Lorenzo Prescott stood tall at six-foot-three, all sharp lines and quiet power wrapped in black. His dark hair, slicked back with habitual precision, framed the striking features of a man who wore his twenty-five years with an intensity older than his age. Beneath the leather jacket, beneath the reputation of a superbike heir, there was a boy who had once harbored feelings that should never have existed. Feelings that had taken root back when he was only in middle school. Forbidden, unspoken, yet never extinguished.

Now, after years of silence and work, he was finally beside her again. She hadn't changed—at least, not in the way that mattered to him. And this time, they weren't just meeting. They were headed for a week together at a seaside homestay, living under one roof. Just the two of them. The thought alone was enough to keep a low current of anticipation humming beneath his calm exterior.

The supermarket was meant to be a simple errand before their trip, yet Lorenzo found himself watching her more than the aisles. He followed, obedient as ever, the model nephew—until the moment at the cashier.

While she searched her bag for her wallet, his gaze drifted to the small shelf beside the counter. A flash of silver and blue packaging caught his eye. His lips pressed together, trying to hide the smile that threatened to form.

"Grab anything you want," she murmured absently.

He shook his head, voice low and careful. "No, thanks, Aunty—"

But then her hand moved, following his gaze, fingers brushing against the small box on the shelf. The second she realized what it was, she stilled. A box of Durex.

Lorenzo's smirk slipped free at last. He stepped closer, his presence crowding gently against her space, lowering his voice until only she could hear.

"Should I buy it then, Aunty?" His words curled, soft as velvet, dangerous as fire.

She didn't answer. Couldn't. Her fingers remained frozen around the box.

Lorenzo's hand moved, slow and deliberate, brushing against hers as if guiding her grip. His thumb grazed her knuckles in a fleeting touch, testing her silence. "You don't mind, do you?" he whispered, leaning nearer, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.

He let the pause linger before tilting his head, lips curling into that dangerous smile. "After all... I'll be sleeping under your roof for more than a week. Wouldn't it be... practical?"

Her pulse quickened—he could see it, sense it. His other hand drifted, casual yet purposeful, brushing against her waist as though steadying her, though the touch lingered longer than necessary.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice playful, though his eyes burned with something darker. "I've wanted this since I was just a kid staring at you from across the room. You knew, didn't you?"

He let the confession hang in the air, wicked and true. Then, softer, teasing again, "So... should we add it to the cart, Aunty? Or do you want me to prove I won't waste it?"

His fingers gave the lightest squeeze at her waist as his smirk deepened, waiting for her reaction while she still held the small box between trembling fingers.