Juliet woke to the scorching rays of the early morning sun piercing her window, making her squint. She rubbed her eyes, hurried to the bathroom, and went through the motions of brushing her teeth and bathing. Dressing quickly, she rushed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
"Good morning, sir," she greeted, trying to keep her voice bright.
"You are fired!" James barked, his words slicing through the morning calm.
Juliet froze, a knife clattering against the counter. "Ah! I just started… why… why would you fire me?"
"Shut up!" James snapped. "Peter, take me out of here."
Juliet's shoulders stiffened, but before panic could take over, a calm voice interrupted. "Don't worry about that, Juliet. You can take lunch to his office."
Juliet turned, her brows knitting. "Sir… who are you to him?"
"Oh, pardon my manners. My name is Collins. I'm James' friend… and a doctor," he replied, his tone clipped. "Now, just do as I said. Do your job."
"Thank you, sir," Juliet murmured, feeling a mix of relief and unease.
By noon, Juliet had packed James' lunch and quietly made her way to his office, her nerves taut with anticipation.
"Good afternoon, sir. I brought your lunch," she said politely.
James looked up, eyes flashing. "Don't you knock? Don't you have manners? Take that food away!"
Juliet's face flushed. "I'm sorry, sir," she whispered.
"What did you make for lunch?" he demanded.
"Fried rice," she replied softly, trying to steady her voice.
James waved his hand dismissively. "Take it away! Ask my mother before you bring food to my office."
Her hands trembling, Juliet returned home, muttering under her breath. He's so rude… no regard for anyone…
"My daughter, what's wrong?" James' mother asked, gently tapping her shoulder.
"I took lunch to his office, and he didn't take it. I made a very nice dish… fried rice," Juliet explained, frustration threading her voice.
Her mother raised a finger toward the cabinet. "Oops! A food table is placed here for him. You should have used it."
Juliet's face burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, ma. I didn't know about the food table."
"It's okay, I should have told you. He doesn't eat fried rice. Henceforth, you'll follow the menu," she said, her tone firm but patient.
Juliet clenched her fists silently, swallowing her irritation. A new life with James was supposed to be a chance for stability… but she quickly realized that surviving in this house would be a battle at every turn.
What are you doing in my room?
James snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air.
Juliet stiffened but didn't turn immediately. "Good afternoon, sir… I was cleaning your room."
"Cleaning?" His wheels creaked against the floor as he pushed himself forward, eyes narrowing.
"And the photo frames?"
Juliet hesitated—just a second too long. "Yes… sir."
"Why?" The single word came out colder this time.
"I—I cleaned them because they were dusty. I thought… the pictures should look—"
"Radiant?" James cut in, a bitter edge curling his lips. "Who asked you to touch them?"
Silence stretched.
Juliet swallowed. "No one, sir. I just—"
"And my journal?" His voice dropped dangerously low.
Before she could react, he snatched it from her hands, gripping it tightly like something fragile… or something forbidden.
"Don't touch what you don't understand," he said, each word deliberate. "Respect my boundaries."
Juliet's brows furrowed, but she didn't back down this time. "You're hiding something."
James froze.
Her gaze flicked to the journal. "I saw a date. What happens on that day?"
For a moment, nothing—just the ticking of the clock and the tension pressing in from all sides.
Then, reluctantly—"It's my birthday."
Juliet blinked, surprised. "Oh… wow."
Her eyes drifted around the room, trying to ease the sudden heaviness. "You must really love books. They're everywhere."
James let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I do. But do you know the most annoying book I've ever read?"
Juliet shook her head slowly. "No… you haven't told me."
"The most annoying book I've ever read," he said, his voice tightening, "is The Monitress."
Juliet's expression changed. "The Monitress? I read that years ago. It's actually very—"
"Interesting?" he snapped, eyes flashing. "Of course you'd think so."
The air shifted—sharp, hostile.
"I guess you think just like the writer," he added, his tone laced with accusation.
Juliet straightened, irritation rising. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Get out." His voice was low now, but far more dangerous. "Get out of my room."
She didn't move.
"I said get out!" he roared, slamming his hand against the armrest.
Juliet flinched—but only slightly. Her jaw tightened.
"If you want me out," she said, her voice trembling with restrained anger, "then you don't need to shout."
James said nothing.
"I hate noise," she continued, her eyes locking onto his. "I hate being shouted at."
The silence that followed was heavier than the shouting.
"Just because I'm your caregiver," she added quietly, "doesn't mean I'm beneath respect."
For a second, something flickered in James' expression—guilt… or something deeper—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
Juliet turned sharply and walked out.
The door slammed.
The sound echoed longer than it should have.
And in the sudden silence, James' grip on the journal tightened—his knuckles whitening—as his gaze drifted, unwillingly, to the freshly cleaned photo frames.