Chapter 2: Dressing for an Ex's Funeral

Sharon Shaw opened her eyes at six o'clock sharp.

Her alarm wasn't due to ring for another thirty minutes.

Soft dawn light filtered through the sheer curtains, washing the bedroom in a muted blue glow. She sat quietly on the edge of the bed, her pulse racing with a strange mixture of excitement and exhaustion.

She had barely slept.

Her head throbbed, and a dull dizziness reminded her that staying home would probably be the wiser choice.

Unfortunately, today wasn't a day she intended to miss.

Today was Ethan Pierce's funeral.

A smile she couldn't explain to anyone curled at the corners of her lips.

The funeral had become the most important event on her calendar.

The previous evening, she'd spent nearly the entire night choosing what to wear.

Bohemian.

Elegant socialite.

Y2K.

Old-money chic.

Every outfit had been carefully considered, rejected, then reconsidered again.

She hadn't finished until five in the morning before finally deciding on the perfect ensemble and collapsing into bed for a short nap.

Even then, sleep hadn't brought peace.

Instead, she'd dreamed about Ethan.

In the dream, they were back at the university where they first met. Rain poured endlessly from a gray sky, soaking her to the bone.

Then Ethan appeared beneath his umbrella.

The storm disappeared instantly.

Warm sunlight broke through the clouds.

A gentle breeze brushed her face.

Just as everything became beautiful, Ethan looked at her with those sharp, unreadable eyes.

"Why are you so happy that I'm dead?"

Even inside the dream, Sharon's resentment remained.

She slapped him across the face without hesitation.

"Because your death deserves fireworks!"

Dream-Ethan merely stared at her.

Unfortunately, dream-Ethan couldn't fight back.

Unfortunately for Sharon, neither could she hit very hard.

When she woke up, she still felt the slap hadn't been satisfying enough.

After showering, Sharon carefully applied her makeup and changed into the outfit she'd selected after an entire night of deliberation.

Before leaving, she stopped in front of the memorial altar she'd built months earlier.

Lighting three sticks of incense, she gazed at Ethan's photograph in silence.

Her countless hours spent researching curses online hadn't been wasted after all.

Today was proof.

Her steps felt unusually light as she headed downstairs.

Even the housekeeper noticed.

"You seem happier than you've been in months," the older woman remarked while serving breakfast. "Something good happen?"

Sharon smiled sweetly.

"The person I hated most won't be bothering me anymore."

The housekeeper, completely unaware of the circumstances, laughed warmly.

"Well then, congratulations."

"I'll take that."

The family driver was already waiting outside.

After breakfast, Sharon climbed into the back seat and immediately pulled out her phone.

She took several carefully posed selfies before selecting her favorite.

In the photo, a beam of sunlight happened to fall directly over her head like a heavenly spotlight.

Perfect.

After making a few minor edits, she uploaded it to her social media.

Attending my ex-boyfriend's funeral. ♡

Within two minutes, comments began pouring in.

Most assumed she was joking.

"LOL, manifesting this energy!"

"Can I borrow some of your luck?"

Sharon grinned from ear to ear.

She replied enthusiastically.

"Absolutely! Sharing the blessing with everyone!"

Good fortune was meant to be shared.

Especially this kind.

Traffic was surprisingly smooth.

The gentle hum of the car soon lulled Sharon back toward sleep.

Before long, her eyelids grew too heavy to resist.

She drifted off.

When the driver finally arrived at the funeral home, they were nearly half an hour early.

Through the window, Sharon spotted Chloe Quinn waiting by the roadside in a simple black dress.

She'd texted only moments earlier to say she'd arrived.

Not wanting to keep her waiting, Sharon asked the driver to hold up a mirror.

She inspected herself carefully.

Makeup flawless.

Hair immaculate.

Her complexion looked even healthier after the short nap.

The blush she'd chosen was perfect.

Satisfied, she thanked the driver and stepped out.

The moment she emerged from the car, Chloe froze.

Black tailored trousers flowed elegantly over Sharon's impossibly long legs.

A silk white blouse was tied with a black ribbon beneath the collar.

A cropped blazer emphasized her waist, while a gold-ring belt added understated luxury.

A long strand of South Sea pearls draped nearly to her waist.

Her softly curled hair bounced with every confident step.

Diamond chandelier earrings caught the morning sunlight.

She didn't look like someone attending a funeral.

She looked like a CEO walking into a multi-billion-dollar merger negotiation.

Chloe stared speechlessly.

When Sharon finally reached her, Chloe's eyes filled with tears again.

She misunderstood everything.

Sharon never dressed this way.

She assumed every detail had been chosen to honor Ethan one last time.

She even recognized the diamond earrings.

They had been Ethan's birthday gift to Sharon years ago.

Sharon, meanwhile, had completely forgotten who bought them.

She'd chosen them simply because they looked expensive.

Every element of today's outfit had hidden meaning—but none of the meanings Chloe imagined.

The silk fabric floated as she walked.

Since you're a ghost now, Sharon thought smugly, you should appreciate something that drifts as lightly as you do.

As for the pearl necklace?

That counted as prayer beads.

She was practically helping send him peacefully into the afterlife.

She considered herself incredibly thoughtful.

Passersby couldn't help giving her curious looks.

Even dressed entirely in black, Sharon radiated wealth and elegance.

Ignoring every stare, she noticed Chloe's swollen eyes first.

The tissue in her hand was already soaked through.

They embraced briefly.

"You look beautiful," Chloe whispered hoarsely.

"Ethan can finally rest in peace."

A faint smile tugged at Sharon's lips.

She simply patted Chloe's back without replying.

Rest in peace?

That depended entirely on whether heaven accepted him.

Or hell.

Chapter 3: The Dead Man's Request

Sharon was certain Ethan Pierce had died.

She had attended his funeral only hours ago.

She'd cried the loudest, stolen every eye in the chapel, and eventually collapsed from what everyone assumed was overwhelming grief.

She remembered every second of it.

So how—

How could Ethan now be sitting across from her, bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun?

The golden light split his face cleanly down the bridge of his nose. One eye shimmered like polished amber, while the other remained hidden in shadow, impossibly dark.

If someone told her he was a ghost, she'd believe it.

Cold sweat broke out across Sharon's back.

She suddenly regretted every dramatic line she'd shouted at the funeral.

"Take me with you."

What kind of idiot said things like that?

Apparently, one whose ex-boyfriend actually showed up afterward.

Seeing her frozen in silence, Ethan leaned forward.

Closer.

Closer.

Until only inches separated their noses.

Sharon instinctively sucked in a breath and held it.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips before a low chuckle escaped him.

The same infuriating laugh.

The one that always sounded as though he controlled every situation before anyone else even understood what was happening.

Her thoughts spiraled wildly.

Is this how ghosts kill people?

Does he drain my life force?

Am I about to die because I couldn't keep my mouth shut?

She desperately wanted to believe she was dreaming.

After all, she had no idea where she was.

Only now did she begin taking in her surroundings.

The room was spotless.

Fresh white walls.

Modern office furniture.

A large desk covered neatly with documents and office supplies.

The fading sunlight painted one half of the room warm gold while the other remained cool and gray.

With Ethan sitting precisely where light met darkness...

...it looked almost like the border between the living world and the underworld.

Silence filled every corner.

Too silent.

Too unreal.

Ethan leaned back into his chair.

"What?"

His voice was calm.

"Too scared to speak after seeing me?"

The sound snapped Sharon back to reality.

Lying helplessly on the sofa wasn't going to save her.

Whether he was human or ghost, she couldn't simply surrender.

She shot upright and scrambled into the farthest corner of the couch, pressing herself against the backrest as though she could disappear into it.

Over the past four months she'd spent countless hours reading paranormal forums.

One thing kept appearing in nearly every ghost story.

People who died suddenly often didn't realize they were dead.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

Ethan hadn't figured it out yet.

Swallowing nervously, she asked in a tiny voice,

"...Do you remember dying?"

Ethan idly rolled the bottle of eye drops between his fingers.

The amusement disappeared from his face.

"So I remember."

His eyes cooled.

"I was lying in the coffin."

"Then I heard you begging me to take you with me."

"So..."

He shrugged lazily.

"Here I am."

Sharon's fingers tightened around the blanket.

Her palms were icy with sweat.

She'd completely forgotten that Ethan had already been cremated.

The room was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat pounding inside her ears.

This was difficult.

Very difficult.

She took a shaky breath and tried reasoning with him.

"Everyone has their own fate."

"I'm... really sorry for what happened to you."

"But you're dead now."

"You should move on and be reincarnated."

"We belong to different worlds."

"It's really... inappropriate for us to stay together."

One of Ethan's brows lifted.

"Oh?"

"I don't see what's inappropriate."

"I think it's perfectly fine."

"And honestly..."

"I don't want to be reincarnated."

"I'd rather stay with you."

Sharon nearly choked.

Trying to reason with a ghost had officially become the stupidest thing she'd ever attempted.

Annoyance flared inside her—

Only to vanish the instant she met his eyes.

She wasn't brave enough to argue with the dead.

Not this dead man.

"I don't want that..." she muttered under her breath.

Their relationship overseas had never been serious—at least not for her.

She'd been the one to suggest breaking up.

But Ethan had agreed immediately.

Without hesitation.

Without asking why.

Without even trying to stop her.

In that instant, every question she'd wanted to ask died inside her.

She'd wasted years dating a complete fraud.

Ethan glanced at his watch.

"You slept longer than I expected."

"There isn't much time."

His expression turned businesslike.

"I need your help."

Sharon almost laughed.

Help?

After faking his death—assuming this wasn't some supernatural nightmare—he still had the nerve to ask favors?

She wanted nothing more than to kick him.

Unfortunately...

She wasn't in a position to offend someone who might be a ghost.

Or worse—

Alive.

"What do you need?"

"Visit my family in the next couple of days."

"You don't have to do anything complicated."

"Just cry."

"The same way you did today."

"You seem rather talented at it."

Sharon's eyes widened.

"That wasn't acting!"

"I was genuinely heartbroken!"

Ethan smiled faintly.

"Of course you were."

She pointed at her swollen eyes.

"I cried so much last night my eyes are still puffy!"

She even rubbed beneath them dramatically.

As though fresh tears might appear on command.

"...Do you have any last wishes besides that?" she asked cautiously.

Before Ethan could answer—

The doorknob rattled violently.

"Huh?"

"Why won't this open?"

Chloe's worried voice came from outside.

"Sharon?"

"Are you in there?"

Ethan crossed the room in two strides.

Bracing both hands on either side of Sharon, he leaned down until his voice brushed her ear.

"Tell her..."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Sharon!"

Sharon forced herself to stay calm.

"I'm okay!"

"I just woke up."

"I feel a little dizzy."

"I think I'm just hungry."

"Could you bring me something to eat?"

"Oh my God."

"I'll be right back!"

Chloe hurried away.

Only after her footsteps disappeared did Ethan straighten.

The oppressive feeling eased slightly.

Then realization struck Sharon like lightning.

He wasn't dead.

He had never been dead.

Her blood ran cold.

That meant...

He had seen everything.

The social media post she'd intentionally left visible to him.

Her performance at his funeral.

Every fake tear.

Every outrageous declaration.

She wanted to smash her head against a wall.

"There isn't much time."

Ethan adjusted his cufflinks.

"Remember what I said?"

Sharon nodded rapidly.

"I remember."

"I won't forget."

He bent down once more.

One final warning.

"You won't tell anyone you saw me today..."

"...will you?"

She immediately raised four fingers in an exaggerated oath.

"Of course not."

"You have my word."

Satisfied, Ethan walked toward the black office desk.

From its surface he picked up what looked horrifyingly like...

A human face.

Hair.

Skin.

Features.

The lifeless silicone mask sagged grotesquely in his hands.

Sharon gasped and clamped both hands over her mouth.

Without the slightest hesitation, Ethan pulled the mask over his head.

Seconds later—

The breathtakingly handsome Ethan Pierce disappeared.

Standing before her instead was an utterly ordinary middle-aged businessman.

The disguise was flawless.

Sharon stared in disbelief.

"...What is this?"

"Mission: Impossible?"

"You think you're Tom Cruise now?"

Ethan only smiled.

Before leaving, he brushed the air beside one of her diamond earrings.

"You look beautiful today."

Then he opened the door...

...and disappeared.

The room stayed silent for several long seconds.

Finally Sharon exploded.

"Ugh!"

"How unlucky!"

"Who wants your compliment? Stop flattering yourself!"

The office door suddenly swung open.

She snapped her mouth shut.

Chloe rushed in carrying fruit.

"Oh, thank goodness."

"You scared me to death."

"I could only find these."

She handed Sharon a bright red apple before gently wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"You've been sweating so much."

"Low blood sugar?"

No.

Pure terror.

Sharon stared blankly at the apple.

"...This isn't..."

"Ethan's funeral offering?"

Chloe nodded innocently.

"Yes."

Sharon: "..."

She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.

Chapter 4: A Bargain with the Ghost

Sharon categorized Ethan Pierce into a very specific class of men: those blessed with a striking face and utterly devoid of soul.

He had the Ivy-League pedigree, the sharp mind, and the impeccable manners, but those were merely a polished façade he wore for society. Sharon had been unlucky enough to see the man behind the mask. What kind of genuinely refined gentleman broke into someone’s house in the dead of night?

He was still wearing the dark suit from the funeral—a mass-produced brand he would never normally touch—which, combined with the balaclava he’d been wearing earlier, made it easy for him to disappear into a crowd. But now he had shed the mask. Even in off-the-rack clothing, the sheer, ruthless presence inherent in his bones was impossible to disguise.

Sharon’s body reacted before her brain could process. Shaken by terror, her legs buckled, sending her slumping onto the floor. Two seconds of pure mental blackout later, instinct kicked in. Her hand scrambled frantically behind her, grabbing whatever her fingers touched first, and hurled it straight at the man lounging on her sofa.

The white silk shirt she had just been wearing landed right over Ethan’s head.

Sharon scrambled to her feet, darting toward the bed. She yanked a camisole dress over her head, but feeling far too exposed, grabbed a gray zip-up hoodie off a chair, pulled it on, and zipped it all the way up to her chin.

Beneath the silk, the intimate scent of her perfume washed over Ethan’s senses—a rich, velvety floral-woodsy fragrance that instantly yanked him back to lazy, sun-drenched afternoons in her garden, tangled in her arms.

He didn't even need to reach up. The delicate silk slid smoothly off his head, brushing against his cheek like a whisper before pooling in a soft, rumpled mess of white between his thighs.

To his right, Sharon had armored herself and fallen into a defensive stance, her eyes flashing with deep distrust.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains half-drawn just as she had left them. Only the faint, amber glow of dusk seeped inside. They were both shrouded in shadows, watching each other through the narrow corridor of light separating them.

Ethan’s gaze lingered on her oversized gray hoodie. He offered her a mild, infuriatingly pleasant smile. "You're back. Did Ryan and Chloe drop you off?"

Sharon took a deep, steadying breath. "What do you want, Ethan?"

"I recall our conversation was cut short earlier, interrupted by Chloe," he said smoothly. "Shall we pick up where we left off?"

"I already agreed to your terms!" Sharon’s voice pitched higher than she intended. "What more could you possibly want from me?"

Ethan knew her all too well. She was terrified. Whenever Sharon felt cornered, she bristled like a cat, raising her voice to fake a position of strength. Knowing what he was about to ask, Ethan deliberately softened his posture, lowering his tone into something dangerously gentle.

"Given the tragic tribute you posted on social media earlier... I’m just not entirely convinced you’re actually going to help me."

Sharon felt a sudden wave of heat rush to her cheeks, a quiet pang of guilt hitting her chest. She had genuinely thought he was dead—who on earth faked their own death, anyway?

"And there's one more thing," Ethan continued, his tone shifting into something almost conversational. "Call it a plea. I'm currently homeless, Sharon. I need a place to stay."

Silence descended upon the bedroom, thick and suffocating. Sharon narrowed her eyes, processing the sound of his voice before repeating the words back to him.

"You need me to take you in?"

Then again, where else could a "dead man" go?

Ever since he returned to the country, he had taken over his family’s enterprise, becoming the youngest corporate titan in the city with luxury properties scattered everywhere. But now that his death had been announced to the world, those high-rise penthouses were completely off-limits.

Sharon had never paid much attention to his corporate affairs. After he took the helm, they saw less of each other, and she had little idea what kind of shark tank he was swimming in. But seeing him now—forced to fake his own death to hide his tracks, reduced to begging his ex-girlfriend for a roof over his head—felt like cosmic retribution. What went around came around, and Ethan Pierce had finally gotten his karma.

It was the ultimate opportunity to kick him while he was down. If she kept him here, she would hold absolute control over his whereabouts. If she ever decided she wanted him gone for good, she could expose him with a single phone call.

That brief calculation eased the tension in her neck and shoulders. At least for now, she held the upper hand. Still, harboring a dangerous man like Ethan was an invitation for trouble.

She wavered, weighing her options.

Ethan nodded, his blue-chip composure intact. "Yes. I need you to shelter me."

Resting his chin on his hand, the corner of his mouth quirked up as he watched her mull it over. His gaze drifted past her gray hoodie to the makeshift memorial altar she had built for him near the window.

And she claimed she didn't care about me anymore when we broke up.

Unaware of his arrogant inner monologue, Sharon was running through a high-stakes mental chess game. Taking him in was a gamble. If she won, she got a front-row seat to watch the arrogant Ethan Pierce live like a stray dog. If she lost... well, she refused to lose. She had to take control early.

It was a gamble for Ethan, too. Instead of seeking help from his loyal inner circle, he had come straight to his ex-girlfriend. It was practically a death wish.

Sharon made her decision. She would keep him close. At least under her roof, she could keep her eyes on him.

"Fine. But we need ground rules."

"I'm all ears." Ethan gestured with a chivalrous sweep of his hand. "Proceed."

"First, I am giving you a place to stay, but I am not feeding you. Figure out your own meals. Second, you sleep in the storage closet inside my bedroom. At night, I'm locking you in—for my own safety. Third, I reserve the right to expose your 'death' whenever I see fit. And finally, as long as you live under my roof, you obey my rules. Period."

Ethan chuckled softly. "That sounds like four rules, darling."

Sharon didn't care about the count. As long as he was under her roof, her safety was non-negotiable. "Whatever. Agree to it, or I start screaming right now."

Ethan feigned deep interest in her terms. His voice was soft, but the underlying tone left no room for argument.

"Counter-offer. First, you shelter me and feed me. I’ll pay you whatever price you name. Second, I'll sleep in the storage closet, but you don't lock me in—that's for my safety. Third, you cannot expose the truth under any circumstances, not even to your dear friend Chloe."

Before he could even finish his sentence, Sharon opened her mouth to scream. But before a sound could fully escape her throat, Ethan calmly interjected: "Deal."

The scream died in her throat. A fleeting look of triumph crossed Sharon's face. Rule number four: You obey me. He was living under her roof now, and she was going to teach him how to play by her rules.

Seeing that he wasn't entirely fearless brought her lingering panic down a notch. Sharon took a couple of steps back and sank onto the edge of her bed, letting her trembling legs finally rest.

Ethan was clearly unsatisfied with the outcome, but he had no leverage to push further. He leaned back, tilting his head. "So, if you're not feeding me, how do you expect me to maintain my vital signs?"

"You managed to break into my house without making a sound," Sharon said coldly, her courage bolstering now that she held something over him. "Are you telling me you can't sneak out to scavenge for food?"

Reaching beneath her dress, she pulled out her phone from her back waistline and hit play.

The speaker immediately played back the conversation they had just shared. Sharon let it run for a second or two before hitting pause and slipping the phone safely back into her pocket.

"I have the evidence right here. Don't try any clever tricks."

Ethan lowered his head, a low, quiet chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. The vibration was tantalizingly deep, undeniably handsome.

"Recording our conversation... smart girl, Sharon. I won't play tricks. As you wish, I'll abide by rule number four. I'll be good."

His amused tone irritated her to no end. Sharon clutched her pocket, her eyes flashing with genuine anger as her voice hardened. "Cut the sweet talk, Ethan! Don't take my words lightly—your life is literally in my hands right now."

Ethan arched an eyebrow, accepting her threat with a slow, leisurely nod. "I wouldn't dare. Rest assured."

Sharon glared at him for a moment longer before rising to her feet. "I'm going to take a shower now. You can go out and find something to eat, but do not touch my things. And do not come anywhere near the bathroom."

"Understood."

Before stepping into the bathroom, Sharon locked the main bedroom door, grabbed a change of clothes, and shut herself inside.

Ethan remained on the single armchair in her reading nook. Hearing the bathroom door close and the lock turn, his hand finally slid down to rest on the soft white silk shirt draped over his lap, his long fingers gently caressing the smooth fabric.

Sharon finished her shower in record time. Without even drying her hair, she darted back into the bedroom to check if her unwanted guest was still there.

Ethan hadn't moved. He sat in the exact same spot, resting his jaw on his palm, staring blankly into space. Her silk shirt was still resting across his lap.

Sharon took three swift steps forward and snatched the garment away with a sharp pull. The fabric sliced through the air with a soft swoosh, sending a cool breeze across his skin.

Ethan pulled himself out of his trance, offering a subtle shoulder shrug to signal his innocence.

Sharon huffed, returning to the bathroom to dry her hair. The loud, monotonous whir of the hairdryer did little to calm her spiraling thoughts.

She hadn't turned on the bedroom lights, and by the time she finished, the room had plunged into near-total darkness. Only the soft glow of the garden lights down below bled through the crack in her curtains. Sharon wasn't afraid of the dark; her night vision was sharp, and she usually preferred the soft ambiance of a single floor lamp when she was home.

As if reading her mind, Ethan reached over and switched on the floor lamp beside his chair just as she walked out of the short hallway connecting the bathroom.

Sharon froze mid-step, her eyes darting toward him. Her damp, pitch-black hair framed a freshly washed, makeup-free face, making her pale skin look almost luminous. She looked strikingly pure, almost ethereal in the dim light.

"Did I ask for your help?" Sharon snapped. "That's my lamp."

She turned and headed toward her vanity.

Unbothered by her sharpness, Ethan lazily raised a hand and turned the lamp off.

Darkness enveloped the room once more. A second later, Sharon’s toe collided hard with the wooden leg of the vanity table. Pain shot up her leg, and she collapsed onto the floor with a muffled gasp.

"Ethan! Are you completely insane?!" she cried out, clutching her throbbing toe and glaring toward his corner.

Right then, a sharp knock sounded at her bedroom door.

Sharon’s heart leaped into her throat. Instead of acting normal, her instincts kicked in—she slapped a hand over her own mouth and whipped her head around to look at Ethan in sheer panic.

Compared to her, Ethan’s face was a picture of cool, unbothered calm.

"Sharon, sweetie? Dinner's ready."

It was Auntie Chen, the live-in housekeeper. When she first started working here, she used to call Sharon "Miss," and it had taken Sharon days of persistent nagging to get her to drop the formality.

"Okay! I'll be right down!" Sharon called back, forcing her voice to sound natural.

"Alright, dear," Auntie Chen replied, her footsteps fading down the staircase.

Sharon rubbed her aching toe, pushed herself up, and shot a venomous glare toward Ethan's dark corner. "Turn the lamp back on, you absolute idiot."

Ethan clicked the switch, putting on a look of total innocence. "My apologies. You explicitly told me not to touch your lamp."

Sharon glared at him, grabbed a bottle of lotion from her vanity, slapped it haphazardly onto her face, and slipped out of the room, shutting the door tightly behind her.

Auntie Chen’s culinary skills were top-tier. Seeing Sharon in such high spirits earlier that morning, she assumed there was good news to celebrate and had specially prepared Sharon’s favorite dish: scallion-braised crab.

Unfortunately, Sharon’s head was pounding so hard she could barely swallow a bite.

Mistaking her silence for dissatisfaction, Auntie Chen waited until Sharon set her chopsticks down before asking anxiously, "Was the food not to your liking today?"

Sharon snapped out of her daze, waving her hands defensively. "No, no! It's delicious, Auntie Chen. I'm just... exhausted. Just thinking about some work stuff."

Auntie Chen smiled sympathetically. She knew her young employer was prone to sudden bouts of deep distraction—talking to herself or staring off into space was nothing new. She cleared the plates without pressing further.

Sharon lingered in the living room for as long as she could, dreading the moment she’d have to go back upstairs and face Ethan again.

When she finally returned, he was still sitting in the reading nook. It was as if he’d been glued to the armchair—motionless, silent, like a high-end display mannequin.

Sharon spent twenty minutes clearing out her walk-in storage closet before calling him over.

She used to use the small space as a gaming setup, but after selling her custom rig, it had turned into a graveyard for random clutter.

Ethan rose and stepped up behind her. His broad-shouldered frame cast a towering shadow over her, bringing an immediate, suffocation-level pressure into the tiny room.

"You sleep here."

Sharon unrolled a thin bamboo cooling mat onto the floor—a summertime staple.

Asking an ex for a favor was bad enough, but her hospitality was downright arctic. Ethan stared down at the narrow, single-person bamboo mat on the hardwood floor and let out a dry, amused laugh.

Before he could speak, Sharon cut him off cold. "Don't like it? The front door is that way."

Ethan’s sharp facial features showed no trace of anger. Instead, his gaze softened into a dangerous kind of indulgence. "Fine. I'll sleep here."

In a rare moment of mercy, Sharon let him use her bathroom to wash up. She even went to her walk-in closet to dig up a set of clothes for him. Who could have guessed that after all this time, his clothes were still tucked away in her house?

She stared at the forgotten pile in the corner. She had stumbled upon them just last night while clearing her wardrobe and had planned to throw them out today. Instead, they were coming in handy.

A loud, tropical Hawaiian print shirt paired with a basic white tee and sweatpants.

They were crumpled and wrinkled beyond belief. Sharon gave them a harsh shake, tossing the wilted fabrics directly into his arms.

This time, Ethan surprisingly didn't say a word. He took the clothes and silently retreated into the bathroom.

At ten o'clock sharp, Sharon locked Ethan inside the storage closet, climbed onto her bed, and pulled the duvet over her head.

Exhaustion finally caught up with her, and the moment her head hit the pillow, she sank into a deep sleep.

Hours later, Sharon was jolted awake by a faint, persistent scratching at the door, accompanied by muffled, painful groans.

She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes as she pin-pointed the sound. It was coming from the storage closet.

Wondering what kind of drama Ethan was staging now, Sharon grabbed the key, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

Ethan was slumping against the far wall, one hand clutched tightly over his abdomen, his forehead slick with a heavy layer of cold sweat.

The house was equipped with a central climate control system, and the room was perfectly cool. Sharon couldn't understand why he was dripping with sweat.

"What's wrong with you?" Sharon tapped his calf with the toe of her slipper.

Ethan let out a low, pained grunt, forcing his head up to look at her. He rasped something under his breath, but his voice was too faint for her to hear.

"What did you say? Speak up," Sharon said, crouching down beside him.

This time, his trembling, threadbare voice came through clearly:

"I'm... starving."