What tonight meant?
The city was asleep hours ago—
but one screen was still awake.
In a secluded house outside Seattle, she was still working.
The clicking of keys filled the dark room as her fingers moved steadily across the keyboard.
Her face was barely visible in the dim light, but her stillness carried authority.
It was already late at night, yet there was no sign of sleep in her eyes.
Only the screen and her focus remained.
While working, her gaze slowly shifted toward the closed room across from her. The lights inside were off.
After a moment, she returned to work.
She was already dressed for the morning meeting.
As soon as it was 4:30, she closed her laptop and headed out for her meeting.
At the door, she paused—then turned back and looked at that same closed door.
A second later, she left.
By the time the plane leveled in the air, the city was nothing more than scattered lights beneath her. The steady hum of the engine filled the silence she carried with her.
She sat by the window, looking out—but not really seeing anything.
It was a short flight—just a few hours away.
Her phone rested in her hand.
After a brief pause, she made the call. It connected instantly.
She spoke briefly, her tone giving away nothing.
The line disconnected.
A few minutes later—
back at the house she had just left—
The silence broke with the sharp ring of a phone.
A figure lay asleep in the dark room.
Only a small lamp glowed in the corner, casting a faint light across the room.
The phone kept ringing.
He woke up at the sound and picked up the call.
A voice from the other side said,
“How is everything going there? How much are you getting paid?”
Then he continued,
“This time the money is really good. There’s a client paying very well. She just wants two hours with you. Will you come?”
Only faint breathing reached him.
He adjusted his tone and spoke again.
“It’s the same client you met before… but last time she had some urgent work, so she left early.”
He leaned back in his seat.
“Come on. It’s good money.”
" Just two hours.”
He wasn’t getting a reply. Still, he kept talking.
“Honestly, I should be jealous of you.”
He laughed.
“Man, what a life. Just fun, money and—”
Call disconnected.
The man on the call said furiously,
“He hung up the call.”
He lightly hit his car steering wheel and muttered,
“He’s getting too much attitude these days…”
Then he paused for a second and muttered again—
“I’m an idiot… I should have texted him…”
He sent a message this time.
Back in the room, the message notification rang.
He heard it—and ignored it.
His face remained hidden in the darkness…
He looked at his hand… then touched his face.
Pages lay scattered across the table.
He got up from the bed, walked to the table… and started writing something on a small piece of paper.
He reached for the pen twice before finally writing.
Gravel crunched beneath Isla Harper’s boots as she stepped out of the white car, irritation already written across her face.
“Who calls someone at five in the morning just to fix a light…?”
Isla headed toward the house, then slowed halfway, her expression shifting into quiet amusement.
“And this is weird. She never even let me step inside before. Now look at this.”
“Now she’s letting me enter her house in her absence… what a strange person…”
She stepped inside the house and paused, surprised.
She glanced around, lowering her voice—
as if the walls might carry her words back to her boss.
“She really is the devil’s child.”
“This house is huge. And she lives here alone?”
The house felt alive in an oddly comforting way—warm lights, soft colors, and a quiet cheerful warmth filling every corner.
“It doesn’t match her personality at all…”
She let out a quiet chuckle.
“Huh! Actually, nothing about her matches anything…”
She walked further inside, placed food items on the table and called the electrician.
“Where are you?”
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes,” electrician replied.
She ended the call and started looking around again.
“Which light is broken? Everything looks fine…”
Just then—
The door of the opposite room opened.
He stepped out of the room, still half-asleep.
His purple hair fell loosely over his eyes, slightly messy.
A loose full-sleeve T-shirt hung carelessly over his frame.
He hadn’t given a second thought to his appearance.
Still, there was something effortlessly striking about him.
Isla forgot to look away.
There was something unexpectedly gentle about him—
and somehow, that made him harder to ignore.
In her mind—
“This man never fails to make my heart skip a beat.”
Then her eyes moved to the bandages—his forehead, hands, and the cut near his lips.
She whispered, the words barely leaving her lips.
“What happened to him?”
Her gaze lingered on the bandages.
“How did he get hurt?”
A troubling thought crossed her mind.
“Does she hate him that much?”
He walked toward her slowly, stopping a few steps away.
Without meeting her eyes, he extended the folded note toward her.
A thank-you note.
She took the note.
Didn’t read it, just glanced at it.
Then said,
“Mr. Playboy, did you eat?”
While speaking, she suddenly stopped, turned her face slightly to the side and said in a low voice—
“Ah… I forgot he can’t speak.”
Then she turned the note and started writing.
But after a second, he simply nodded in response.
“I’m an idiot… he can’t speak, not deaf.”
She hesitated, as if she had more to say.
But he turned and started walking back to his room.
Isla stopped him gently by the wrist.
He paused but didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed lowered, fixed quietly on her hand around his wrist. The hallway had gone silent.
Her grip loosened slightly, and the moment his hand slipped free, he stepped back, about to leave.
But almost impulsively, Isla caught his wrist again and pulled him lightly back toward her.
The sudden pull made him turn only halfway in her direction.
Just enough to bring him closer.
Before she could properly think, Isla leaned in.
She had meant to kiss him on the lips.
But at the last second, he shifted slightly to move past her—and her kiss landed softly against his cheek instead.
He immediately stepped back and wiped his cheek as if the touch had burned him.
Without looking at her even once, he walked straight back into his room.
The door shut.
Locked.
Isla stood there silently for a moment.
A little shyness and an amused smile appeared on her lips.
“So even he gets shy…”
At that moment, her phone vibrated.
A message from her boss.
She checked it.
The bathroom light in the opposite room is not working.
“Oh… so it’s Mr. Playboy’s bathroom light…”
She walked to the door and knocked.
“Hello? Open the door. I need to check the lights.”
No response.
She knocked again.
But got no reply.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.
The electrician had arrived.
She led him toward the room.
“The bathroom light inside needs to be fixed.”
The electrician knocked several times.
Nothing.
He knocked harder.
Still nothing.
“What is he doing inside?”
Together, they tried again and again.
Hours passed.
The hallway grew quieter as sunlight slowly shifted across the floor.
By evening, Isla’s patience had worn thin.
“He’s really not going to open the door…”
Frustrated, she rubbed her forehead and stepped away.
At last, she gave up.
She started walking toward the exit.
Then stopped.
Turned around.
And came back one final time.
The hallway felt strangely empty.
“You already know she doesn’t like this kind of behavior.”
Silence.
Her expression hardened.
“Don’t make things worse for yourself.”
Still nothing.
She exhaled sharply and looked at the electrician.
“Let’s go.”
As she walked away, she glanced back one last time.
“Fine. Stay like that.”
She crumpled the note in her hand in frustration.
Then threw it aside.
And left.
The front door closed.
After an entire day of knocking, waiting, and frustration— silence returned to the house.
Inside the room—
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The sleeves of his t-shirt were soaked.
Water dripped steadily from the fabric.
The floor beneath him had already turned wet. Small droplets continued falling onto the wood, Spreading slowly across the floor.
He sat quietly on the edge of the bed. Unmoving.
As though he had forgotten how to move. The water kept falling.
Yet he remained where he was.
Alone.
Silent.
A moment later— his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
The moment he saw the name— he answered before the second ring.
A calm voice spoke from the other side.
“Be ready tonight.”
The line disconnected.
Be ready tonight.
No change in his expression.
He already knew what tonight meant.
He always knew.
