EPISODE 12: House Rules

The drive back from the airport was dead silent, the heavy hum of the car engine matching the suffocating tension vibrating between us. Vance kept both hands glued to the steering wheel, staring straight ahead like a man driving himself to an execution.

The moment we stepped inside the dark, empty house, he didn't even take his jacket off before turning around to face me. The green-flag prince was trying desperately to build a fortress before I could lay siege.

"Ren, wait," Vance said, his voice dropping into a firm, no-nonsense authority. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "Before we do anything this week, we are setting boundaries. I wrote down a list of house rules. Rule number one: we keep a respectful distance. Rule number two: no late-night visits to each other's rooms. Rule number—"

"I need to change out of my airport clothes, Vance," I interrupted softly, giving him a harmless, incredibly tired smile. "I'll be right down to listen to your little list."

I didn't wait for his permission. I glided up the stairs, a dark, victorious thrill humming in my veins. Rules? He really thinks a piece of paper is going to save him from me.

I didn't open the chat app for the AI's advice; I already knew exactly what to do. I marched straight to the back of my closet and pulled out a prized possession hidden beneath my winter sweaters. A soft, faded flannel button-down shirt.

It belonged to Vance. I had secretly stolen it from his laundry basket two years ago, back when I was still just a desperate high schooler writing in my Goal Book. It was massively oversized on my slim frame, the hem falling halfway down my thighs, completely covering my shorts.

I pulled it on, leaving the top three buttons casually undone to expose the sharp line of my collarbone, and breathed in. Even after all this time, the faint, comforting scent of his cedarwood cologne clung to the fabric. It felt like an obsession pressing against my skin.

I walked slowly down the stairs, my bare feet making no sound against the wood.

Vance was standing by the kitchen counter, still holding his little list of rules, typing something on his phone.

"Okay, I'm ready for the rules," I purred, stepping into the warm kitchen light.

Vance looked up from his phone, the words dying instantly in his throat. His dark gray eyes widened, tracking the oversized flannel shirt, recognizing the familiar pattern immediately. His phone practically slipped from his hand, clattering onto the marble counter.

"Ren..." Vance breathed, his voice cracking slightly, his green-flag composure completely shattering into a million pieces. His eyes darted from my bare legs up to the exposed skin of my chest, his chest heaving as his pulse spiked. "Where... where did you get that shirt?"

I leaned casually against the refrigerator, tilting my head back to look at him through my eyelashes. I let a slow, entirely wicked red-flag smirk slide onto my face, using the exact visual confidence the AI had suggested for seduction.

"Do you like it?" I whispered, my voice dripping with shameless victory as I toyed with the hem of his sleeves. "I've had it for a long time, Vance. It always makes me feel so safe... like you're holding me. Are you going to add a rule about what I can wear in my own house?"

Vance’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning stark white as he gripped the edge of the counter. The list of house rules wrinkled into a useless, crushed ball under his palm.

Day One had barely started, and I had already torn his defense down to the ground.