Chapter 8

LISA POV: 

Lisa had been through a lot of terrible dinners in her life.

Corporate dinners. Family dinners. Investor dinners. Dinners where everyone smiled too much and lied with their teeth.

This one somehow felt worse before she had even sat down.

She knew something was wrong the second she and Jennie walked into the private dining room and both sets of parents looked a little too pleased with themselves, like they had already ruined something and were just waiting for the reveal.

Which, historically, was never a good sign.

“You feel it too, right?” Lisa murmured under her breath as they slowed near the table.

Jennie didn’t look at her. “Yes.”

“Cool.”

“That was sarcasm.”

“Mine wasn’t.”

Lisa tried not to smile.

Tried and failed, mostly because Jennie looked so composed and murderous at the same time that it was kind of unfairly attractive.

That was not a thought she needed to be having before dinner.

Or ever, really.

She looked good tonight too.

Of course she did.

Black dress. Clean lines. Bare shoulders. Jewelry that looked expensive enough to destabilize a small country. Her hair was pinned back just enough to expose the line of her neck and Lisa had to force her own eyes away before she humiliated herself in front of six billionaires and a chandelier.

Deeply inconvenient.

Mrs. Kim greeted them first, warm and polished in that way mothers like theirs only got when they were about to commit emotional fraud.

“Jennie, darling. Lisa.”

Lisa switched on automatically.

Perfect smile. Easy tone. Public daughter mode.

“Mrs. Kim,” she said smoothly, “you look terrifyingly elegant as always.”

Jennie’s mother actually smiled.

Lisa almost felt betrayed on Jennie’s behalf.

Her own stepfather gestured toward the table. “Sit. We’re waiting on one thing before dinner.”

Lisa paused.

One thing.

That was not a comforting phrase.

Jennie sat first, looking like she was being seated for trial, and Lisa followed beside her, pulling out her chair and trying not to think about how natural it had become to take the place next to Jennie without question.

That also felt dangerous.

The room itself was exactly the kind of private luxury rich families liked to pretend counted as intimacy.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. Soft gold lighting. White orchids. Crystal glasses. Too much silence in between too many polished surfaces.

The kind of room where your life got rearranged over sea bass.

Lisa sat down and immediately felt Jennie’s mood beside her like weather.

Sharp. Controlled. One inconvenience away from homicide.

Reasonable, honestly.

Lisa reached for her water just as the doors opened.

A man in a navy suit walked in carrying a leather portfolio.

And Lisa knew.

Not what exactly.

But enough.

Enough to feel dread settle directly in her bloodstream.

The man gave a polite nod and set the portfolio on the table.

“Good evening. I’m here to finalize the residence transition documents.”

Lisa blinked once.

Then twice.

Residence.

Transition.

Documents.

No.

Absolutely not.

Jennie got there first.

“No.”

Lisa turned to look at her, then back at the table, where no one seemed remotely ashamed of themselves.

Her stepfather folded his hands. “This was always the practical next step.”

Lisa stared.

“What residence,” she said at the exact same time Jennie snapped, “What next step.”

No one answered quickly enough.

Which meant it was bad.

Very bad.

Then her mother smiled the way people smiled right before detonating your peace.

“You’ll be moving into the penthouse.”

Lisa actually stopped hearing for a second.

Not permanently.

Just long enough for her brain to reject the sentence on a biological level.

Beside her, Jennie had gone perfectly still.

Across from them, the lawyer opened the folder.

Lisa leaned in.

And there it was.

A line in the contract she had absolutely not noticed because apparently she had signed away her personal freedom under a family emergency and a caffeine deficiency.

Residential cohabitation may be initiated at the discretion of both families to support public and business integration.

Lisa stared at the words.

Then laughed.

Softly.

Not because it was funny.

Because if she didn’t laugh, she might actually flip the table and make this everyone’s problem.

“With all do respect,” she said, placing her wine glass down with great care, “you did not mention cohabitation starting immediately.”

Her mother barely blinked. “The timing became ideal.”

Jennie turned so sharply Lisa could feel the rage coming off her in waves.

“Ideal for who.”

No one answered that either.

Of course not.

Because the answer was obvious.

Not for them.

Never for them.

Lisa leaned back slightly and exhaled through her nose, trying to keep her expression neutral, trying very hard not to become the problem first.

She didn’t need to look at Jennie to know she was furious.

She could feel it.

The tension in the line of her shoulders. The clipped way she breathed. The silence that meant she was one bad sentence away from saying something unforgivable and deserved.

Her father clarified like this was all somehow normal.

“It’s a duplex-style penthouse. Separate bedroom wings. Shared living spaces.”

And that—

that did something genuinely evil to Lisa’s nervous system.

Shared living spaces.

Kitchen.

Hallways.

Mornings.

Late nights.

Jennie in soft clothes in a place that would technically also be hers.

Jennie walking around barefoot.

Jennie existing just a door away.

Lisa nearly choked on absolutely nothing.

No.

No, she was not doing this.

Her brain needed to stop being a traitor immediately.

Jennie’s mother continued, calm as death.

“It’s the best arrangement for appearances.”

Lisa almost laughed again.

Appearances.

Of course.

They were always building a life that looked better from the outside than it felt from the inside.

She finally turned to look at Jennie.

Bad idea.

Because Jennie was already looking at her.

And for one brief, awful second, Lisa could see the exact same disbelief and frustration reflected back at her.

No joke.

No sarcasm.

Just mutual horror.

And weirdly enough, that made her feel less alone.

Which was somehow worse.

Jennie asked, “You knew?”

Lisa looked personally offended.

“No.”

Jennie narrowed her eyes. “Swear.”

Lisa turned toward her fully now, too serious to joke.

“I did not know.”

And there it was again.

That strange, quiet thing between them.

Jennie studying her face like she was checking for cracks.

Then the smallest shift.

Relief.

Tiny.

But there.

Lisa caught it.

And it hit somewhere low and stupid in her chest before she could stop it.

She looked away first.

For self-preservation.

Dinner was served after that, which felt deeply insulting.

Because apparently rich people really could destroy your week and then ask if you wanted lemon with the fish.

Jennie stared at her plate like it had personally betrayed her.

Lisa picked up her fork mostly for something to do with her hands.

Then Jennie leaned toward her and whispered, “If you make one joke about this, I will actually end you.”

Lisa kept her face neutral.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news.”

Jennie closed her eyes like she regretted existing.

“There’s more?”

Lisa finally turned her head slightly, lowering her voice.

“The good news is I’m too mad to joke.”

Jennie gave her a flat look. “And the bad news?”

Lisa hesitated.

Then, because apparently she had lost all instinct for self-preservation around this woman, she said quietly, “The bad news is I’m already picturing you stealing all the counter space.”

Jennie stared at her.

For one terrible second, Lisa thought maybe she had actually crossed a line.

Then Jennie looked away too quickly.

Interesting.

“That is not the bad news,” Jennie muttered.

Lisa bit back a smile.

Oh.

So Jennie had pictured it too.

That was probably something Lisa should not enjoy.

And yet.

Jennie kicked her under the table hard enough to make a point and Lisa almost laughed into her water.

“You’re violent,” she whispered.

“You’re alive. Be grateful.”

Lisa was, unfortunately, extremely grateful.

The dinner got progressively worse after that.

Security access.

Parking allocations.

Staff schedules.

Move-in timelines.

Wardrobe coordination for future appearances.

At one point the lawyer slid a second packet across the table and Lisa, against her own better judgment, opened it.

Penthouse Household Protocol.

She actually laughed this time.

A real one.

Short. Sharp. Borderline homicidal.

“Oh, wow,” she murmured. “We have a household protocol.”

Jennie snatched it from her.

Lisa watched her eyes move down the page and had to look away before she started laughing again, because Jennie reading legally binding domestic nonsense while trying not to commit murder was one of the most absurdly charming things Lisa had ever seen.

That was also a problem.

A huge one.

Then Jennie snapped, “This is insane.”

Lisa looked at her.

Jennie looked back.

And without meaning to, both of them said at the same time, “Oh, this is insane.”

That should not have made Lisa feel as weirdly aligned with her as it did.

But there it was again.

That dangerous little feeling.

That them-against-the-world instinct.

It was probably unhealthy.

It was definitely making things worse.

And Lisa was absolutely already too far in.

When Jennie’s mother told her to stop reacting like this was a tragedy, Lisa nearly lost the last of her self-control.

Jennie laughed sharply and said something about being forcibly relocated into a curated billionaire aquarium and Lisa had to lower her face toward her glass because if she looked directly at Jennie while she said things like that, she was going to smile.

And if she smiled, Jennie would absolutely kick her again.

Fairly.

Then her stepfather said, “You two will adapt.”

That did it.

Lisa set her glass down and finally looked at the whole table.

“No,” she said, voice calm enough to make her own mother go still. “Actually, let’s be honest for five seconds.”

Silence.

Good.

She wanted silence.

She wanted every single one of them to hear her clearly.

“You want this to work publicly? Fine. We’ll do appearances. We’ll do events. We’ll smile through shareholder dinners and whatever polished nonsense you need. But if we’re moving into that penthouse, there are conditions.”

She could feel Jennie turn toward her.

Could feel it without looking.

And for some reason that only made her double down.

“No staff entering either private suite without direct permission. No family access without notice. No surprise visits. No internal press. No hidden cameras, no PR staging in the apartment, no guests approved on our behalf, and absolutely no one rearranging our lives once we’re in it.”

The room went very still.

Her stepfather looked thoughtful.

Jennie’s parents looked mildly offended.

Good.

Her mother finally said, “That’s reasonable.”

Lisa nodded once.

“And we choose the move-in date.”

Her father frowned. “That should happen quickly.”

Lisa didn’t blink.

“It will happen on our date. Or not at all.”

She meant it too.

And from the corner of her eye, she caught Jennie looking at her in a way Lisa did not have time to unpack without emotionally exploding. 

So she didn’t.

Naturally.

By the time dinner ended, Lisa felt like she had been emotionally hit by a luxury train.

The lawyer was gone. The documents were “temporarily tabled.” Both families had moved into the lounge area for coffee and post-dinner manipulation.

And Lisa was already one badly timed sentence away from leaving through the nearest window.

Jennie disappeared first.

Lisa noticed immediately.

Of course she did.

She tried not to.

Tried to stay seated and ignore the very obvious fact that Jennie had slipped out toward the balcony without saying anything.

That lasted maybe twenty seconds.

Then Lisa got up and followed.

Because apparently her instincts were now permanently broken.

The balcony door slid open and cool air hit her face.

Jennie was standing at the railing, arms crossed, staring out at the skyline like she was personally offended by the entire city.

She didn’t turn around.

“I’m not in the mood,” she said.

Lisa leaned against the railing beside her.

“Rude. What if I came out here to say something profound.”

Jennie closed her eyes briefly, like she was already tired of her.

Lisa found that weirdly comforting.

“What do you want,” Jennie asked.

Honestly?

A lot of things.

Most of them unhelpful.

Most of them impossible.

Most of them standing about two feet away in a black dress pretending she wasn’t wrecking Lisa’s internal stability.

So naturally Lisa said, “I wanted to make sure you didn’t actually jump.”

Jennie finally turned her head slightly. “I’m not dramatic enough to jump.”

Lisa raised a brow.

Jennie sighed. “Okay, maybe emotionally. Not physically.”

There she was.

That version of Jennie.

The one who said ridiculous things in a perfectly serious voice and somehow made Lisa want to laugh and stare at her at the same time.

Lisa smiled despite herself.

Then after a beat, she said more quietly, “I didn’t know about the penthouse.”

Jennie’s fingers tightened around the railing.

“I know.”

Lisa blinked.

That surprised her more than it should have.

So she looked at Jennie fully now.

“When I said I didn’t know,” Lisa said, “I meant it.”

Jennie turned and met her eyes.

“I know.”

And God.

That should not have landed the way it did.

It was such a small thing.

Just trust.

Just belief.

Tiny and reluctant and half-buried under Jennie’s usual sharp edges.

But Lisa felt it anyway.

Felt it enough to forget how to joke for half a second.

Then Jennie ruined her completely by saying, “You lie badly.”

Lisa laughed softly, because if she didn’t, she might’ve said something far more humiliating.

“Wow. rude.”

“It’s true.”

“You believed me.”

Jennie should have denied it.

But shhe didn’t.

“Yes.”

Lisa went still.

That was bad.

That was very, very bad.

Because now she wanted to keep that.

Wanted to deserve that.

Wanted to protect that.

And those were all deeply irresponsible feelings to be developing toward your fake fiancée on a balcony after being sentenced to shared real estate.

Jennie noticed her expression immediately and narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face.”

“That one.”

“Which one.”

“The one where you start acting like feelings are happening.”

Lisa laughed.

Actually laughed.

Quiet and warm and a little helpless.

“Jennie,” she said, lowering her voice without meaning to, “feelings are definitely happening.”

Jennie’s whole expression shifted.

Just slightly.

But enough.

Enough to make the air between them feel too thin.

Too aware.

Too close.

She glared at Lisa, but the damage was already done.

“I meant complicated ones,” Jennie muttered.

Lisa tilted her head. “Who said mine aren’t complicated?”

And there it was.

That look.

That pause.

That terrible little moment where both of them realized they had somehow wandered too close to honesty and neither one of them knew how to step back without making it worse.

Jennie looked away first.

Then she said, quieter now, “I don’t want them controlling everything.”

Lisa didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t joke.

Didn’t save either of them.

She just listened.

Because Jennie was actually talking now.

Really talking.

And Lisa knew better than to ruin that.

“Not where I live,” Jennie said. “Not what I wear. Not what people think they know about me.”

Lisa kept still.

Jennie kept going.

“And I definitely don’t want strangers talking about our apartment like it’s some PR project.”

That one hit too.

Harder than Lisa expected.

Because suddenly this whole thing wasn’t just absurd or inconvenient or emotionally catastrophic.

It was invasive.

And Jennie was right.

This was supposed to be damage control, not ownership.

So Lisa turned toward her and said, very simply, “They won’t.”

Jennie looked at her.

Lisa held her gaze.

“They won’t,” she repeated. “Not if I can help it.”

Jennie looked away too quickly after that.

“You’re making this very inconvenient,” she muttered.

Lisa blinked. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“How.”

Jennie instantly looked like she regretted having a mouth.

“Don’t ask follow-up questions.”

Lisa smiled slowly.

Oh.

“So that’s where we are,” she murmured.

Jennie narrowed her eyes. “You’re about to become a balcony incident.”

Lisa laughed again.

Then, because apparently she had learned nothing, she said, “Okay. Penthouse rules.”

Jennie looked at her like she had just proposed a crime.

“What.”

“If we’re being sentenced to cohabitation,” Lisa said, “we need rules.”

Jennie looked like she hated that Lisa was right.

Which, frankly, was one of Lisa’s favorite expressions on her.

“Rule one,” Lisa said. “No family visits without warning.”

“Agreed.”

“Rule two. If either of us is having a terrible day, the other is legally required to either provide caffeine or shut up.”

Jennie considered.

“…Reasonable.”

Lisa nodded seriously.

“Rule three. If Minho Park shows up within fifty feet of our home, I’m allowed to throw him into the river.”

Jennie turned so fast Lisa almost smiled.

“What.”

Lisa shrugged. “What?”

Jennie stared at her.

Lisa stared back.

Then Jennie narrowed her eyes slowly.

“Why exactly would Minho Park be showing up near our home.”

Lisa shrugged one shoulder and looked out at the skyline.

“I don’t know. Maybe to say something tragic and finance-bro adjacent.”

Jennie went very still.

Then very suspicious.

Then very entertained.

And Lisa knew.

Immediately.

She knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Oh my God,” Jennie said.

Lisa frowned. “What.”

“You’re jealous.”

Lisa nearly inhaled her own soul.

“I am not.”

Jennie looked at her with terrifying calm.

“You are.”

Lisa laughed once, sharp and defensive.

“Jennie.”

“You hate him.”

“I dislike his face.”

Jennie folded her arms.

“You dislike his face because he likes me.”

And there it was.

Direct hit.

Lisa stared at her in silence because she had absolutely no good answer to that and unfortunately her face was probably betraying her to hell.

Jennie’s brows lifted.

“Oh, wow.”

Lisa finally managed, “I don’t like his energy.”

Jennie nodded. “Mm. Sure.”

“It’s weird.”

“Right.”

“It is weird.”

Jennie was trying not to smile.

Trying and failing.

And for some deeply cursed reason, Lisa hated and loved that at the exact same time.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Lisa muttered.

“Do what.”

“That.”

Jennie smiled wider.

Lisa looked away toward the city because if she kept looking at her, she was going to say something deeply embarrassing and possibly life-ending.

“You’re enjoying this,” Lisa said.

“A little.”

“A little?”

Jennie tilted her head. “Maybe a lot.”

Lisa exhaled through her nose.

This woman was going to ruin her.

Actually ruin her.

And the worst part was that she was starting to think maybe she’d let her.

Then Jennie’s smile faded just slightly.

And Lisa looked back.

And suddenly everything shifted again.

That dangerous kind of closeness.

Not physical.

Not quite.

But enough.

Enough for Lisa to notice the way Jennie’s breath caught when she held her gaze too long.

Enough for Lisa to look at her mouth once, briefly, and immediately regret being alive.

“Don’t let that get to your head,” Lisa said, voice lower now.

Jennie held her gaze.

“Which part.”

Lisa’s eyes dropped again before she could stop them.

Then came back up.

“The part where I clearly didn’t like him near you.”

Jennie’s breath caught.

Tiny.

Barely there.

But Lisa saw it.

And that was the exact moment she knew she needed to leave this balcony immediately before she made a life-ending decision.

By the time they left the restaurant, the city had gone quieter.

The family cars were already waiting outside.

Drivers standing nearby.

Security pretending not to watch.

Everything expensive and controlled and suffocating.

Jennie was supposed to get into the car her family had arranged.

Lisa knew that.

Jennie knew that too.

Which was probably why neither of them said anything when they ended up walking a little farther down the curb than necessary, just enough to buy themselves another few minutes under the excuse of “air.”

The night was cooler now.

Their heels clicked softly against the pavement.

And for once, no one was talking.

Not because it was awkward.

Just because neither of them seemed ready to go yet.

Lisa shoved her hands into her coat pockets and glanced sideways.

Jennie was looking straight ahead, expression unreadable, but she looked tired now in a way she hadn’t let show upstairs.

Less sharp.

Less guarded.

More real.

And that—

that was becoming a problem too.

“You’re quiet,” Lisa said.

Jennie looked at her. “You say that like it’s suspicious.”

“It is suspicious.”

Jennie huffed softly.

Lisa smiled.

Then after a second, she said, “You okay?”

Jennie was quiet long enough that Lisa almost thought she wouldn’t answer.

Then she said, “No.”

Lisa looked at her.

Jennie kept walking.

“I’m just… tired.”

And that honesty, simple as it was, hit Lisa harder than anything else had all night.

Because Jennie didn’t say things like that easily.

Not without covering them in sarcasm first.

Not without making them smaller.

So Lisa matched her pace and said quietly, “Yeah.”

Jennie looked over.

“Yeah?”

Lisa shrugged one shoulder.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Jennie stared at her for a second like she was checking whether Lisa was joking.

She wasn’t.

And Jennie seemed to realize that.

They walked another few steps in silence.

Then Jennie said, “If that penthouse has beige marble in the bathroom, I’m refusing to live there.”

Lisa blinked.

Then laughed.

“Why.”

“Because beige marble means no soul.”

“That is not how architecture works.”

“That is exactly how architecture works.”

Lisa shook her head, smiling despite herself.

“God, you’re difficult.”

Jennie glanced at her. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

Lisa wasn’t.

That was the issue.

She was getting used to this.

Too used to it.

The bickering. The walking. The weird quiet comfort of standing beside Jennie after a terrible night and somehow not wanting to leave yet.

That should have scared her more than it did.

They slowed near the line of waiting cars.

Jennie’s driver stepped subtly closer.

Lisa hated him instantly for being a logistical reality.

Jennie looked toward her car, then back at Lisa.

And there it was again.

That pause.

That stupid, tiny hesitation like maybe she didn’t want this to end yet either.

Lisa really needed to stop noticing things like that.

Instead, she said, “Tomorrow. Eleven.”

Jennie narrowed her eyes.

“Not ‘Lisa time.'”

Lisa looked offended. “I’m capable of punctuality.”

Jennie gave her a flat look.

“Historically untrue.”

Lisa smiled. “Wow. You think about me historically.”

Jennie stared.

Then rolled her eyes so hard Lisa almost laughed.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Lisa said lightly, “you keep choosing to spend time with me.”

Jennie stopped with one hand on the car door.

Then she turned and looked at Lisa in a way that made Lisa’s entire nervous system sit up and panic.

“None of this is a choice,” Jennie said.

Lisa’s smile faltered just a little.

Then Jennie stepped closer.

Not much.

Just enough.

Just enough to lower her voice and add, “But if you’re late tomorrow, I’ll make it your problem.”

Lisa stared at her.

Jennie held her gaze one second longer than necessary.

Then she got into the car and closed the door before Lisa could recover enough to say something stupid.

Which was probably for the best.

Lisa stood there like an idiot for a full five seconds after the car pulled away.

Then she finally got into her own.

The second the door shut behind her, she dropped her head back against the seat and groaned quietly into the darkness.

“This is bad,” she muttered to no one.

Because it was.

So bad.

Worse than bad, actually.

Catastrophic.

Because now it wasn’t just that Jennie was beautiful and difficult and impossible to stop thinking about.

Now she was also becoming familiar.

Comfortable.

Specific.

And that was so much more dangerous.

Because beauty was one thing.

Beauty was survivable.

But knowing the exact sound of someone’s tired voice, the shape of their silences, the way they looked at you right before they said something honest?

That was how people ruined their lives.

Her phone buzzed in her hand before she could spiral any harder.

She looked down immediately.

Of course she did.

Jennie: tomorrow 11 means 11
Jennie: not “Lisa time”

Lisa smiled before she could stop herself.

Then typed back:

Lisa: wow
Lisa: bossy already
Lisa: living together is gonna be so romantic

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

Then:

Jennie: if u say romantic one more time i’ll ruin ur bloodline

Lisa laughed out loud in the back seat.

Actually laughed.

Then typed:

Lisa: noted, wifey

The reply came so fast it was practically violent.

Jennie: die

Lisa stared at the screen, grinning like a complete idiot.

Then she leaned her head back again and looked out at the city lights passing beyond the tinted glass.

Tomorrow they were seeing the penthouse.

Tomorrow this whole thing got more real.

Tomorrow she’d have to walk through rooms that were apparently going to become theirs.

And the most humiliating part?

The truly unbearable, pathetic, doomed part?

She was already looking forward to it.

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Thanks for reading.