Chapter 181: Another Lockwood?!
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By the end of my shift, my feet were making me rethink every decision that led me to juggle two jobs while attending one of the priciest universities in this crazy ass world while paying my father’s hospital bills at the same time!
The flowers looked nice, sure, but they weighed way more than they had any right to.
After hours of lugging around buckets, rearranging displays, and smiling at customers who seemed to enjoy messing them up just moments later, I felt like I’d single-handedly carried half the store’s stock.
The evening air was refreshingly cool as I headed back to Preston Hall. Even though I was utterly exhausted, a smile crept onto my face when my phone buzzed with that familiar notification that somehow felt both protective and comforting.
Damien 😈: Done?
I chuckled quietly, the sound soft enough that the couple walking in front of me didn’t even look back. He meant it when he said to text him after work, and his checking in made my long day feel a little lighter.
Me: Just got back. Happy?
His reply was almost instant, as if he’d been waiting with his finger poised over the screen.
Damien😈: Of course.
Damien: Go home. I’ll be there soon
My cheeks flushed despite myself. Just those two words. "Go home." They seemed to echo a more intimate invitation, turning my regular walk across campus into something a bit more special.
"...Hopeless," I murmured, shoving my phone into my pocket and trying to suppress a goofy smile in the middle of the courtyard.
When I stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor, I was humming to myself until I rounded the corner toward Room 25. That’s when I came to a sudden halt, nearly swinging my bag right into my legs.
There was someone outside our apartment. A woman, probably in her mid-twenties, wearing a chic cream jumpsuit that likely cost a small fortune.
It draped elegantly on her, making the scuffed dorm hallway look like it was in dire need of a makeover.
Her dark hair was flawlessly pinned up in a bun that held every strand firmly in place, and from several feet away, she looked impossibly put together, like she’d just walked out of a high-fashion magazine and taken a wrong turn into a fancy student housing.
She turned as I approached, her warm brown eyes locking onto mine.
There was something oddly familiar about them, not the color, but the shape. The way she looked at me was sharp and assessing, as if she’d formed three opinions before I even had the chance to speak, and none of those involved offering me a drink.
"Uh...can I help you?" I asked, trying to sound more composed and less like someone whose feet were seriously filing complaints with HR.
Her gaze traveled over me, lingering on my well-worn sneakers before returning to my face with the kind of scrutiny usually reserved for livestock evaluations or bad résumés.
"I’m looking for Damien."
Her voice was smooth and polished, each word precisely measured, as though she had rehearsed just the right amount of politeness needed to get information without risking any actual friendliness.
"I knocked several times."
"He’s probably still out." I pulled my keys from my pocket, the ordinary jingle sounding alarmingly loud in the quiet corridor. "I’m his roommate."
For the first time, something flickered across her face, a quick adjustment that hinted my information didn’t match whatever preconception she had.
"You’re Oliver."
It wasn’t a question.
Just a statement delivered with the quiet assurance of someone who already knew the answer and was simply checking if the universe had failed her yet again.
"...Yeah."
"I’m Dianne."
She didn’t extend her hand; instead, she stood there, waiting for me to connect the dots, her patience suggesting she had all the time in the world and wasn’t about to make this easy.
Unfortunately, my mind had checked out along with my feet, leaving only the basics: breathing and mild social anxiety.
"...Nice to meet you?"
I unlocked the apartment, the key turning with a soft click that felt more consequential than it should have.
"Since you’re looking for Damien, you can wait inside if you’d like."
She scrutinized me for another drawn-out moment, long enough for me to wonder if I had grown another head or if my shirt had decided to display a seriously offensive pattern.
Great... another rich person who looked at people like me like we were aliens. Just what I needed when I was tired as shit.
Finally, she nodded, just once, precise enough to indicate she’d calculated the exact acknowledgment required.
"Very well."
She stepped inside with graceful, unhurried movements that somehow made entering a student dorm seem like a carefully orchestrated diplomatic visit.
All of a sudden, our large apartment felt... smaller. Not because of her size, but because of how she carried herself.
She moved with the quiet confidence of someone used to stepping into spaces they already owned, making the mismatched furniture and the pile of textbooks seem even more humble under her gaze.
I closed the door behind us, the soft click of the lock sounding oddly final.
"Can I get you anything?"
"A glass of water."
"Sure."
I went toward the kitchen, grateful for the brief escape, even if it was just until I filled a glass.
As I poured the water, I heard slow footsteps wandering around the apartment, the soft sound of expensive shoes on the floor carrying a kind of silent judgment that didn’t require words.
Silence stretched for a few seconds, broken only by the quiet clink of the glass against the counter. Then—
"So..."
Her voice floated across the room, calm and observant.
"This is where my brother has been hiding."
Brother...
I blinked.
Wait a damn minute...brother?!
The word hit me like a brick to my face, dropping from a moderate height. I peeked around just enough to see her inspecting the apartment as if conducting an informal audit.
Her eyes scanned over the couch, the dining table, the bookshelf, and the shared coffee mugs sitting in the drying rack like evidence of a lifestyle she already deemed insufficient.
Finally, they landed on the hoodie I had ’borrowed’ from Damien draped over the back of Damien’s chair, and suddenly it felt less like laundry and more like a personal failing.
"...Interesting." She crossed her arms. "I honestly expected better."