Stranger in the Penthouse

Back at the penthouse, Sara dumped all the groceries onto the central counter before immediately tossing the popsicles into the refrigerator so they wouldn't melt. Then, she grabbed a pot, placed it on the stove, and turned up the heat.

She tapped her phone, playing the voice note from her mother, who patiently guided her step by step through making the soup.

"Let it cook for half an hour, but don't leave it unattended! Check it every five to ten minutes—don't burn it!" her mother warned at the end of the message.

Sara chuckled, already half-distracted as she reached for her favorite Rice Krispies, unwrapped one, and bit into it with a satisfying crunch. She continued cooking while munching away, nodding absentmindedly at her mother's instructions.

Her gaze flickered to the bowl near the sink. I should put some ice in it. She scooped in a generous handful, the cubes clinking softly against the glass.

A thought nagged at her. Should I check on him until the food cooks?

She grabbed the kitchen towel beside the basin, drying her hands. With a reluctant sigh, she walked toward Augustine's room, hesitating briefly at the door, which was already slightly ajar. Peeking inside, she noted that he was still asleep.

Sara exhaled in relief and stepped in, leaving the door open behind her.

Augustine was drenched in sweat, his eyebrows furrowed, his fingers gripping the comforter tightly as if battling something in his sleep. No matter how much she hated being in this room, the man looked absolutely miserable.

With a grimace, she pulled a small stool closer to his bedside and placed the bowl of ice water on the nightstand. Swallowing thickly, she muttered to herself, "Alright, Sara. Just wipe him down, and you're done for the day."

She submerged the towel in the ice water, wrung it out until it was merely damp, and carefully placed it on his forehead. The moment the cold cloth made contact with his burning skin, Augustine flinched.

Was that too cold?

She instinctively pulled away, heart pounding at the thought of waking him. Her eyes drifted to his cheek—the one she had slapped earlier. Her stomach twisted. The redness was still there, her handprint stark against his pale skin.

Oh, I'm so dead.

She sucked in a deep breath, hesitant but knowing she had no choice. Slowly, she placed the towel back on his forehead, gently running it over his face. His frown seemed to ease ever so slightly.

Feeling braver, she moved the towel down to his neck but then froze when her gaze landed on his buttoned-up shirt.

Oh no.

Her lips parted in sheer reluctance. "I really don't want to do this," she whined under her breath, but there was no way around it.

After glancing around, she spotted the bathroom. She rushed inside, rummaging through the drawers beneath the grand marble sink until she found a stash of clean towels. Snatching a few, she hurried back to the room, dampening them all before returning to Augustine.

Her hands trembled slightly as she unbuttoned his shirt—one button at a time—until his fevered chest was exposed. Avoiding looking too closely, she slapped a towel onto his skin, covering him up as quickly as she could. Another went on his neck, and a final one rested on his forehead, successfully mummifying him.

Then she jumped back, clapping her hands together.

"Done!"

Without another second wasted, she bolted out of the room, retreating to the kitchen where the soup was now bubbling softly.

With a relieved sigh, she grabbed another Rice Krispie treat, tossing it into her mouth. One turned into two. Then three. Before she knew it, she had devoured nearly two boxes' worth of the treats.

Her stomach full, she leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes narrowing in thought.

What do I do now? No one's come back yet… Does anyone even live here besides him?

She chewed her lower lip. I can't stay here for long. What should I—

The next thing she knew, her feet had carried her back toward Augustine's room.

The rain outside lashed against the tall windows of the penthouse, streaking down the glass like silver threads. The sky was dark, heavy with thunderclouds, casting an eerie yet breathtaking glow over the cityscape.

Sara paused, mesmerized by the view.

It's so beautiful…

But the sound of Augustine shifting in bed pulled her attention back to him.

She sighed and moved to his bedside, pulling off the now-warm towels and wringing them out once more. She replaced them carefully, her back beginning to ache from the constant movement, her eyelids growing heavier by the second.

His temperature is still so high…

She placed her hand against his neck, wincing at how hot he still felt. Sighing, she reached for another fresh towel—

And froze.

A strong grip wrapped around her wrist.

Sara gasped, head snapping toward Augustine.

His eyes were still closed, his face barely moving, but his fingers were clenched around her sleeve.

"Hey—let go!" she whispered in alarm. "You're gonna be mad at me when you wake up!"

She tugged at her sleeve, but his grip only tightened.

"You already have enough animosity toward me," she huffed. "I don't need extra trouble."

She tried again to pull away, but then—

"Don't go."

The words were murmured in a sleepy, hoarse voice, rough with fever yet reluctant to let her leave.

Sara's breath hitched.

She stared at him, unsure whether he was even conscious.

For a long moment, she hesitated—then, finally, she sighed in surrender and sat back down beside him, waiting for his grip to loosen.

Meanwhile, at the building's entrance, someone pressed the button for the 76th floor, heading straight for Augustine's home.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped out, swiping a passkey with practiced ease before stepping inside as if they had done so countless times before.

A single glance around the penthouse was enough to notice something unusual—a bag that clearly didn't belong to this home. Their sharp gaze flickered toward Augustine's room, then to the kitchen, where an unusual mess cluttered the space and a pot simmered on the stove—one that was almost never used.

Without hesitation, they moved swiftly, climbing the stairs and heading straight for the bedroom.

But the sight that greeted them at the doorway made them freeze.

On the bed, Augustine lay, gripping a delicate hand against his chest, while a girl sat on the bench beside him, stuck in an awkward position, fast asleep.

Their breath caught.

"Gasp!"