The Playboy's Wicked Revenge (Major editing In Progress)

10: Shifting

Sia

We reached home at 9:45 p.m.
The streets were quieter than usual. Streetlights blinked through the trees like tired fireflies. Above, a thousand stars flickered across the navy sky, but the moon—like clarity—was nowhere to be seen.

Xander’s sleek car came to a gentle halt in front of the small gate I’d walked through my whole life. The same creaky, rust-edged gate that had never once looked as modest as it did now. Maybe it was the car. Or maybe, it was him.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and clutched my bag tighter to my chest like armor. “Bye, Xander… an-and thank you for the ride.”

I reached for the handle, but his hand moved faster—his fingers gently wrapping around my forearm, pulling me back into the seat.

“Won’t you invite me in, Miss Evans?” he asked softly, voice dangerously smooth.

My heart skipped. Or stumbled. Maybe both.

There it was again. That quiet power in the way he spoke—like everything he said was a statement masquerading as a question.

“Ye… yes, of course. I was just about to. Please co… come inside,” I stammered, instantly flushed with guilt. Where were my manners?

“If you insist.” His lips curved, barely a smirk. And then he stepped out like he’d arrived to claim the land itself.

He didn’t wait for me. Just walked toward the house, his posture relaxed but certain. The sidewalk wasn’t meant to be a runway, but he walked it like one. Like he was the only one allowed to own the silence.

I followed, one step behind—as always.

When we reached the door, he didn’t raise a hand. Didn’t knock. Just looked at me, patient but expectant.

I knocked, twice.

A second later, the door creaked open. My mother appeared, still tying her apron, eyes fixed on something behind her.

“You’re late, Sia.”

No hello. No smile. Just those same four syllables I’d heard my entire life.

“Mum…” I shifted awkwardly, “Um, Xander’s here.”

Her head snapped up like someone flipped a switch.

“Oh!” she gasped, her entire face transforming into a mask of warmth. “Xander. What a surprise. Come in, come in!”

Of course. Her smile reserved only for him.

Xander nodded politely. “Good evening, ma’am.”

He stepped inside with effortless charm, and in seconds, my mother and Aunt Princia were ushering him into the living room like he was royalty visiting peasants who needed to prove their worth.

I was about to sit down when my aunt’s eyes darted to me—sharp and purposeful. She didn’t need words. One look, and I knew what it meant.

Confused for a beat, I stood frozen—until Mum’s voice cut through.

“Sia, where are your manners? Go make some coffee. Mr. Black must be tired.”