right beneath the bedroom.

  Wait — does it connect to the room? Could he sneak in and attack them without me seeing?

  “What’s the code?” I ask, still holding my hand out.

  “Why would I tell you? I’m the one sleeping in there, and you don’t need access.”

  “Why does it even have a code?”

  “For security, obviously,” Wally cuts in, giving me a disapproving look.

  Sam just shrugs. “If you want, someone can sleep in the room, and others in the living room.”

  The bastard’s not giving up the code.

  Fine. At least I have access to the bedroom.

  But what if it’s like a vault? What if they get locked behind the coded door and I have no way to open it?

  I’ll have to break in. That shouldn’t be too hard — I probably have plenty of tools for that on his bike.

  “Is your office comfortable?”

  “Enough space for a sleeping bag.”

  “I’ll take the couch.”

  Not just for security reasons. Sleeping in a tent or a sleeping bag next to them is one thing. But sharing a bed? Yeah, that’s weird. “Makes more sense,” I add before anyone can argue. They seem to agree.

  “Anything else you need?” Sam asks, noticing the doctor finishing up.

  “No, thank you,” Ella replies.

  “Thank you,” he says with a tired but genuine smile as she finishes bandaging him up.

  His kindness makes me even more uneasy. It’s like he’s leading us into a trap, waiting for me to lower my guard so he can go back to being a complete scumbag — or worse.

  “You should grab your stuff and sleep in the hallway,” Ella says, standing up. “You won’t fit on the couch.”

  “Yeah, I think that’s best,” I confirm.

  Sam nods absentmindedly, fiddling with his watch. Clearly, he’s back to ignoring me, refusing to acknowledge anything I say or do. Classic.

  “Dad, lift me up.” Zoe stretches her arms, waiting for her father to help her onto the bed.

  Her voice snaps Sam out of his trance. He looks at her, then — almost imperceptibly — smiles with quiet, protective tenderness

  His actions, his words… they don’t match. He’s an enigma. A strange one.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” he says as he heads to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water.

  The others start moving around, getting ready for bed.

  By the time I return with my backpack, Wally is already in his pajamas, watching Zoe as she sips her water next to the man.

  My sleeping spot is quickly set up, and I settle on the couch, observing.

  “I like it when my dad reads Beauty and the Beast to me before bed,” Zoe says, taking another sip.

  The man nods seriously, absentmindedly stroking a cat curled up like a loaf in the cradle of his crossed legs, one ankle resting over the opposite knee. Meanwhile, his dog sits between his feet, staring straight at me like I owe it money.

  “I appreciate reading before bed,” the man muses, swirling the ice in his glass. “Sometimes, I read fantasy stories too.”

  “What about you, Uncle?” Zoe turns to me.

  The man’s icy eyes meet mine, adding just the right amount of homicidal energy to complete the image of a mafia boss.

  Sam sets his glass in the sink, looking as indifferent to my response as humanly possible.

  “I like to read before bed,” I say.

  The man heads toward a secured door, and, curious as ever, Zoe follows. Ella steps out of the bathroom just in time to catch the moment.

  Ella and Wally join me, and we all do a terrible job of pretending we’re not interested, adjusting my already-made bed as if it suddenly needed fixing. The vantage point is perfect — we have a clear view of whatever’s behind that mysterious door.

  The man opens a panel on the opposite wall from the bathroom entrance, revealing shelves stocked with hygiene products, towels, and bedding. He grabs a pillow and some bed linens.

  Then, he enters a code. A light scans his retina.

  A loud crack echoes through the room as the heavy-duty lock disengages. Breaking into that safe isn’t happening anytime soon.

  “Why is it so small?” Zoe pushes the door open, unable to contain her curiosity. “I thought it’d be as big as the top floor.”

  “The rest is used for storage — batteries, water, supplies…”

  Zoe steps in.

  “Come back, sweetheart,” Wally warns.

  “It’s fine.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Disappointed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A computer and a few books? There’s not even a desk. How is this an office?”

  “Here.” The man gestures toward the ceiling. “The glass roof makes up for it?”

  “Way better.”

  “And yet, I still spend most of my time here.” He chuckles, almost shyly.

  “That sucks. You’re stuck here? And what’s with all the numbers on the wall?”

  “It’s not for counting my days in prison.” He lets out a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle, shaking his head “Just ideas.”

  Then we hear something slide inside the room, followed by Zoe’s excited laughter.

  “Seriously?” She comes running out.

  “Good night,” Sam says, settling into the small doorway.

  “Good night,” We say, just before swinging his legs inside. The animals follow him without a single command, and the door shuts behind them.

  “Dad, lift me up already!”

  We step closer, and as soon as she touches the mattress, Zoe crawls to the headboard, pressing her hand against the wall. A hidden panel rises, revealing a stash of snacks, a screen, and a gaming console.

  She goes straight for the food.

  “Nope. No more junk for today. Haven’t you had enough?” Ella climbs onto the bed, blocking her path.

  Zoe grumbles but accepts defeat, resorting to drumming her fingers on the keyboard in front of the screen instead.

  The TV flickers to life, displaying black-and-white footage of the outside, with a small command panel in the corner. She clicks something, and the ceiling lifts slightly.

  “Whoa, we can stand up here,” Ella remarks.

  “What’s this red button?” Zoe lifts the protective cover over it.

  “Don’t!” Wally grabs her hand.

  “Have you learned nothing from movies? Never press the red button — especially when it has a transparent cover,” I warn her.

  Zoe’s eyes widen, clearly imagining all kinds of catastrophic outcomes.

  “It’s probably just an alarm,” Ella concludes. “Not a nuclear missile, but still… don’t press it.”

  “Uh-huh… can I play now?” Zoe is already distracted.

  “No. Time for bed. Tomorrow’s gonna be another long day, and you’re way past your bedtime.”

  Zoe sighs but doesn’t argue, settling into bed with a huff. Ella and Wally follow suit, and the room gradually sinks into a hush as everyone settles in for the night.

  I make my way to my corner, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me — though I know sleep won’t come easy.

  That silence follows isn’t just the absence of sound — it’s a presence. Heavy. Suffocating. Even my own breathing feels too loud, an unwanted noise in the crushing emptiness.

  The pale light creeping in through the glass door at my feet doesn’t chase away the darkness—it only carves out long, distorted shadows.

  The steady rhythm of the rain against the windows amplifies the isolation as if the whole world has blinked out of existence, leaving just me and this oppressive nothingness.

  I’m exposed.

  Anyone stepping out of their room — for a midnight snack or a trip to the bathroom — will see me immediately, right there in the open. Vulnerable. An easy target. While they sleep soundly behind locked doors, safe, I’m at the mercy of whatever lurks in the dark. One step away from starring in my own horror movie.

  I swallow hard, my entire body tensing instinctively, every nerve on high alert. A distant creak sends my heart hammering against my ribs. Pipes? The wind? Or… something else?

  Someone might be just as awake as I am.

  Only quieter.

  I’m not getting any sleep tonight.