Carl's house was nothing short of magnificent.
It wasn't just a house—it was a smart home, a statement of wealth and elegance fused with military precision. The moment we stepped through the front door, recessed lights blinked awake, illuminating cream-colored marble floors that gleamed like ice. A delicate scent of cedarwood and something faintly citrusy lingered in the air. Every wall looked like it belonged in a magazine—sleek, minimalist, and alarmingly spotless.
"Hey Siri, turn the living room lights up," Carl said as he stepped ahead.
And just like that, the space responded.
I was still trying to breathe steadily, taking in the vast open-plan design, the high glass panels that stretched up two floors, the curving staircase that reminded me of something out of a palace. My reflection blinked back at me in the mirrored wall near the entrance, dazed, unsure, battling two things inside me—emotions and curiosity.
"Are you really going to hire me?" I finally asked, my voice smaller than I intended.
Carl turned, still half-smiling. "If I don't hire you, who will? Anne's going to tell all of Abuja that you tried to kill her. Nobody will touch your résumé."
That sank in deeper than he probably meant. It wasn't just a joke. It was truth wrapped in a smirk.
I frowned. "That means you'll be hiring me out of pity. And I don't want that."
"No pity," he said, stepping closer. "I actually need help. When I'm not around—which is most of the time—this house is just… a shell. Siri and Alexa get bored."
I couldn't help but laugh, just a little. "Right. Because smart homes get lonely."
"Exactly." He flashed a full grin. "Now—what's your salary range?"
"Mrs. Anne paid me 150k, but I wasn't living with her. If I'm living here, I'll need a little addition."
Carl tilted his head. "Who says you're not living here?"
I blinked, completely dumbfounded. "Wait… I'd be living here?"
"I practically don't live here," he said. "I'm on duty most of the year. You'll be alone. Just you and the house. You'll get used to it."
"Oh." I nodded slowly. "That's… fine, I guess."
"Scared to live with a man?" he teased.
"Not really," I said, looking away. "Just… complicated."
"I'll give you two hundred thousand," he said.
I turned back to him, eyes wide. "Really?"
"Really. Just be good. Be yourself. Make yourself comfortable." And with that, he turned and headed upstairs, casual as ever.
The moment he disappeared, I exhaled deeply and wandered the house, letting my fingers graze the cold railing of the staircase, peeking into the sleek kitchen with its chrome fixtures and touchscreen fridge. The dining table looked like it had never been used. Everything in this house whispered power and restraint, like Carl himself.
Then his voice came from above.
"I'm bothered about something," he said, coming down the stairs again.
I turned to face him. "What?"
"Those men who broke into Anne's house… They were bruised. Badly. Was that you?"
I paused.
Was it time to tell him?
"Yes," I said quietly. "I did it. I'm trained. I didn't mean to hurt them that badly… I let my guard down at some point, but I've been taught martial arts since I was a teenager."
Carl narrowed his eyes, not in suspicion, but curiosity. "Where did you learn martial arts?"
I gave him a measured smile. "I'll answer that only if you tell me what you wanted to talk to me about earlier."
He smirked. "Smart negotiation."
But something in my expression must've softened him. "Alright. Fair. You go first."
I nodded. "I learned it from a Chinese master."
"How?"
I didn't go into the full story. I only told him. about being raised by General Choi, my only father figure. I kept it simple.
"I was adopted. Taught. Trained. That's all for now."
Carl nodded, looking like he understood without pushing further. "I'm sorry about your parents," he said. "But I'm really glad you know how to protect yourself."
"Thanks," I said softly. "Are you hungry? You said you haven't stocked anything in this house."
"I'm starving," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I wasn't planning on staying long, so yeah—I've got nothing."
"I'll go get foodstuffs," I offered. "There's a local market close to the bus stop."
"Okay. I'll come with you. Let me grab my card upstairs."
He turned to go. As he started up the stairs, I thought I heard him mumble something about me coming along. Unsure, I followed him halfway, only to realize he was coming back down at the same time.
He missed a step.
It happened in a blink. One moment he was glancing over his shoulder, the next, he stumbled, caught the railing, and we found ourselves face-to-face. Too close. His hand gripped the rail. My fingers pressed into the wall.
Our eyes locked.
And then… he kissed me.
It was soft—too soft for how wildly my heart reacted. Unexpected. Electric. The kind of kiss that didn't ask for permission, just happened—like instinct. Like gravity.
For a heartbeat, I froze—lips parted, breath caught between confusion and something dangerously close to want.
But then panic took over.
I jerked back, my palms pressing hard against his chest, pushing him away. The contact made it worse—his warmth, his scent, the feel of him.
I stumbled down the remaining steps, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out every logical thought. My skin tingled. My brain short-circuited.
What just happened?
I didn't turn back. I stood near the front door, arms crossed, trying to catch my breath.
Then, after a beat, I heard his footsteps. "We should go to the market," he said, like nothing had happened.
"Yes. We should," I replied, still not looking at him.
I stepped outside.
He followed.
And just like that, we were back to pretending we hadn't crossed a line neither of us was ready to admit.
I was ready to let it remain that way because, WHAT THE HELL?