Vanessa
I leave Maeson's room quickly, with a determination that fades with every step. I feel like I overreacted. But the truth is, if I don't set a boundary with his insecurity now, this could turn into a problem that never goes away.
I really wanted to stay, give him a hug, and tell him there's no reason to feel that way. But like I told him—I deserve to have friends. Something I've never had in my life, though he doesn't know that. And this whole thing with romantic and platonic relationships is a new world I'm still learning to navigate.
I don't want to lose the chance to fully experience my newfound freedom just because I put Maeson first.
I see Melissa talking to Zane, and I hate what I'm about to do, because I notice—for the first time since they met—they're sharing a genuine smile. One directed at each other, not distant or hidden behind a lack of eye contact. But I need to clear my head, and only she understands me completely. I grab her arm and pull her almost by force into her room, catching a glimpse of poor Zane left mid-sentence.
In Melissa's Room
"Well, can you tell me what that was? Because, in case you didn't notice, I was in the middle of a conversation…" Mel says, a hint of irritation in her voice.
"I know, I know… I'm sorry. I owe you and Zane an apology, and I promise I'll make up for my lack of empathy. Really, Mel. But I need you."
Melissa looks at me, and her expression shifts from annoyed to concerned in seconds.
"What happened? Tell me I don't have to kill someone. Poor Maeson—I liked him," she says jokingly. I think.
"It's not his fault… or well, halfway. Honestly, I'm overreacting. But you know how I get when anxiety takes over. I lose logic and blow everything out of proportion," I blurt out in almost one breath.
"Okay, let's breathe first. I need you to center yourself and tell me what happened from the beginning."
When I finish telling her, Mel stays silent.
"Yeah, you definitely owe me that chat with Zane. But honestly, I love that you come to me when you're like this. I'm so special to you… we should ditch everyone and get married in secret," she says, almost completely seriously.
"And my theory that you're my secret fiancé is back on. I mean, I honestly don't see my uncle going for it, with how traditional he is, but every day I'm more convinced. That, or you're just crazy."
Melissa raises an eyebrow, amused, and bursts out laughing.
"Well yeah, we're probably the worst candidates for a secret wedding. Imagine: me losing the vows and you forgetting the ring because you were trying to be on time," she jokes, nudging me gently.
"That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, but at least we'd laugh a lot before running from the altar," I reply, the tension easing a bit between us.
We look at each other and laugh, knowing our wild theories are just the perfect disguise to avoid the serious stuff.
Melissa settles onto the bed, her expression more relaxed now, though there's still a playful spark in her eyes.
"Jokes aside, things got out of hand because neither of you is being clear. You and Maeson are just getting to know each other—it's normal to be confused. But if you keep letting other people get involved, you'll never really understand each other. You need to talk seriously, just the two of you, no intermediaries or extra drama."
"That sounds like something only normal people could pull off," I murmur, pretending to give up. "Neither of us knows what a 'healthy' relationship looks like, Mel."
Melissa laughs.
"That doesn't mean we can't try. Look, I know this stuff is scary, but it's better to try than to be left wondering. Don't you think?"
I hesitate.
"It's just… I'm scared, Mel. Sometimes Maeson feels like a puzzle: one moment it's like nothing affects him, like he's always calm, and then suddenly he shuts down and the little he does show just confuses me more. I don't know which version of him is real, and I'm terrified of getting it wrong and getting hurt."
She listens closely and slowly shakes her head.
"Maeson is complicated, yeah, but that doesn't excuse him being insecure or jealous. And honestly, I don't like that he got possessive so quickly—he barely knows you. But I think that comes from him, from things neither of us knows. It's not your job to fix it, but you can set boundaries and ask him to trust you if he really wants to be with you."
I bite my lip, thoughtful.
"I want to try, Mel. Talk to him, tell him I care, but that what I want most is freedom and that I can't deal with jealousy. Maybe share just part of my fears, without opening up my whole past. Do you think that would help?"
"Absolutely," Mel replies, smiling warmly. "You don't have to tell him everything, but enough so he understands why your freedom matters. That way, you both can decide if you're willing to walk together—without carrying each other's ghosts."
I feel the air get a little lighter.
"Thanks, Mel. I promise next time I panic, I'll bring you ice cream."
"And I promise not to judge your crazy theories," she says, shrugging. "Well… just a little. And I expect that ice cream today anyway."
We keep chatting about everything and nothing, catching up, recalling funny moments from our lives to ease the stress. Mel falls asleep, and I leave quietly, giving her a small kiss on the forehead.
I step out of the room, grab my keys, and get ready to find the rest of the people in the house to say goodbye. But just then, someone grabs my arm. I think it's one of the guys or maybe Wenn, but when I turn around, I'm met with a pair of green eyes I remember seeing only once in my life.
It all unfolds like a movie. The moment I scream, the guy lets go of me and signals for silence. I hear doors opening in unison. Konnor is the first to appear—he's on the same floor, skateboard in hand, looking like he's hunting down a thief. As soon as he sees the guy, he throws the skateboard at his face like a scene from a slapstick action film. If it weren't for the situation, I might've laughed.
The skateboard misses his face by inches, and the green-eyed guy bolts toward the back of the house, cursing as he runs. Melissa comes out at that exact moment, groggy and confused, and as soon as she sees him, she tries to stop him. But he's faster and brushes past her. She runs after him, and Konnor follows.
Just then, Zane and Maeson come rushing down the stairs. I watch them exchange glances, trying to make sense of what's happening. I grab Maeson's hand and signal to Zane to follow us to the backyard.
When we get there, Melissa is hanging from a tree, peering toward the neighbor's house. Konnor is on his phone. Maeson, beside me, hasn't let go of my hand and looks at me, waiting for an explanation. As Zane approaches the tree to offer Melissa help, she drops down like a gazelle, effortlessly, leaving him stunned.
Mel pats Zane's arm and gives him a faint smile. Then, almost instantly, she's at my side, firing off questions.
"What was that? Who was that guy? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?..."
I look at her, trying to answer at least one of those questions, but the words won't come. I'm completely disoriented.
Konnor picks up on it and speaks first:
"I messaged Shawn—they're on their way. I also called the police so they can investigate."
Maeson asks:
"Investigate what exactly? Because I don't understand what happened."
"All I know is I heard a scream and ran out with my skateboard, hoping to defend whoever was yelling. I found some guy in the hallway grabbing Vanessa's arm, and I just threw the skateboard at him. Then the bastard ran off," says Konnor.
Zane steps forward and breaks the silence:
"A guy? Who was he?" he asks, brows furrowed, directing the question at me too.
My pulse is racing, but I finally find my voice, though inside I'm still reeling from the shock of something like this happening in this house. The fear is still lodged in my chest, but I try to sound clear:
"No… I don't know him. I came out of Mel's room—she was asleep—and just as I was heading out to say goodbye to everyone, the guy grabbed my arm. When I looked at him and realized I didn't know who he was, I screamed," I explain, looking at all of them as my mind replays every detail of the encounter.
Melissa jumps in, energized:
"I came out right then, and as soon as I saw him, I tried to stop him, but he was faster and ran past me. I chased him to the backyard, and he jumped the fence and broke into the neighbor's house. That's why I ended up in the tree—trying to spot him," she says, gesturing animatedly, while Zane and Maeson watch her with visible concern.
I glance down and notice Maeson still hasn't let go of my hand. It surprises me, but also comforts me—to feel that silent support in the middle of all this.
I clarify for everyone, seeking Mel's support with my eyes:
"Actually, I just remembered I've seen him before. Mel, do you remember when we were about to get on the tram with Wenn yesterday and I bumped into someone? That guy—it was the same one," I say, almost in a whisper.
Immediately, everyone falls silent, and the tension in the air thickens, only broken by the distant sound of a siren. No one knows what to say; the mystery of the green-eyed stranger seems to wrap the house in a new kind of unease.
Maeson clears his throat and asks, voice low but steady, speaking directly to me:
"Vanessa, do you think you could describe to the police exactly what happened? Do you remember any details about the guy?"
I nod without hesitation, taking a deep breath before answering:
"Yes, don't worry. I have a good memory for these things—I'll be able to give them a solid description."
Mel steps forward and adds quickly:
"I saw him up close too—I can help if needed."
We look at each other in silence, and in that moment, we both know our lives trained us to notice everything: gestures, voices, escape routes. Our attention to detail isn't random, even if no one else in the house knows it.
It doesn't take long for the police to arrive. Two officers—a man and a woman—enter with firm, professional steps, introduce themselves, and ask us to sit together to recount what happened. They start by asking for the time, exact location, and a description of the suspect: hair color, height, clothing, accent—anything useful. Mel jumps in with details about how the guy jumped the fence and the route he took.
The officers write everything down, ask us not to touch anything in the area in case they can lift prints, and handle each of our comments with calm and respect. They assure us they'll patrol the neighborhood and check with the neighbors, especially since the guy entered another property. I'm impressed by how structured and empathetic they are—just like I once read about police procedures in Australia.
In the middle of the questioning, Wenn and Shawn walk in, brows furrowed, backpacks slung over their shoulders, concern written all over their faces. Zane steps forward, gestures to them, and pulls them into the next room, where he whispers a summary of what happened. From a distance, I watch them absorb the story with growing worry.
Meanwhile, I feel the tension in the air and see Wenn exchange a look with Shawn before disappearing into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she reappears and announces gently:
"I'm going to make tea for everyone—to help calm our nerves."
Mel offers to help, and the two of them vanish among cups and steam, filling the house with the soothing scent of jasmine and mint.
The police finish their questions and, after thanking us for our cooperation, leave clear instructions on who to contact if anything new comes up. As soon as the door closes, Shawn—who had stayed on the sidelines—crosses the room and, without saying a word, wraps me in a hug so warm and sincere that the knot in my chest finally begins to loosen.
Everyone looks surprised, except for Wenn, who just smiles knowingly. I feel held, less alone, and for the first time tonight, I feel true relief.
As everyone tries to regain a sense of calm, Shawn suggests:
"Vanessa, maybe it's best if you stay here tonight. Going to Olivia's might leave you unprotected, and we want to make sure you're safe."
I look at the others, hesitate for a second, but their supportive gazes convince me.
"Yes, I'll stay. But tomorrow we're all up early—it's my first day as your official photographer and media manager," I say with a smile.
Wenn, with a spark of excitement, suggests as she hugs me:
"Then let's have a sleepover! That way no one sleeps alone and we all feel a little safer."
I pull out my phone and send a quick message to Olivia: "I'm staying with the guys tonight, all good. See you tomorrow." I don't tell her what happened. I don't want to worry her or open a conversation I'm not ready to have. I just want her to know I'm safe, so she doesn't panic. When I hit send, I feel a small pang in my chest—but also the relief of knowing that, for now, I'm not alone.
I watch as the faces around me brighten a little, and for a moment, the shadow of fear fades into promises of movies, blankets, and laughter yet to come.