The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the humid, salty air of the abandoned pier. Moonlight sliced through the rusted gaps of the warehouse roof, casting long, skeletal shadows over the grim scene of fallen bodies on the muddy concrete.
At the center of the carnage stood Arlen. His form-fitting black tactical suit was spotless, a testament to his terrifying efficiency. In his hands, he held the twin, eighteen-inch steel needles-unorthodox, silent, and lethal. With a flick of his wrists, he wiped the steel clean on a fallen guard’s jacket before sliding them into the specialized sheaths hidden along his forearms.
He reached up, pulling down his black mask. His face was a picture of serene, flawless beauty, completely untouched by the violence around him.
"The chore is done," Arlen murmured into his earpiece. His soft, androgynous voice was entirely devoid of adrenaline, as if he had just finished grocery shopping rather than neutralizing an entire syndicate.
A deep, gravelly voice crackled in his ear. Julius Adelaide.
*"Excellent. The clean-up crew is already en route,"* his grandfather’s commanding voice echoed, devoid of any familial warmth. *"Now, Arlen, do not forget your schedule. Today is the first day of your cohabitation. You have exactly ninety minutes to present yourself at that Rivera girl’s penthouse."*
Arlen blinked, his expression remaining entirely blank. Right. The arrangement. His grandfather had practically traded his domestic freedom to settle an old family debt of gratitude with a wealthy retired tycoon.
"Is she a bad person? Do I need to neutralize her as well?" Arlen asked, his tone perfectly deadpan and serious.
There was a long, exasperated pause on the other end of the line. *"No, you fool. She is your fiancée. You are to live with her, behave like a normal citizen. Do you understand?"*
"Understood," Arlen replied softly. He disconnected the call, ran a hand through his dark hair to let his thick bangs fall back over the right side of his face. It was time to go to work of a different kind.
***
The biting chill of the evening slowly envelops the city. Mika is currently pacing the vast living room of her penthouse back and forth. Each step only fuels her simmering irritation. Today is the day she is going to meet her arranged fiancé.
The sharp, electronic chime of the doorbell cut through the tense silence of the penthouse. Mika stopped her pacing, her jaw tightening. She took a slow, deliberate breath to compose herself, though the anger burning in her chest didn’t subside. Marching toward the double doors, she pulled one open with a swift, aggressive yank, fully prepared to face whatever arrogant, spoiled heir her grandfather had forced upon her.
Instead, she was met with absolute stillness.
Standing on the threshold was Arlen Adelaide. He stood perfectly upright, holding a single, modest suitcase by his side. His dark hair fell in soft waves, the thick bangs completely veiling the right side of his face. Even in the dim hallway lighting, his delicate, striking features were undeniable, possessing a quiet, almost ethereal grace. But what caught Mika off guard was his expression-or rather, the complete lack of one. His visible left eye was wide, clear, and entirely empty, staring at her as if he were looking right through her.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Mika crossed her arms, her fiery red hair catching the light as she tilted her head, sizing him up with a harsh, critical glare. She was waiting for the smug smirk, the condescending greeting, or the fake charm of a wealthy playboy.
Nothing came. Arlen just stood there, blinking slowly.
"Are you going to stand there all night, or do you actually know how to speak?" Mika demanded, her voice dripping with authority and undisguised irritation.
Arlen blinked once more, his head tilting slightly to the side as if her words took a moment to register in his mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, light, and distinctly androgynous, carrying a calm, deadpan tone.
"Oh. Hello," Arlen said, bowing his head in a polite, obedient gesture. "I am Arlen. My grandfather told me to come here. He said I have to live with you now."
Mika’s eyes narrowed. *’Is he serious?’* she thought, her suspicion immediately flaring. She scoffed internally, convinced this vacant, docile demeanor was nothing but a calculated act. A clever tactic to make her lower her guard so he could worm his way into her life and secure the marriage. She wasn’t going to fall for it.
"Right. The ’trial,’" Mika said, spitting the word out like venom. She stepped aside, gesturing sharply into the vast, luxurious foyer of her penthouse. "Get in. And let’s get one thing straight-you’re only here because my grandfather forced my hand. Don’t get comfortable."
Arlen nodded obediently, showing absolutely no reaction to her hostile tone. "Okay," he murmured softly.
***A successful singer and one of the biggest pop stars in the Philippines. A glittering career. Immense wealth. High social status. A loving boyfriend. And a family whose influence reaches every corner of the country.
Mika Rivera has everything.
Until her perfect life begins to unravel.
Years ago, when Mika’s grandfather was on the verge of losing his company, it was his closest friend, Julius Adelaide, who stepped in and saved it with a life-changing investment. Out of gratitude-and to seal their lifelong bond-the two men made a promise: one day, their grandchildren would marry each other.
That promise has finally come due.
The problem? Mika has never met the man she’s expected to marry.
To her, the arrangement is nothing more than a business transaction disguised as tradition. She isn’t being treated like a granddaughter with dreams and choices, but as a bargaining chip repaying a decades-old debt. The thought fills her with anger... and resentment.
Refusing to let the agreement fall apart so easily, her grandfather proposes a compromise.
For the next five months, Milia will live under the same roof as Arlen Adelaide-the grandson of Julius Adelaide-in her own penthouse. The hope is that, by the end of the trial, the two might grow close enough to accept the marriage willingly.
If nothing changes after five months, the engagement will be called off, and both families will consider the debt repaid.
With no real way to refuse her grandfather’s relentless pressure, Mika reluctantly agrees. She tells herself she only has to endure five miserable months. After that, she’ll finally be free from this absurd arrangement.
Today is the beginning of the five-month long trial.***
He wheeled his suitcase past her, stepping into the penthouse. However, instead of exploring or looking around at the lavish interior, Arlen stopped exactly three paces inside the door. He stood perfectly still, his suitcase parked by his leg, staring blankly at the wall ahead of him like a statue that had just been unpacked.
Mika closed the door with a loud click and turned around, expecting him to be making himself at home. Instead, she found him just standing there, staring at a plain white wall.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
Arlen slowly turned his head to look at her, his expression still entirely blank. "I am waiting for you to tell me where to go."
Mika begrudgingly led Arlen to the spare guest room at the farthest corner of the hallway, away from her master bedroom as possible.
Arlen followed quietly behind her, his footsteps making almost no sound against the polished floorboards. He kept a polite distance, wheeling his suitcase with a steady, unhurried pace.
When Mika slammed the guest room door open, the loud bang echoed down the hallway. She stepped aside, crossing her arms and wearing a smug, triumphant smirk. She watched his face closely, waiting for the mask to slip. She wanted to see the disgust, the indignation, or the outrage of a pampered billionaire’s grandson being relegated to what amounted to a glorified storage closet.
Arlen stopped at the threshold. His vacant, dark eye scanned the room. He looked at the empty wardrobe, then at the solitary wooden chair, and finally at the bare wooden bed frame, its skeletal slats exposed and completely devoid of a mattress, pillows, or sheets.
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then, Arlen nodded to himself. He walked into the room, gently parked his suitcase next to the single chair, and turned to Mika. His expression remained entirely blank, his voice as soft and airy as before.
"Thank you," he said politely. "It is very spacious."
Mika’s smug grin faltered, replaced by a twitch of her eyebrow. "Spacious?" she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. "Are you blind? There is literally nothing in here. No mattress, no blankets, no pillows. You’re going to be sleeping on bare wood, Adelaide."
Arlen turned his head to look at the bed frame again. He walked over to it, pressed a hand against the wooden slats to test their sturdiness, and then sat down directly on the hard, narrow edge. He didn’t flinch or look uncomfortable. He just looked up at her, his expression completely deadpan.
"The wood is very solid," Arlen observed quietly. "It does not squeak. My grandfather’s guest beds always squeak. This is much better."
Mika stared at him, her chest tightening with a mixture of disbelief and mounting fury. She searched his face for even a flicker of sarcasm, a glint of mockery, or a hidden smirk. But there was absolutely nothing. His eye was as empty and honest as a glass marble.
*’He’s good,’* Mika thought, her teeth grinding. *’He’s acting like a brainless saint to make me look like the bad guy. He wants me to feel guilty so I’ll buy him a mattress.’*