Chapter 8: welcome home, runaway cat

The car rolled slowly over the gravel road, shadowed by tall pine trees on either side. The air outside looked cleaner, crisper like every breath could somehow heal a wound left by the chaos of city life.

And as the tall iron gates opened automatically ahead of us, I realized I hadn’t really been breathing.

Reagan sat calmly beside me, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat.

And when the house came into view around the bend… I lost my words.

It stood quietly, gracefully. Nothing like the try-hard billionaire mansions that scream wealth. No blinding marble, no gold-plated columns, no obnoxious statues in the front yard.

Just a modern silhouette with clean lines, massive glass panels reflecting the pale sky, and natural stone blending effortlessly into the landscape. Pines towered all around, forming a kind of natural barrier between this house and the rest of the world. In the distance, the mountains floated like soft ghosts behind a curtain of mist.

And, damn it, the place was beautiful.

Dangerously beautiful.

My mouth parted.

“Wow. Speechless. Your eyes are even a little glassy, Gretta. Don’t tell me you like this place?”

I shut my mouth and shot him a glare. “I like clean air and peace. Not the person sitting next to me.”

He chuckled. “But the place... it’s decent, right?”

“You say that like this is a weekend getaway.”

“It’s not. This is the main house. The getaways are in Italy, Japan, and... Iceland, if you remember.”

I wanted to roll my eyes straight out of my skull and onto the floor of the car.

When the driver opened the door, I stepped out first. Cool air kissed my skin like a strangely gentle greeting.

The front yard was lined with neatly wild grass, and a path of gray stone led up to the carved wooden front door.

Reagan stood beside me, inhaled deeply, then turned toward me with a crooked smile. “You belong here, Gee. Like a runaway cat finally coming home.”

I turned to him slowly, narrowing my eyes. “Did you just compare me to... a cat?”

“At least I didn’t say wolf. That would’ve been too dramatic.”

My hand moved before my brain could stop it.

The scarf I’d been wearing, thin and light for the cool morning, came off my neck and whipped straight across his face. Ploof.

It landed perfectly, covering part of Reagan’s smug smile. He didn’t flinch. Just stood there and let it fall to the stone path like this wasn’t the first time someone attacked him with an accessory.

“Touché,” he said, rubbing his nose, the smile growing wider. “If that’s your version of affection... I feel very loved right now.”

“I could throw a suitcase at your head. Wanna test that version?”

He leaned down slightly, too close. “You won’t. Because you know I like it when you’re mad.”

I sucked in a sharp breath and turned away before I could say..or do something truly regrettable.

The house was calling.

Or more accurately, the next four months of emotional warfare had just begun.

:::

The front door opened with a soft click, followed by a warm draft from inside. It felt like the house exhaled, like it had been waiting to be brought back to life.

My steps slowed the moment I crossed the threshold.

The floors were made of dark, matte oak, not the polished kind you see in those try-hard luxury homes flooding the design feeds. The walls were a creamy white, hung with large abstract paintings that looked expensive but didn’t scream it.

Everything felt... too perfect.

I stood in the middle of the room, and for the first time since Reagan reappeared in my life, I was silent with awe.

Fuck him.

“There’s something on your face,” his voice floated lazily from behind me. “Oh wait. That’s awe, isn’t it?”

I turned, eyes narrowed. “This house…”

“Pretty standard,” he said, cutting me off as he dropped the keys on the credenza. “But it’s got enough natural light to fight off seasonal depression. Supposedly that’s important.”

I squinted at him. “You know exactly the kind of house I like.”

He strolled over to the big window, pulling back the white linen curtain just enough. Morning light slipped through and lit up the sharp lines of his face. Calm, confident, infuriatingly beautiful.

“I have a great architect,” he said, still looking out. “They told me big windows help people who... tend to daydream in the middle of work.”

I crossed my arms. “And it’s a complete coincidence that this house looks exactly like the one I pinned to my Pinterest board five years ago?”

He turned around. The smile on his lips was faint. “You give yourself too much credit, babe. The world doesn’t revolve around your vampire movie algorithms.”

I scoffed. “It’s The Twilight Saga. And don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

Reagan shrugged. “Maybe I watched it. Maybe I didn’t. But if this is your dream house… let’s just say the universe is being kind to you.”

I took a step closer. “You. Hired. An architect. Who just happened to build a house in the middle of a pine forest. With Cullen-level windows. And a fireplace. And bookshelves. And warm lighting. But you’re still claiming this is all... a coincidence?”

He looked at me for a moment, then said quietly, in that maddeningly-Reagan way, “I never said I wasn’t paying attention.”

My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to fire back. But my mouth wouldn’t move, and my thoughts were suddenly too loud.

I turned around before he could see something he wasn’t supposed to catch on my face.

My feet took me down the long corridor that led to the kitchen, the ceiling low with exposed wood beams, and black metal pendant lights hanging like they belonged in a design magazine, simple but obviously expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto the backyard, where wild grass grew in that intentional, curated kind of way.

And off in the distance, beyond the lavender bushes and pine trees… was a small lake.

Of course he had a lake.

“Gee,” Reagan’s voice came from behind, soft and way too close. “If you stare out that window any longer, I’m gonna start thinking you want to stay more than just four months.”

I turned slowly, grabbed a throw pillow from the bench by the wall, and chucked it at his face.

He caught it with one hand. No surprise. No offense taken. Just a laugh. Low. Deep.

The stairs to the second floor creaked softly under our steps. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Or maybe just peaceful enough to make me suspicious.

Reagan walked half a step ahead of me, And sure enough... when he opened the last door at the end of the hallway, I stopped dead in the doorway.

My heartbeat forgot its rhythm.

The room looked like it had been plucked straight from a corner of my mind. A corner I’d never even shared with Caleb.

One wall was all glass, facing the pine woods and the gray sky that reflected faintly against the window. The other wall was warm wood, broken up by sage and deep green panels, the only two colors that ever made me breathe a little easier.

A writing desk sat by the window, minimal and bright, with a matte black reading lamp perched at the edge. In the corner, a built-in bookshelf stretched almost to the ceiling, with an open space in the middle.

Beside it, a frosted glass door led to a walk-in closet.

And just to the left... the bathroom.

A freestanding tub with black iron feet sat in the middle of warm gray stone tiles, framed by two tall indoor plants. Behind it, a large glass shower. The whole thing was just... too right.

Too me.

Reagan leaned against the doorway. “It’d take Caleb about twenty years,” he said eventually, “to get you a place like this.”

I hissed through my teeth, narrowing my eyes. “I could build it myself in five.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Optimistic. But still, tsk tsk tsk…” He gave a small shake of his head. “Not ethical. Letting your girlfriend work her ass off while he just stands around with coffee and opinions about rugs.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I practically heard the sound. “You don’t know anything about us.”

He didn’t argue. He just walked further into the room, stopped at the center, and turned slowly to take it all in.

“In that case,” he said, “consider this... compensation from the guy who once failed to read you right. Can I leave my suitcase here?”

“You’re not sleeping in this room.”

Reagan looked at me with that lazy smile. “I know. Just making sure you still have boundaries.”