We began the short drive to my second house. It wasn't too far, despite being secluded from the city. That was one of the reasons I always chose this park for my dates: not only was it discreet enough, but it was also strategically located—far from the bustle of the center yet close enough to my destination.
I drove at a steady pace, the glow of the streetlights gradually fading as we ventured into darker streets. Beside me, she gazed out the window, her face briefly illuminated by passing lights. She seemed calm, but her eyes wandered, flitting from one side to the other as though trying to decipher where I was taking her.
I couldn't let that happen. If she began to notice we were leaving the city, she might get nervous, and questions would start forming in her head. I needed to keep her distracted, focused on anything but the route.
With a calculated and unhurried motion, I placed my hand gently on her thigh.
The change was immediate. I felt her tense slightly, her body reacting to the unexpected touch. She turned her gaze from the window to me, her eyes reflecting clear confusion. Yet she didn't say anything. She simply looked at me, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks.
I knew the gesture, though bold, was ambiguous enough not to raise alarms. In fact, it gave me the perfect opportunity to establish a new rhythm in our interaction.
"You seem nervous," I said finally, breaking the silence with a light, almost teasing tone. My eyes stayed on the road, but my attention was fully on her.
She studied me for a moment longer, as if trying to decipher my intentions. Then she let out a small laugh, the kind people use to defuse tension.
"Well…" she replied, crossing her arms as though shielding herself from the vulnerability she had just revealed. "It's a little… unexpected, that's all."
I smiled faintly, pressing my hand just slightly more against her thigh—not too much, just enough to convey confidence without making her uncomfortable.
"And is that a bad thing?" I asked, letting my voice adopt a soft, reassuring confidence.
She seemed to weigh the question internally. Her eyes darted back to my hand before returning to my face.
"I wouldn't say bad…" she finally responded, though there was a cautious edge to her tone. "But don't get your hopes up."
Her comment made me smile, and not just because of what she said. Her attempt to maintain a barrier was almost endearing, but her body language betrayed more than she probably realized.
"I don't get my hopes up that easily," I replied, letting a trace of amusement seep into my words. "Though I must admit, I like how that sounds."
She rolled her eyes but didn't move my hand. Instead, she exhaled softly and turned her gaze back to the window, as if trying to distract herself from the situation.
Seizing the silence, I subtly adjusted the atmosphere. I turned on the radio, selecting a station that played soft, relaxing music—something tranquil enough to reinforce the sense of calm I was trying to create.
"Are you always like this?" she asked suddenly, her voice breaking through the gentle hum of the music.
"Like what?" I replied, glancing briefly at her, just enough to show interest without taking my eyes off the road.
"Confident," she said, though her tone was more playful than serious.
I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head slightly.
"Only when I think the person deserves it," I said, turning my attention back to the road while noting how her body seemed to relax even further.
The comment made her smile again, and I noticed her posture becoming less guarded. It was working. Every word, every gesture, was gradually steering her further away from any suspicious thoughts.
"And do I deserve it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by my answer.
"Absolutely."
My response was direct, confident, and I saw the blush return to her cheeks. I smoothly steered the conversation toward lighter topics, asking about her favorite music and letting the dialogue flow as we drew closer to our destination.
The car glided down increasingly dark roads, but she seemed fully absorbed in our conversation, entirely forgetting the questions I'd seen forming in her eyes earlier in the drive.
Everything was going according to plan.
After what felt like fifteen minutes, we finally arrived at my second house. There it stood, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by a dense forest whose branches swayed gently in the wind. In the distance, the sounds of wildlife echoed faintly: the hoot of an owl, the crunch of leaves under the paws of some nocturnal creature. To anyone else, this place might have seemed eerie, almost like something out of a horror movie. But my obsession with order transformed it.
It was a simple yet beautiful house, with a modern design that stood out for its minimalism. It wasn't large, but every detail was meticulously cared for. The flowers in the planters were perfectly arranged, the spotless windows reflected the soft glow of the moon, and the clean, precise lines of the façade made it look more like an exclusive retreat than a secluded home.
I brought the car to a stop in front of the entrance, turning off the engine with a measured motion. I turned to her with a calm smile.
"We're here," I announced, unbuckling my seatbelt.
She stared at the house for a few seconds, as if trying to process where she was. Without saying a word, I stepped out of the car and walked around to open the passenger door for her.
"After you," I said with a courteous gesture.
She stepped out carefully, crossing her arms as she looked around with a mix of curiosity and unease.
"Why do you live so far out here?" she finally asked, raising an eyebrow as she surveyed the area. The darkness of the forest seemed to unsettle her, though her tone carried a hint of humor. "I could never live in a place like this. It must be so lonely!"
Her comment made me smile.
"It's perfect for me," I replied, gesturing toward the house with a slight wave of my hand. "Out here, no one bothers me. I can live peacefully, focus when I need to."
She let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she glanced back at the house.
"Definitely not for me. I'd need somewhere with more movement… more life."
"Well, I also use it as a workspace," I added, revisiting the lie I'd constructed from the start. "Sometimes I need to get away from the noise of the city to think. It's ideal for strategy and planning sessions."
She nodded, as though the explanation made sense, though her expression still hinted at mild skepticism.
"I guess it has its charm," she said, taking a few steps toward the entrance.
I gestured for her to follow me and walked alongside her to the door. With precise movements, I pulled the keys from my pocket and unlocked the door with a crisp, clean click. Holding the door open, I leaned slightly in an inviting gesture.
"After you," I said, maintaining my polite tone.
She stepped over the threshold cautiously, and as her eyes adjusted to the interior light, her expression shifted entirely.
"Wow…" she murmured, taking a couple of steps inside as her eyes roamed over every corner.
The house, though minimalist, had an almost clinical aura. The floor gleamed as though freshly polished, the surfaces were completely dust-free, and every object was placed with an almost obsessive precision. A perfectly centered television on a simple stand, an untouched-looking sofa, and, in the back, a bed with impeccably tucked sheets, the corners so sharp they seemed military-grade.
"This place is… spotless," she said, turning to me with a mix of amazement and amusement.
I closed the door behind us, letting out a small laugh.
"I told you, I have a bit of an obsession with order and cleanliness."
She walked further in, inspecting every detail as she spoke.
"A 'bit' is an understatement. This doesn't look like a house; it looks like a furniture catalog," she commented, laughing softly as her gaze settled on the sofa.
"I like things to be in their place," I replied, shrugging as though it wasn't a big deal. "And the fewer things there are, the less there is to clean."
She laughed at that, seeming to relax even more.
"Well, that does make sense. But… you barely have anything here. A TV, a sofa, a bed… not much else."
"I don't need more," I said, watching her intently as she surveyed the room. "The essentials are enough for me."
She seemed to consider my words, tilting her head slightly as her eyes continued to explore the space.
"I guess it's practical," she finally said, crossing her arms as she turned back to face me. "But you're definitely different. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."
I returned her smile, though inside my mind was working methodically, analyzing every gesture, every reaction. Everything was going according to plan.
"Let's just say I'm… efficient," I replied, my tone light as if it were part of a joke.
She smiled again, unaware that she was exactly where I wanted her to be.
This house wasn't just a reflection of my personal obsession with order; it served a darker purpose. Here, everything I needed to do could be handled easily. No decorations, no distractions. Everything was functional, even the cleanliness.
What she didn't know was that this place wasn't designed for living. It was designed for what was about to happen next.