“Ah… yes, yes… we’ll leave,” he said quickly.
He waved at the others, and within seconds, all three of them rushed out of the house.
Silence fell.
Emma pressed her lips together, trying to hold back her laughter—but the smile on her face gave her away.
Harold noticed immediately.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he snapped, clearly flustered. “They’re just confused. They don’t know what they’re doing.”
He straightened slightly, trying to regain his composure.
“I’ve brought plenty of women home before,” he added, a little too quickly. “This is just a misunderstanding. My mom probably told them to say all that nonsense. They’re just making things up.”
“Got it.”
Emma’s expression flattened into a calm, indifferent look as she answered him. She gave a small nod, as if she didn’t care at all.
“I understand. I’ll go upstairs first.”
Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked past him. Harold instinctively shifted aside as she brushed by, the faint movement of air from her passing making his chest tighten.
She stepped onto the stairs, her pace unhurried.
“The bedroom is upstairs, right?” she asked, stopping midway and glancing back at him over her shoulder.
Harold frowned slightly, still trying to steady himself. “Yeah. End of the hallway.”
Emma nodded once, then turned again and continued walking. A moment later, she disappeared into the room.
The door closed behind her.
Harold stood there for a second, unmoving. His chest was rising and falling too fast, his heartbeat still pounding hard against his ribs. He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down.
“What the hell…” he muttered.
Without wasting another second, he turned and hurried toward the washroom on the ground floor.
Ten minutes later, when he stepped out, he looked much more composed.
He looked much more composed now. The redness on his face had faded, and his breathing had finally steadied. He adjusted his shirt, ran a hand through his hair again, and straightened his posture.
Back to normal.
Then he headed upstairs. He walked straight to the room at the end of the hallway and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, he paused, his eyes sweeping across the room.
Empty.
There was no sign of Emma.
His brows furrowed slightly as he took another step in, glancing around again. Just as he was about to turn, the bathroom door clicked open.
The soft sound of footsteps followed.
His head turned toward the sound—and then everything inside him stilled.
Emma stepped out.
