Chapter 7: The Rich Kid Lifestyle (And My Growing Suspicion That I’ve Been Kidnapped)

Chapter 7: The Rich Kid Lifestyle (And My Growing Suspicion That I've Been Kidnapped)

Bright didn't know what to do with himself.

For years, his life had been about getting by. Wake up, work, eat, sleep—repeat. That was all he needed to focus on. The idea of having free time was so foreign that it made him uncomfortable. He kept waiting for something to go wrong, for the universe to remind him that good things didn't happen without consequences.

Instead, Emily kept showing up.

She never told him what they were doing in advance. She'd just appear at the apartment, toss something at his face—a jacket, keys, once even a protein bar—and say, "Get up. We're going out."

The first time, Bright resisted. He was tired, suspicious, and not in the mood for whatever rich-people nonsense she had planned. But Emily had zero patience and even less regard for personal space, so the next thing he knew, he was being physically shoved out the door.

That was how he ended up in a clothing store way too expensive for his existence. The moment they stepped inside, he knew he didn't belong. The mannequins wore outfits that looked like they cost more than his soul, and the salespeople glanced at him like he was about to rob the place. Emily, of course, ignored all of it and dumped a pile of shirts into his arms.

Bright scowled. "I can't afford these."

Emily didn't even blink. "Who said you're paying?"

The answer should have been obvious, but it still caught him off guard.

"You're buying me clothes?"

"Yeah. You have, like, three outfits, and they all look like they lost a fight with a trash can."

Bright frowned but didn't argue. He was painfully aware that he looked like a stray someone had dragged in. Still, that didn't explain why she was doing this. People didn't just spend money on others without a reason. It was suspicious. But Emily was already shoving him toward the fitting rooms, and resisting would take more effort than it was worth.

He nearly had a heart attack when he saw the prices. Seventy dollars for a hoodie? Did it come with a personal security system?

Emily snickered at his expression but didn't say anything. By the time they left, Bright had actual, decent clothes for the first time in years. He didn't know how to feel about it. He didn't like owing people. But when he stepped outside, wearing clothes that actually fit, he had to admit—it felt nice.

A few days later, Emily dragged him out again. Bright assumed it would be another shopping trip, maybe a restaurant or something equally excessive.

He was wrong.

The moment he saw the firing range, he stopped walking. "What part of me says I should be trusted with a gun?"

Emily smirked. "None. That's why I'm here."

That didn't make him feel better.

Bright had never even held a gun before, and he had no particular desire to start now. But Emily had already signed them in, and backing out felt more humiliating than just going along with it. So he followed her inside and watched as she expertly handled a pistol, aimed at the target, and hit dead center like it was nothing.

Bright stared. "That was concerningly good."

Emily reloaded. "Basic survival."

Bright exhaled through his nose. "You make it look too easy."

"Because it is." She handed him a gun. "Come on, you might not suck as much as I think you will."

Bright definitely sucked. He missed every shot and almost dropped the gun once. Emily was deeply unimpressed. She grabbed his hands, adjusted his grip without warning, and before he could complain, she muttered, "Again."

Bright shot again. Still missed.

Emily sighed like this was the greatest disappointment of her life. "You're hopeless."

Bright scowled. "I never asked for this."

"And yet, here we are."

Emily wasn't doing this for him—that much was obvious. This was just… something she did. A normal thing for her.

Like buying expensive clothes. Like eating at high-end restaurants where Bright had to physically stop himself from inhaling the food too fast. Like taking him to a gym where he quickly learned that Emily could, and absolutely would, kick his ass if given the chance.

It was weird. But somehow, Bright got used to it.

Emily didn't treat him like charity. She didn't ask personal questions or give him pitying looks. She just showed up, brought him along, and never acted like he didn't belong.

One evening, after an especially exhausting day at the gym where he almost died trying to do a pull-up, they sat on the apartment balcony. Emily leaned back against the railing, watching the city lights with an unreadable expression.

Bright broke the silence. "So, is this a thing you do?"

Emily glanced at him. "What?"

"Dragging people around, making them do normal rich-person stuff."

She smirked. "Nah. You're my first stray."

Bright rolled his eyes. "Lucky me."

Emily didn't respond right away. She just stared ahead, fingers tapping absently against the railing. Then, as if deciding something, she said, "I just don't like feeling useless."

Bright didn't expect that answer.

Emily wasn't the type to admit things easily. She carried herself like someone who had everything under control, who never second-guessed herself. But right now, she looked…

Not vulnerable. But not untouchable, either.

Bright didn't push.

He could tell, without her saying it, that this was something she'd been doing for years. Training, practicing, moving forward so she wouldn't feel weak, helpless, or desperate for someone else's protection.

He didn't know why.

And she didn't offer an explanation.

So he didn't ask.

They sat in silence for a while. Bright didn't feel the need to fill it, and Emily didn't seem to mind.

For once, things felt… normal.

Not good. Not bad. Just okay.

And for Bright, that was enough.

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