Uninvited Guest

The rays of sunlight spilled through Neoma's half-open curtains, landing squarely on her face. She slowly opened her eyes, only to shut them again from the sudden brightness. With a groggy sigh, she rolled to the other side of the bed and sat up. Stretching, she let out a heavy yawn.

It was yet another weekend for the family dinner. Her face wore a mixed expression. On one hand, she was happy to see her parents again—especially her mother—after a long week. On the other, she wasn't ready for another word battle with her father.

Just cooperate for today, she told herself.

Dragging herself out of bed, she took a hot shower and dressed in a flowy blush-pink blouse, loosely tucked into a pair of high-waisted jeans. She threw on a denim jacket to complete the look. Her makeup was minimal—almost bare—and her hair fell in soft, effortless waves. She checked her reflection in the mirror.

She looked good.

Heading to the garage, she stopped short and shook her head at the sight of her dented car.

"What a day," she muttered, pulling out her phone and dialing.

She eyed the Mercedes-Benz parked nearby. Too fancy, she had told her mother. But her mother never listened.

"Hi, Alice. Good morning... Can you tell Kyle to come pick up my car? It's in the garage. Ben will be home," she said over the phone.

After notifying her security guard, Ben, about the mechanic, she drove the Mercedes to the grocery store to grab some cooking supplies for her mother.

She arrived at her father's mansion just as her stomach growled. It was tradition to gather every weekend for dinner. Her mother insisted on cooking personally, giving the maids the weekend off. It was family dinner—her mother had made that clear from the beginning.

Her father, usually too busy during the day, made time for dinner. That was when they all came together. Neoma always tried to arrive early to catch up with her mom—if she wasn't already too busy in the kitchen.

But today, something was off.

There were a few expensive-looking cars parked in the driveway.

Does Dad have visitors? she wondered. Maybe he won another contract... but why entertain clients at home—on a weekend?

Two hefty men in black suits flanked the entrance, their earpieces and dark shades making them look every bit the professional guards they were.

They opened the door for her.

As Neoma stepped inside, a strange wave of déjà vu washed over her. Her gaze fell on her father, seated comfortably in the grand living room with a wide smile on his face, chatting with—

Sebastian Vaelrath.

She froze. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide.

Her heart slammed against her chest.

Did he come to tell my father? He'll be so disappointed in me... Panic crept in.

Sebastian looked up and smirked. His hair, as always, fell over his left eye. Dressed in a tailored business suit, he looked entirely at ease, twirling a wine glass between his fingers like he owned the place.

Her father turned and caught her frozen gaze.

"Oh, there she is," he said, smiling warmly.

Neoma stood stiff. She couldn't read the situation. Why was Sebastian in their home? And why now?

"Come on, don't just stand there," her father added playfully, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She walked toward the couch, far less confident than usual. Her steps were heavy with unease, like the ground might open and swallow her whole.

Is this what he does with his clients? Spilling secrets? He's cunning, she thought bitterly as she sat beside her father. Maybe he's doing the right thing. I did meet him behind my father's back.

"I don't think I need to introduce you to Mr. Vaelrath," her father said.

"Urm... Yes, he's a very good friend," she stammered.

"Oh well," her father chuckled. "You must really be into paintings, Mr. Vaelrath?"

"Please, call me Sebastian," he replied smoothly. "And yes—I love paintings. Especially Neoma's paintings."

She blinked. What was he doing?

"She's been obsessed with painting since she was a kid," her father said fondly.

They were talking about her, like she wasn't even there. Embarrassed, she stood.

"Pleasure to see you here, Mr. Vaelrath," she said with a tight smile, her glare meant only for him.

"I'll be in the kitchen with Mom so I won't interrupt your discussion," she added, holding up the grocery bag. She kissed her father on the cheek and walked away—relieved, but still utterly confused.

---

"We talk every day, Neoma, and you couldn't mention meeting someone new—a man, at that?" her mother scolded as they prepared dinner.

Neoma rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Come on, Mom. It's not even something deep. We just met once," she said, adding milk to flour in a bowl.

"Once?" Her mother nearly shrieked, grabbing some eggs. "He said he frequents the gallery!"

"He might. I'm usually in my office. I only give gallery tours to important clients," she replied, lifting a tray of vegetables.

"You're saying Vaelrath isn't important?" Her mother stopped dead, staring at her.

"Mom, this is hilarious. He's just a client. You're making a fuss over nothing."

Her mother narrowed her eyes. "He may be your client... but he likes you."

"What?!" Neoma's hand slipped. The knife tumbled—and landed with a sharp sting against her leg.

She was bleeding.

"Neoma!" her mother screamed.

"Mom, I'm fine. It's not that deep," Neoma said, bending over to check her leg.

The knife had nicked her toe. The sharpness of the blade combined with the fall had left a cut—not too deep, but enough to sting.

"You're too clumsy," said a deep, husky voice from the kitchen doorway.

Sebastian stood there, effortlessly commanding attention.

"Oh! Mr. Vaelrath!" her mother said, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'd love to steal Miss Neoma away for a bit," he said, flashing a soft smile.

"I'm hurt, I can't—"

"There's a first aid box upstairs," her mother interrupted quickly.

"You know where it is," she added, glancing at Neoma.

Sebastian stepped forward. "Alright, ma'am," he replied, already helping her up.

Annoyance churned in Neoma's chest as his smile lingered. She wanted to smack it off his face. He's a total jerk, she thought bitterly. And her mother? She felt like a traitor—so eager to hand her over, completely unaware of what was really happening.

Neoma allowed him to guide her out of the kitchen, but her jaw was clenched the whole time.

"I can walk on my own," she said firmly once they reached the stairs, nudging him away.

He didn't resist. He simply stepped back and watched her limp upward. Silently. Observing.

At the top, he grabbed the first aid box from a shelf in the hallway and followed her to her room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Neoma spun around.

"What are you doing?" she snapped. Her voice was sharp—too sharp—but she didn't care. She'd been holding it in.

He didn't answer.

He just opened the first aid box, pulled out cotton wool and antiseptic, and set them on the small table beside the bed.

"Really? You're just going to pretend nothing's going on?" Her voice rose. "You didn't tell my dad, did you? I can tell. I saw it in his face."

Still, no answer.

Instead, he calmly slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and turned to face her, eyes unreadable. Waiting.

She sighed in frustration, the fight momentarily draining from her. With a reluctant shuffle, she sat on the edge of her bed.

Sebastian knelt on one knee and took her foot gently in his large hands. Sparks flew again—less surprising this time, but no less intense.

Their eyes met. Held.

Then he looked away and got to work.

He cleaned the cut slowly, carefully. The antiseptic stung. She flinched a few times but bit her tongue, letting him finish. He applied ointment, his touch maddeningly gentle, then placed a band-aid over the wound.

Once done, he stood and threw the used materials into the trash can. Then he walked over and sat on the small couch opposite her bed.

A moment of silence hung between them.

Then he said it.

"I intend to marry you."

The air left her lungs. Her brain scrambled to catch up.

He couldn't be serious. Could he?