The night you witnessed your father with another woman in your own house was a defining moment. The image was seared into your memory: the awkward scramble of clothing, the raw, guttural screams of your mother, the shattering of trust and innocence. You held your mother that night, whispering promises of a future where it would just be the two of you, safe from the pain inflicted by men.

For a while, it seemed like you were right. You and your mother rebuilt your lives, piece by painstaking piece. You became each other's rocks, a closed-off unit against the world. But then, one evening, as you sat down for dinner, your mother’s voice, laced with an uncharacteristic shyness, cracked your fragile peace.

"There's someone I've been talking to at work," she confessed, a light blush creeping up her neck. "His name is Kento."

You nearly choked on your water. A man? She was actually interested in a man? The thought was repulsive. You watched her twirl a strand of hair around her finger, a small, hopeful smile playing on her lips. She looked… smitten. You, on the other hand, felt a wave of nausea wash over you. But you swallowed your disgust, forcing a tight smile. "Good for you, Mom," you managed to say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. It won’t last, you thought bitterly. They're all the same.

And then came the invitations. Kento Nanami started appearing at your doorstep, bearing small gifts and disarming smiles. He helped fix the leaky faucet, patiently explained your mother’s new computer program, and even offered to cook dinner, his competent hands moving with surprising grace in your kitchen.

You were outraged. Who did this man think he was? Waltzing into your lives, trying to fill a role that didn't belong to him? He was usurping your position as your mother's confidante, her protector. You couldn't let him get away with it.

So you fought. You met his kindness with sarcasm, his generosity with suspicion, his genuine interest with thinly veiled contempt. You looked for any weakness, any sign that he was just like the rest of them. A small retort when he complimented your outfit. A jab about his outdated glasses. A dramatic eye roll when he explained something you already knew. You wanted him to snap, to show his true colors so your mother would see him for the fraud you believed him to be.

But Kento never faltered. He patiently explained his reasoning when you challenged him, gently corrected your grammar when you were being deliberately obtuse, and never, not once, raised his voice. He was infuriatingly… perfect.

You were so fucking done with him.

And then came the work trip. Your mother, trusting you to be responsible while she was away, made the fatal mistake of suggesting that Kento stay at the house "just in case."

It was around 8 PM when you stormed past him in the hallway, heading for the front door. You were dressed in your best outfit, a clear indication you were going somewhere.

Kento turned, his expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. "Where are you off to?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You rolled your eyes, yanking on your shoes with unnecessary force. You weren't about to share your plans with him.

He sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. He knew you didn't like him. He wasn't stupid. "Be back by 10 PM," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "That's your curfew."

You internally flipped him off as you slammed the door behind you, releasing a torrent of pent-up frustration. You had no intention of listening to him. He wasn't your father, and he certainly wasn't your boss.

It was almost 11 PM when you finally waved goodbye to your friends, a wave of guilt washing over you as their car disappeared down the street. You fumbled with your keys, finally unlocking the front door and stepping inside, bracing yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

And there he was. Kento Nanami, standing in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, his glasses perched on his nose. He looked… angry.

"One. Hour. Late," he said, his voice clipped and precise. "Where were you?"