I walk into my old room for the first time in months, and there he is, sitting on my bed as if he owns the place. Handsome? Well, sure. He's probably the most attractive man I've ever laid eyes on. But does that give him any right to invade my privacy? Absolutely bloody not.
"Who the hell are you?" The words leave my lips before I have a chance to think them through. He meets my glare with an infuriatingly charming smile, his pearly white teeth framed by full, rosy lips. It's ridiculous how much I want to keep looking at that smile.
"What are you doing in my room, who let you in?" I continue, not giving him even a second to reply. My heart races as I back away from him. I haven't been home since I moved out of Dad's house to attend college, and now some stranger is just lounging on my bed like it's no big deal.
The man finally gets up, smoothing out his tailored blue suit. His movements are graceful, and confident. He extends a hand towards me, but instead of taking it, I observe him carefully, equally curious and annoyed.
He seems to be in his mid-20s, tall and broad-shouldered, with a powerful frame that hints at the muscles beneath his fancy suit. "Oh, I'm sorry, we haven't met," he says, his voice deep and velvety. "My name's Adrian."
I glance at his outstretched hand, then back at his face, raising an eyebrow to silently demand more information. As I study his features, I can't help but notice his square-jawed face, framed by a tousled mane of golden hair that falls effortlessly over his forehead. It gives him a slightly mysterious allure that's both irritating and intriguing.
Realising I'm not going to shake his hand, he withdraws it and clears his throat, looking slightly embarrassed. "Oh, right. Your father William let me in," he says.
"Dad let you in?" I repeat incredulously. Dad never invites anyone over, especially not strangers this good-looking. Also, today is my birthday and we were supposed to spend it together the two of us, as always. What on earth is going on?
My handbag suddenly shakes, and I delicately place a hand on it to still the movement. I glance quickly at Adrian, hoping he hasn't noticed, and meet his gaze. His beautiful, expressive eyes are a shade of hazel that seems to shift with the light, ranging from an intense blue-green to a warm, inviting brown.
"How do you know my father?" I ask nonchalantly.
"We're colleagues, I'm a designer as well," he replies. I study him once more. Dad was never one for socialising much. He had never invited anyone to our house, ever. And he certainly never mentioned this guy. But I suppose we haven't been talking much lately, not since that fight.
"He said he would be back in a minute," Adrian continues, bringing me back to reality. "He went out for some groceries."
I nod and hold the door knob. I can deal with him later. "Would you mind waiting in the living room? I have to change."
"Oh, of course," Adrian says, and proceeds to leave the room. But not before giving me a last, wickedly charming smile. The way his lips curved so invitingly made it hard to keep one's guard up. Luckily my heart is sealed away tight.
I close the door behind him and sigh, relieved to finally be alone. Without hesitation, I put the bag onto the floor, unzip it and out comes the cat. He gracefully glides out of it, immediately jumping on the bed and making himself comfortable. I observe him stretch luxuriously. He's a beauty, with glossy black fur that attracts the light and a sleek, almost regal air about him. His bright yellow eyes appear almost human, as if he knows far more than he should. Over the phone, Dad mentioned a stray cat had been wandering around the house for a few days. He'd be furious if he knew I'd let it in, but the poor thing seemed so hungry, meowing pitifully at me. I couldn't just leave him outside.
"Right then," I say to the cat, "just give me a second, okay?" I quickly change into something more comfortable – a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt. For a fleeting moment, I consider dressing up to match our unexpected guest, but I dismiss the thought as ridiculous. I'm not interested in dating anyone, not now or ever, so why bother?
Before heading to the living room to make sure the stranger isn't rifling through our valuables, I stick my head out of the open window and squint against the sun's glare. Our rented home in Nottinghamshire is in the middle of nowhere; no neighbours, no shops, nothing. Just grass, more grass, a few trees, and behind those trees, a road that leads to a sleepy little town. It's dreadfully dull, and I can't help feeling grateful that Dad finally allowed me to move out and go to college. It'll take him a while to come back from the store, given how far away everything is.
As I pull my head back inside and close the window so the cat won't leave, I shudder, feeling a chill run down my spine. Sitting down beside the cat, I can't help but notice how well-groomed he is for a stray. No collar, though. Maybe he has an owner? He seems friendly enough, and even purrs as I stroke his head.
"Would you like some ham?" I ask the cat, who purrs again, as if answering me. "Come on, then." I beckon the feline and open the door, stepping into the living room with the cat trailing behind me. I expect to find Adrian waiting there, but he's nowhere to be found.
"Adrian?" I call out, but there's no answer. What the hell? Did he leave? The eeriness of the situation begins to gnaw at me, and I can't shake a growing feeling of uneasiness. What a strange man... What is he really doing here?
Determined to find him, I search the house. First, the bathroom – empty. Then, the kitchen – also empty. Finally, I enter my father's room. Adrian isn't here either. My eyes drift to the nightstand, where a picture of my mum sits. She's beautiful – blonde hair, blue eyes – and I look nothing like her. I turn the photograph to face the wall, flinching at the memory of the fight Dad and I had recently. I love my father more than anyone else in the world. He raised me by himself, gave up everything for me. So why would he get so angry just because I arranged a date for him? It's been nineteen years, yet he still acts as if Mum might walk through the door at any moment. I sigh and massage my neck. I really don't feel like getting angry again. Anyway, Adrian clearly isn't here anymore.
"Guess he's gone back to heaven," I think to myself as I step into the kitchen, quickly scolding myself for being so corny and comparing Adrian to an angel. Urgh. So cringy.
Opening the fridge, I find some ham and three delicious-looking cheesecake tartlets. Dad must have bought them for my birthday. "It's fine if I just take one," I tell myself, grabbing a tartlet and some sliced ham before heading back to the living room where the cat awaits.
"Here you go, Mister Kitty Cat," I say as I place the ham slices on the floor in front of the cat, who begins to eat while still watching me with his enigmatic yellow eyes. Feeling a sudden burst of whimsy, I rummage through a drawer in the cabinet and find a candle and lighter. I stick the candle in my tartlet and light it up. Why not? After all, I'm turning nineteen today.
Settling into an armchair, I sing, "Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me… I wish Dad would stop being mad at me... Happy birthday to meee!"
The moment I blow out the candle, a loud knock on the front door echoes throughout the house.
I flinch at the sudden noise, every muscle in my body tense with fear. Who could be pounding on the door like that? Are they mad? My heart hammers as if it will burst through my ribcage.
"Da-ad?" I call out hesitantly, but there's no response.
Another knock, even louder this time. My pulse quickens as I stand up, my knees wobbling slightly.
"Adrian?" I try again, hoping for an answer. But my voice is barely audible over the thunderous pounding. Then, silence.
"Don't open the door," says a deep voice behind me.
I spin around to see who spoke, but there's only... the cat. Were his lips moving? Shit. Am I losing it, or did the cat just talk to me?