Chapter 13
Early the next morning, Jiho drops me at my duplex with just enough time to shower and get ready for work. But considering my wonderful, sleepless experience, every basic task takes a hell of a lot more effort.
Pretty sure I nodded off on the toilet for a few seconds.
Judge all you want, but I haven’t pulled an all-nighter since college, cramming for tests and studying sun-down to sun-up in the university library.
Who knew my all-night mechanics and physics cram sessions would prep me for this? Nerdy, little college Morgan would be proud—her future self just spent the night with a sexy gym god between her legs, moving in all the mechanically flawless, physics-defying ways.
Curled up in Jiho’s giant bed as the sky slowly brightened, I almost called in sick—partly because I didn’t want to leave his arms, partly because of a mysterious onset of paralysis.
It wouldn’t have been a total lie.
After we finally tapped out, I could barely move my lower half. Because, damn, my boyfriend knows exactly what he’s doing.
Boyfriend.
Just thinking the word makes me giddy. And happy. And excited. And forlorn…
I felt oddly sad watching Jiho drive away from my house. In the past, especially with Reginald, I treasured my alone time above anything else, even in the honeymoon phase.
Now, alone time just sounds…lonely.
And my duplex feels too empty and big—which is ironic, considering Jiho’s house is even emptier and bigger than mine.
I really should move out. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and Korea might just be the catalyst I need to do it. Originally, I was going to sublet or just keep paying rent. But if I actually move out, it’ll be the best good riddance I ever did riddance. Mostly because Reginald—
My coffee maker beeps, silencing that particularly annoying introspection and alerting me to the life-saving liquid, now ready for consumption.
Leaning against my counter, I breathe in the aromas, only taking one sip before another beep scares the crap out of me—my phone alarm, telling me to leave for work.
Text notifications from both Elaine and Michelle pop up as soon as I hit snooze, demanding updates on my personal life.
I puff my cheeks and blow out a breath.
Every time I try to remind them what the word, boundaries, means, they both say it magically doesn’t exist in their vocabulary. Good thing for me, I’m totally fine with leaving those bitches on read. Especially as my leave-the-house-right-freaking-now alarm goes off again.
I was serious when I told Jiho I wanted to be better at managing my time. For him, yes, but also for myself.
From my conversations with the Korean expats at work, I gather punctuality is non-negotiable in South Korea. In other words, I need to break the habit before it gets me in trouble over there, because how embarrassing would that be?
I can picture it perfectly—me, standing in front of my boss, getting publicly reamed in Korean. I’ve seen it happen here with the expats, but they actually understand what’s being screamed at their faces. Even without understanding anything, it’s scary.
Popping the lid on my coffee mug, I grab my purse, slide on my shoes, and fly out the door. And for the first time in a year, I’m actually early to work, earning strange looks from my coworkers. Some go so far as to ask me if everything’s alright. Even Harry, the office curmudgeon, seemed concerned, and I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered.
With how tired I am, I expect the day to crawl by, but six cups of coffee and—I swear—a single blink later, the day’s done.
When I finally pull into my driveway at 5:30 PM, resting my forehead against the steering wheel, all I can think about, in this exact order is…
Ugh, I have to go to yoga.
I hate yoga.
The way the instructors instruct gives me the creeps.
But I get to see Jiho.
And hopefully spend another night in his bed.
I need to take a nap if I’m not going to sleep again.
What time is it now?
Oh, thank God, I have time for a nap.
Wait, whose Mercedes is that?
Shit.
A spike of fear straightens my spine, instantly on guard. I know exactly who that Mercedes belongs to, and as if solely thinking about the man summons him, my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number—the devil himself.
Well, there goes my nap plan.
Drumming my nails on the steering wheel, I kick myself for missing his car in my fucking driveway.
God, I really am tired. Had I noticed it, I would’ve just kept on driving. But alas, here we are…
I think of Jiho again, a man who always needs to be in control. Except with me, apparently. At least to an extent. The extent most likely being my ex-boyfriend sitting in my house just wanting to talk.
What would he do if—
You know what? Never mind.
I already know what Jiho would do if I told him Reginald’s here, if his busted knuckles are any indication. As happy as it made me to watch karma introduce herself to Reginald, I don’t want Jiho to get hurt again. Nor do I want him to go to jail.
So, instead of calling my boyfriend, I call my best friend.
I must’ve called during her girls’ allotted screen time, because she picks up immediately.
Mom voice front and center, she snaps, “About damn time, Morgs. Beans. Spill. Now.”
“Not right now, El,” I stammer, voice shaking. Dammit, it’s already starting. “Reginald is waiting inside my house. He wants to talk.” I make air quotes even though she can’t see them.
“What?!” she shouts, the word so loud I jerk back in my seat. “Do not go inside, Morgan. I told you it was a bad idea to keep renting your place.”
“I wasn’t going to. I’m not an idiot when it comes to him. Anymore. Well, besides the whole still-renting thing.”
“You were never an idiot.” I can feel the loathing in her voice, radiating from the car’s speakers straight to Reginald’s throat. “Can you call Jiho? Heck, even Michelle would work.”
“Definitely not Michelle,” I blurt. “She’d stab the man. And no, not Jiho, either. Reginald said he’d have him arrested if I called him over.”
“What for?”
My eyes squeeze shut. “Maybe for punching him in the face… five times… at dinner last night.” A beat and then what sounds like applause fills the car. “Are you clapping?”
“Yes, we love Jiho for defending you. But I also hate you for not telling me until now.”
“I’m sorry, El. A lot has happened in the past five days. Besides, it’s hard to focus when He Who Must Not Be Named is sitting in my house.” My phone vibrates again with another text from the Dark Lord ordering me to come inside. “Fuck, I have to go. If you don’t hear from me in thirty minutes, call the police.”
El sighs, acquiescing solely because she can’t do anything from Podunk, Ohio. “Fine, but remember, do not—”
“Go in the house,” I blurt, the words tumbling out. “I won’t, I promise. I’ll text you in a few.” I hang up before she can say anything else and make my way to my front door. Letting it swing open, I keep my feet firmly planted on the porch. I don’t have to go inside to see the devil.
He’s sprawled right there, nice and comfy on my couch, watching my TV. Oh, and drinking my beer.
Goody, goody gumdrops.
I cross my arms and huff. “I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but it seems you already took the liberty, breaking and entering included.”
He takes a long sip of my beer, not even deigning to look over his shoulder at me. “It’s not breaking and entering if I own the property, sweetheart. I’m here to check on the place.”
Yep, that’s right—my ex-boyfriend owns my house.
Well, technically, he and his daddy do. And that’s why I can never fully escape Reginald Sinclair III.
Once we broke up, he never said anything about me moving out, so I kept paying the very affordable rent and eventually stopped looking over my shoulder.
Which begs the question, “Why are you here, Reginald? You never bothered to check on the place once in the past three years.”
I already know the answer, but when his two swollen, bruised eyes and bandaged nose finally turn my way, it only reinforces my hunch. “You might be a fat bitch, Morgan, but you’re not stupid. It’s your one redeeming quality.”
My eyes narrow despite the sting of his words. Despite my tightening chest, shallow breaths, and familiar fear.
Defiantly, I snap, “At least I have a redeeming quality.”
Did I just say that? I can’t believe I just said that.
Reginald must be as surprised as I am, because his beady eyes widen for a second. Or, at least I think they widen. I can’t really tell through the tiny little slits of his swollen eyes. Can he even see? I follow his gaze just to the left of me.
Nope. He can’t.
My teeth sink into the insides of my cheeks, trying not to laugh. Any unwarranted laughter directed at Reginald makes the man volatile. And since I’m here alone—albeit outside—I don’t need a volatile narcissist on my hands.
“You’ve grown a mouth, haven’t you, Morgan?” Reginald spits, standing to his feet and putting his—my—beer on my coffee table. Without a coaster, of course.
He saunters toward me, his hands flexing at his sides, and I take a giant step back. I won’t let either of those hands touch me ever again, even if it means retreating.
Reginald’s eyes—again, I can’t be certain—track me, and he scoffs, saying, “Are you really going to stay outside? What, are you scared?”
Yes. “No,” I lie, “but considering you just called me a fat bitch, I don’t necessarily want to be trapped in a room with you.”
His lanky arms fold across his chest. “You never did trust me.”
“Actually, I did,” I counter, and weirdly, the more I talk, the more the fear fades. “I completely trusted you. Until you put your dick in someone else. Then slapped me when I confronted you.” I tap my chin, humming cynically. “And yet, still, I stupidly trusted you. But the fifth woman and the second slap—that’s what finally did it. That’s when my trust and I decided to bail.”
“It was your own fault,” Reginald scoffs, leaning against the doorframe and heavily into gaslighting. “Had you put out more, I wouldn’t have needed other women.”
I swallow the anger and bile creeping up my throat. He’s absolutely despicable. Always was, always will be. But the difference is, I’m no longer his to use and abuse.
In short, he needs to go the fuck away. But how do I make him go the fuck away?
You can’t engage a narcissist, Morgan, Dr. Useless taught me. It’s a game to them, so don’t take the bait. Simply…change the subject.
Right. Subject change. Regain control. He says his piece. I kick his ass to the curb.
Fine, I guess my therapist wasn’t completely useless.
“What do you want, Reginald? Why are you here?” I ask, heeding Dr. Semi-Useless’s words instead of calling him a garbage human in the most colorful fashion.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, offering it to me. I lean in just far enough to take it, unfold it, and read, spotting the sadistic smirk spreading across his face out of the corner of my eye.
He mutters proudly, “I’m finally evicting you.”
My fingers ball around the eviction notice, and my hard gaze flicks to his purple-ringed eyes.
I fight to keep my voice neutral when I ask, “Is this because Jiho punched you? Retaliation?”
“Yes and no,” he admits easily, rolling his neck and shoulders. “I can’t sue the man—my dad would be pissed. You know how he is.”
Unfortunately, I do know how Reginald Sinclair, Jr. is.
He’s a million times worse and a billion times more arrogant. He’d sue if his son asked, but at the steep price of anger, shame, and embarrassment. The three exact emotions he felt when Reginald brought me home to meet him and his wife. Part of me thinks Reginald continued to date me just to spite his old man.
“What’s the other reason?” I press, my ridiculous curiosity getting the better of me.
He sighs like he’s bored, glancing over his shoulder to inside the duplex. “Seeing you reminded me about this shithole. I want to sell it—could use the extra money.”
“Daddy dearest cut you off?”
“Of course not,” he snaps, his full attention back on me. “It’s for a business venture. It’s not like you’d understand anyway, with the way you think and all.”
I choose to take that as a compliment, gathering any remaining courage to say, “Okay, but do you think this could wait for a few more months? I was planning to move out, anyway.” Well, I was thinking about it, but he doesn’t have to know that.
A creepy snicker bubbles out of him. “That’s too coincidental.”
“I’m serious, Reginald.” My hands fall to my sides, trying to seem unbothered. “I’m moving abroad at the end of July for work. I was going to put my stuff in storage and call it a day.” I really don’t want to say this next part, hating the thought of asking this man for any favors. “It would really help me if you could…delay the eviction. Please.”
He quiets for a moment, like he’s actually mulling it over. Maybe for once in his life, he’ll put the needs of someone else above his own…might be the dumbest thought I’ve ever had. But still, the longer he’s quiet, the more that little, ludacris kernel of hope grows.
Reginald pushes off the doorframe, sliding a hand in his pocket and pulling out his keys. “Absolutely fucking not,” he sneers, twirling the keys on his index finger. My shoulders sag, but I force them back and my chin high, just like at dinner yesterday. “You’ll just have to put your shit in storage earlier.”
“How early is earlier?” I ask, somehow maintaining my phony composure.
“This Saturday.”
I scoff, my mouth falling open. “That’s in five days. You expect me to find a place to live and pack my stuff in five days?”
“No, of course not,” he replies sharply as he walks past me and off the porch. There’s too much satisfaction in his voice to believe that’s that. “I expect you to find a place to live by the time the locksmith arrives at seven tonight to change the lock. You’ll have eight hours on Saturday to move out your shit.”
I can’t think of anything else to say other than, “Are you fucking serious?”
“Look on the bright side, Morgan,” he drawls, complete arrogance filling his voice, “at least we can fully be rid of each other come Saturday.” His Mercedes unlocks with a click of his key fob, and as he opens the door, he adds, “I’ll be back in an hour. I expect you to be gone by then. If not, you’ll be staying in a jail cell for the night for trespassing.”
“Asshole,” I mumble under my breath as I watch him drive off, pure anger replacing fear. I glance at the eviction notice again and quickly tear it into pieces, mentally noting to pick them up later.
Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I shoot a text to Elaine, assuring her that I’m alive and…
Well, I’m alive. The well part is still up for debate, especially when I spy the time on my phone, seeing I actually have less than an hour to pack for the week.
Dammit.
Where am I going to go? I’m not usually a prideful woman, but this is embarrassing. Like, ultra, want-to-hide-in-a-hole embarrassing. I know Elaine will keep quiet—it’s why I called her—but I can’t possibly tell my sister or my parents.
Or Jiho…
Within forty-eight hours of dating me, his girlfriend’s ex shows up twice, completely unannounced, only to create some sort of immense inconvenience.
Bloody knuckles. Emotionally distraught girlfriend. Homeless girlfriend.
It’s a lot.
Too much, actually. I honestly wouldn’t blame him if he says later gator. But my heart can’t take that. Not tonight, at least, and not if I can help it.
Which means, I need to find a hotel and try to act normal. Not like the Morgan who’s about to freak out because an eviction wasn’t in her near-future plans.
Nope.
Normal Morgan would carry on. She’d go inside, eat a light dinner…maybe pack a large suitcase…get on her workout clothes, and go to fucking yoga.