𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Stranger Danger

I’m dropped unceremoniously onto a plush chair, my small body sinking into the fabric as I face the man who’d been feasting on an obscene amount of food.

Now that I’m closer, I notice something I missed before—he isn’t sitting in an ordinary chair. It’s a wheelchair. The sleek, custom-made kind that screams both luxury and necessity.

Poor rich guy in a wheelchair, I think, my gaze flitting between the intricately carved table and his casually sharp features.

I glance down at my paws, briefly considering whether I should make a run for it. But the thought dies before it even fully forms. If getting in here was an impossible mission, leaving would be downright suicidal. My kitten legs barely carried me this far, and the bodyguards? They’d scoop me up in seconds.

I chance a look at the man again. He’s still staring at me, unblinking, with an expression I can’t quite place. His sharp eyes seem to pierce through me, assessing, calculating.

The bodyguards, on the other hand, are all business, scanning the room like human radars, their broad frames immovable. I feel almost insignificant between them and the man’s commanding presence.

Despite his obvious wealth and power, I know for certain he’s not one of the main leads. I’d recognize them anywhere, and this guy isn’t it. But with his sharp jawline and piercing eyes, he could easily pass for one. Pity he’s handicapped, though.

Our strange staring contest is interrupted by the arrival of a server, his movements fluid and practiced. Without a word or even a glance my way, the server sets something on a low table in front of me—a bowl of wet food, the kind specifically designed for cats.

The smell wafts up, strong and meaty, but not in a good way. The gelatinous chunks glisten under the light, the grayish-brown mixture unappetizing enough to make my whiskers curl.

Ah. So that’s why I’m here. He just wanted to feed me.

My eyes dart back to the man, who’s still watching me with that unnerving intensity. Despite his unreadable expression, there’s something oddly kind in the gesture.

Feeling a pang of guilt, I muster the best smile I can manage. Or at least, what I think is a smile. But instead of softening, his brows arch slightly, his head tilting in mild confusion.

Right. My “smile” probably looks more like a threat in this tiny kitten body. Fantastic.

I glance back at the bowl. My stomach growls, but my appetite withers at the sight of the unappealing mush. Is this really my life now?

Another wave of dizziness hits, and my eyes wander up to his table. The spread in front of him is nothing short of spectacular.

Golden-brown roasted duck glistens under a light glaze, its aroma tantalizing even from here. Next to it, a plate of seared scallops rests atop a bed of creamy risotto, garnished with sprigs of fresh herbs. A basket of freshly baked bread, still steaming, sits beside a rich, velvety soup that’s undoubtedly infused with truffle oil.

Now that’s what I call food.

The disparity between my sad little bowl and his gourmet feast feels almost insulting. My whiskers twitch in irritation as my stomach clenches again, torn between hunger and pride.

He catches my wandering gaze, his lips quirking ever so slightly. Is that amusement? Mockery? I can’t tell. Either way, it’s clear he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

Great, I think, staring back at the unappetizing mush in front of me. Guess the universe wants me to eat humble pie—or in this case, humble cat food.

I’ve always been one to defy the universe, and today is no exception.

With a single, determined leap, I launch myself onto the small table where the bowl of cat food sits. My paws land squarely in the unappetizing pile, squelching dramatically. But I’m not stopping there. In one swift motion, I spring again, this time miraculously landing on his table—the promised land of golden-brown roasts and rich sauces.

I’ve barely processed my own audacity before my teeth sink into the crispy, glistening skin of the roasted duck. The first bite is pure bliss, the savory juices exploding in my mouth.

Somewhere in the periphery, I hear one of the guards let out a strangled sound of disapproval, a mix of shock and exasperation. Honestly, I’m a little surprised myself. Who knew I could move this fast? Guess survival instincts really do kick in when hunger takes over.

I don’t even pause to bask in my achievement. My mouth works furiously, tearing into the tender meat, my tiny body fully committed to devouring this masterpiece. For a moment, it’s just me and the duck.

Then I look up—and meet his gaze.

The man’s sharp, penetrating eyes are locked on me, and for the first time, I notice the subtle shifts in his expression. His lips twitch upward, curling into a faint smirk that somehow feels more dangerous than comforting. His amusement is evident, but it carries a predatory edge, like a cat watching a mouse that doesn’t know it’s already caught.

If I weren’t busy stuffing my face, I might be terrified. As the prey in this dynamic, I’m acutely aware of the power imbalance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the bodyguards moving toward me, his large hand extending as if to pluck me off the table and punt me straight into next week. But the man raises his hand, a silent command that stops the guard mid-step.

The bodyguard hesitates, his brows furrowed in confusion, but he obeys, stepping back reluctantly.

The man’s gaze never leaves me, his eyes twinkling with unhidden amusement. For a fleeting moment, I think I catch a hint of admiration, though it’s quickly overshadowed by the smug satisfaction of someone who knows they’re in complete control.

His smirk deepens, the edges of his lips curling further, and for a heartbeat, I forget the duck entirely. This is the kind of man who could crush someone with just a look—and enjoy doing it.

But me? I’m not about to let intimidation ruin this meal. If I’m going to be punished for my insolence, I’d rather face it with a full stomach.

So I do the only logical thing. I keep eating, ignoring the tension in the room and the low chuckle that rumbles from the man’s throat.

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A/N: this chapter WAS INSANE. I was laughing like I'm on crack writing this. I'm vegetarian so I don't really know if the food description was on point, but y'all have to bear with me, I guess. Thank you for reading!

Any thoughts on who out of Ulso, Layza, stranger danger, and the guards will be our next male lead?