—2 years and 27 days ago—

"Ready?"

As Nessa aims my phone's camera at me, I fold my arms across my chest. Once I'm sure my muscles are shown off in the best way possible, I give her the go-ahead nod.

"One . . ."

A glance at the lovebirds in front of the fancy apartment to my left tells me they're still too lost in their own world to notice what I'm about to do. Still, anxiety crawls across my skin as I rest my butt against the trunk of the black Lamborghini and put my white sneakers on the bumper.

Considering how the soles are wet and caked with mud, I'm sure they're going to leave some stains on the car. But a guy's gotta do anything for the gram, right?

Besides, it's not like the car is mine.

"Two . . ."

The Dwayne Johnson lookalike stops eating his lover's mouth and turns his attention toward me. "Hey, what is he doing?"

Oh, crap. This is a bad idea. Cold sweat forms on my brow as anger grows in his voice. "That's my car. What the f—"

"Three," Nessa says. "Say cheese!"

I put on my super sexy smirk and tilt my head to my right, allowing the soft rays of sunlight breaking through the gray sky to highlight my best features—and hide that stupid layer of fat under my chin.

"Get the fuck off my car, you asshole!" the bald guy roars in fury and charges toward us.

"Oh, shit." I dash toward Nessa and grab her hand. "Run, run, run!"

The bulky guy chases after us like an angry lion, shouting out a string of curses that would put the kids from South Park to shame. My heart thuds in my ears as Nessa and I head toward the smaller, less luxurious apartment building across the street: her new place.

Adrenaline—along with a sense of fear for my life—pumps through my veins, allowing me to run as fast as Usain Bolt. Taking a turn into the five-story building's back alley, we crouch beside the dumpster to hide from the bald guy's wrath.

The next few seconds feel like hours. The man's heavy footsteps slow down near the entrance of the alley, forcing me to hold my breath.

"Dammit!" He stomps his boots in a puddle of water and mutters some more curses. After a while, he finally walks away from the alley.

Letting out a relieved chuckle, I drop my butt to the ground and lean back against the dumpster. "That was close."

The lack of response from Nessa raises my concern, and for a moment, the idea that she's having a heart attack crosses my mind. My concern heightens when I discover her gaping in shock, her eyes fixed on her hand; which, to my utter surprise, is still gripped tightly in mine.

Heat rushes up my neck, and I quickly release her hand. "S-sorry."

"N-no worries." She drops her gaze to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her Bride of Chucky sweatshirt.

Scratching the back of my neck, I avert my gaze from her and take a long, deep breath. Yet my attempt to bring my raging pulse under control fails. If any, my heart pounds so fast I'm afraid I'll get a heart attack if this goes on.

What's wrong with me?

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Did you get the photo?"

"Yeah." With a frantic nod, she reaches into her sling bag. Her hands still tremble when she pulls out my phone and hands it over to me. "Here you go."

"Thanks."

My left foot can't stop tapping the ground in a nervous rhythm as I open my phone's gallery. I scroll through the photos Nessa just took of me and try to concentrate on picking the best one for millions of strangers to see. But my pulse won't stop racing and my stomach starts to gurgle.

At last, I deal with it the only way I know how.

"Hey," I say, and Nessa lifts her gaze to meet mine. "You wanna get some lunch?"

"What do you think the caption should be? Look at my new ride?" I cringe in disgust at my idea. "New year, new car?" I push my lower lip forward and nod to myself, but it's not long before my common sense rebukes the idea. "No, no, I can't use that. It's not New Year . . . yet."

My voice trails away when I realize Nessa hasn't been listening to a single word I said.

Her eyes scan the crowded fast-food restaurant while she takes a tiny bite of her bacon cheeseburger, eating like a soulless zombie. The look of profound anxiety on her face deepens whenever her eyes catch a glimpse of her stomach.

Over the past few weeks, Nessa has been eating less and less because of the abusive comments the online trolls throw at her. Worse, every time we're in the middle of a crowd, she can't stop glancing over her shoulder as if someone was watching her.

Her paranoia is worsening, and the burning-red dragon claws at my throat when I remember I'm the reason for her distress.

"Ness?" I say, but she doesn't respond. After thirteen seconds, I decide it's time to use my secret weapon. "There's a clown behind you."

She gasps out loud and snaps her head around to look behind her, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

As I break into a chuckle, she hisses at me like an angry viper. "Don't do that."

My shoulders shake with mirth. "You okay?"

"Yeah, of course." She sinks her teeth into her cheeseburger and chomps it like a hungry tiger that hasn't eaten in years. "What were you saying?"

As I stare at the photo of me and the Lamborghini on my phone, something inside me stirs. What am I doing?

It's been three weeks since the paparazzi published the absurd article about Nessa and me. Ever since then, Celia and her gang have been spreading lies about me and how our relationship ended, essentially ruining my reputation. One of her leech friends even blatantly called me a lying, cheating parasite who dated Celia only for her money.

At TJ's suggestion, I try to prove that Celia's allegations are wrong by showing that I never needed her money. That's why, over the past few weeks, I've been showing off some of my expensive stuff on TweetyGram—Dwayne Johnson lookalike's Lamborghini being my latest fake possession.

Even so, the gossip keeps spreading through Celia's fellow recording artists, and things are getting worse and worse for my career. Last week, two of my clients even asked Helen to remove me from their projects out of fear of bad publicity—which means less cash for me.

But my piling credit card debt is the least of my concerns.

A part of me stupidly hopes people will leave Nessa and me alone once they see that Celia and her friends are lying. But on the contrary, those lowlife trolls seem to be harassing Nessa even more. The IHateVanessaHayesWong account has even surpassed one million followers by now.

Should I just stop this stupid—

Nessa snatches my phone from me. "Let's see." She pulls her chapped lips into a straight line, her brow furrowed deep in thought.

Panic rushes through me when her greasy fingers hover above the screen. "No, no, no. Don't you dare type with those—"

To my frustration, she ignores my warning and types on my phone, her fingers moving as fast as lightning. With a loud huff, I prop my elbow beside my tray on the table, drop my chin into my palm, and stuff a handful of French fries into my mouth.

An ear-to-ear grin spreads across Nessa's face, lightening up her features as she holds out my phone for me to see. "Here you go!"

Got me an early Christmas present. Merry Christmas Adam!

#blessed #newride #fastandfurious

"Who the heck is Adam?" I ask.

The thought that Nessa names the Lamborghini crosses my mind. But the roll of her eyes tells me I'm wrong. "Today is December twenty-third, isn't it?"

"So?"

"Who was created before Eve?"

I knit my eyebrows together in complete confusion. "Adam?"

"And since December twenty-fourth is Christmas Eve, then . . ." Her hands make circles in the air as she moves her head up and down. "Get the joke?"

"Ah." I point a finger at her and wiggle it up and down in approval. "Good one, Miss Mochi."

"Thanks!" Pride and merriment shine in her eyes, and it somehow brings a smile to my face.

Using my clean hand, I pluck my phone from her. I'm about to press the post button when that little voice of concern buzzes around in my head like a pesky mosquito. Nessa has been nothing but supportive and helpful with my mission, yet I can't help but wonder if this act of war is only sinking her deeper in the gutter.

Should I end this? Should I just let Celia and her friends twist the story?

My competitive side refuses to allow that she-devil to win this war. But my rational side tells me I should stop before things get worse for Nessa.

"What's wrong?" Nessa asks.

I push my phone back into my pocket and shove all of my concerns back into that little black box inside my mind. "Nothing. I'll post it later."

The next few hours fly like minutes as Nessa and I are engrossed in moving her stuff from her old apartment into her new one.

Nessa still has two weeks before the lease to her old apartment ends. But considering there's been a series of burglaries terrorizing her old neighborhood over the past few weeks, I'm determined to get her to move into her new apartment as soon as possible.

"Well, that's the last of it." I stare at the pile of boxes in the corner of the living room and exhale a tired breath.

Nessa's new apartment is located on the third floor, and since the building's elevator is broken, we had to carry the heavy boxes up the stairs. Suffice to say, I'm going to need a trip to the chiropractor after this.

"Oh." Nessa plops into her pink, cat-shaped bean bag chair and rubs her back like an old lady. "My back is killing me."

All of a sudden, I feel the strange urge to give her a massage.

Holy crap, Oliver Morrison! Have you gone insane?

I shove the crazy thought away from my head and cast a glance around me. The strong smell of bleach lingers in the air. Although the walls have been repainted, faint splatters of blood remain on the sheer, floral curtains near the spot where the previous tenant got shot to death by her evil twin sister a few weeks ago.

The blood stains are invisible to most naked eyes but mine, and they allowed me to negotiate an even better rent price for Nessa. Still, they bring an eerie vibe to this place.

"You should change those." I gesture at the curtains. "That dead woman's spirit might be attached to them."

Nessa chuckles. "I don't know, Ol. They're pretty nice, don't you think? I like them."

"Well, suit yourself." I shrug. "Don't haunt me when they end up choking you to death."

"No, they won't!" Nessa's guffaw reverberates in the half-empty room, and I can't help but laugh with her.

Although this two-bedroom apartment would be the perfect location for a horror movie, it's a much safer place to live in than her current place. And because she doesn't believe in ghosts, the rumor that says this place is haunted doesn't bother her, and it helps her rent this place for a cheap price instead. More importantly, her Christmas wish is coming true: she can finally bring Kiki home with her.

"Seriously, though. You sure you don't want to move in here today?"

"We haven't moved the bed yet, have we? Where am I gonna sleep? The floor?"

Despite our best efforts, moving a queen-sized bed by ourselves proves to be impossible. TJ promises to help us after he comes back from his Christmas trip to Reykjavik next week. But for now, our hands are tied.

"Better than getting killed by a burglar, I guess," I joke.

Nessa draws a sharp breath, dread draining the color from her face.

"Th-that's not gonna happen, okay? I was just kidding." I try to fix my mistake, but the fear in her eyes remains. Panic overwhelms me, and the next thing I know, I blurt out, "You want me to sleep over tonight?"

Nessa's jaw drops wide open in shock—and so does mine. Why the heck did I say that?

"T-that's not what I meant. I—I mean—I—"

"Meow."

My heart almost leaps out of my mouth the second I hear a cat's voice.

Thinking I must be hallucinating, I blink and shake my head furiously. Yet another meow bounces across the walls, and fear freezes me in place. A shudder shoots down my spine as a ginger cat stops in front of my feet and stares up at me with a pair of golden, murderous eyes.

Fuck. This must be the dead tenant's ghost. Or reincarnation. Or whatever. She's here to drag the new tenants with her to hell, isn't she?

My limbs begin to tremble, my hair stands on ends, and beads of sweat roll down from my forehead. I knew moving here was a bad idea!

Giggling, Nessa kneels on the floor right beside the cat and strokes its back. "Oh, hello, you cute little . . ." She tips her head to the side and peeks at the cat's posterior. "Guy. Where did you come from?"

The cat meows once more, his short tail quivering and his eyes closing as if enjoying Nessa's caress.

"Steve? Where are you? Stevie? Darling?" A voice that seems to belong to an old lady resonates from the hallway, followed by soft footsteps and a rhythmic tick—the sound of a walking stick, maybe.

"That must be your mommy, huh?"

As Nessa stands up and walks toward the open front door, I stutter, "Ness, Ness, don't leave me alone with—"

"Oh, you'll be fine, Ol. Don't go anywhere, okay? I'll be right back." She gives me a playful wink.

The second Nessa steps out of the room, the cat darts his eyes to me and licks his lips as if he can't wait to gobble me up.

"Shit." With my eyes fixed on the little monster, I tiptoe backward. I try to swallow the huge lump in my throat, but my fear spikes when he saunters toward me.

Panicked, I pick up the pace and try to get as far away as possible from the little monster. Yet, to my distress, he keeps following me everywhere—and his legs are so much faster than my shaky ones. Before I know it, I'm standing right on the spot where the previous tenant was murdered.

My fear shoots through the roof when the cat starts rubbing himself on my legs, marking me for death.

Gripping the blood-stained curtain, I squeeze my eyes shut and kick the last of my pride outside the window. "Ness! Help! He's gonna eat me! He's gonna eat me!"

Seconds feel like forever before Nessa rushes into the apartment. "Ol? What happened?"

I can tell she's struggling to hold her laughter, but at this point, I could care less about it. "G-get him away from me, will you? Please?"

As Nessa crouches on the ground to pick the little monster up, a grey-haired woman with a walking stick and a cute young woman about Nessa's age stop by the door.

"Stevie, come here!" the young woman in the Super Bestie T-shirt exclaims, and the ginger monster scurries toward her.

Heaving out a sigh of relief, I lean my back against the wall and rest my hands on my bent knees.

"Sorry about that." The dark-haired woman holds the ginger cat against her chest and offers us an apologetic smile. "Captain Americat over here escaped when my grandma opened the door for the delivery guy."

Captain . . . what?

"Lisa, the previous tenant of this apartment—may she rest in peace—used to play a lot with this guy," she explains, stroking the cat's head. "And when he heard noises coming from here, he must've thought she was back."

Out of mere politeness, I wave my hand and force a tight-lipped smile.

"It's okay. I looove cats." Nessa brings her hand to her mouth and whispers, "Can't say the same about him though."

Burning heat of embarrassment sweeps across my face as the two women giggle at me. I swear if I'm not still in shock, I'd bolt out of this place and never come back ever again.

"So . . ." The small, grey-haired woman moves her gaze between me and Nessa, an innocent smile on her lips. Unlike her granddaughter, the old woman speaks with a bit of an accent. "Do you need a babysitter?"

Nessa and I gasp in shock.

"Yuna"—the old woman gestures at her granddaughter, whose eyebrows shoot up beneath her wispy bangs—"used to babysit many children when she was younger, and she could use some work outside—"

"Obaa-chan!" Embarrassment washes over Yuna's delicate features, her pale cheeks growing pink.

They proceed to bicker in Japanese, and after a short while, Yuna shifts her attention back to Nessa and me. "Sorry, my grandma can be a little straightforward sometimes. We live right next door, by the way. If you ever need anything, you can just knock on the door. When are you two moving in?"

"Oh, we're not—" I shake my head, a bubble of nervous laughter escaping me.

"H-he's just helping me move stuff," Nessa stutters, an awkward grin plastered on her face. "We're not together."

A bizarre pang of disappointment strikes me in the chest at Nessa's words. Wait . . . what?

"Oh. That's a shame," Yuna says. "You two would make a lovely couple."

Somehow, my eyes are drawn to Nessa—and to my surprise, the attraction is mutual. The second our eyes meet, we both flinch and snap our gazes away from each other. But by then the air around us has become even more awkward.

A strange yellow creature appears in my mind, electrifying a small light bulb of hope deep within my chest. What the heck is wrong with me?

I quickly switch off that light bulb and smash it into pieces. No, no, no. You are not going to use your best friend as a rebound, Oliver!

"Would you like to have some tea at our place? I'm making some takoyaki too." Yuna gives us a similar innocent smile as her grandma did, revealing two small dimples. "They're Japanese octopus balls, in case you're wondering. You should try some. They're super delicious."

The mention of free food sucks all the awkwardness around Nessa and me. As we look at each other, we know exactly what each other wants.

Turning our eyes back to her new neighbors, we say in unison, "Yes, please."