"Unfortunately, that house isn't for sale,"

Blade lied through his teeth, eyes narrowing in on the eager buyer standing in front of him. A woman in her late thirties. Branded sunglasses rested on the bridge of her nose, a handbag worth more than some cars hung from her arm, and the keys to her vintage sports car jangled in her hand. She had cash to spare, that much was evident. She was looking up at the most prime real estate in the neighbourhood; a three-storey mansion at the end of a posh cul de sac neighbourhood. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a spacious backyard fit with a pool, and views looking over the city from the hill on which the suburb was nestled.

That dreamy look in the woman's eyes meant she was willing to fork over an absurd amount of cash for the house. It was a beautiful home in the most prime location in the city. He could almost smell the cash he'd make off his commission if he closed a deal with her on this house. But the look Blade levelled at the buyer made it clear he meant what he said. With a pouty huff and a haughty promise to have her assistant call him later, the woman waved her chauffeur over and took off.

So the realtor took the chance to pay you a visit.

You. A homeless woman who had decided to break into the most desirable home on the block for shelter. A woman he never had the heart to kick out. A woman who had wriggled her way into a mansion as well as his heart and made herself at home. He used his spare key to enter the house, his footsteps echoing off the marble walls. He walked up the winding spiral staircase, gaze softening when he spotted you in one of the bedrooms through an ajar door.

You lay curled up on the floor, fast asleep and wrapped in warm blankets Blade had brought over for you the last few times he'd visited you. He knelt beside you, fingers gently smoothing your hair back from your face. He melted a little when you stirred awake with a soft, frightened squeak.

"Just me, sweet girl," he whispered, "I brought you some more food."