Four

ISHTAR.

This wouldn't be a bad shelter for the night. I thought to myself as I set my foot to the ground after slipping in through the window. The room I'd walked into seemed to be the living room, but the strange man wasn't in sight yet.

My pulse quickened as I cautiously made my way around and tried to stop myself from gasping every single time I looked around me. It felt like I'd made my way into paradise, unknowingly. The air was warm, and it coated around me nicely as I hugged my arms, turning multiple times in the middle of the parlor.

This was my first time being inside someone else's house, and that little voice in my head— the judgemental and reasonable one— wouldn't stop telling me how much of a terrible idea that was. J should not be doing this.

Nobody should be doing this. The large living room was no different from the ones I saw on TV. I wished Abby was here with me to witness this breakthrough. Thinking about her being gone for good made my heart squeeze, but I couldn't afford sickness in this situation.

I heard the sound of shuffling feet coming from the other side of the room. Immediately, I grabbed my bag pack and crawled under the vast, wooden table fearfully. The owner of this house didn't seem like someone I should mess with, and my little spin-off with him in the convenience store still had goosebumps crawling up my arms.

The condition of the house gave no hint of him being a family person either. Every single thing was tidy and in place, and it gave me a bit of an idea of the kind of person he would be. I held my breath as the footsteps grew louder, and finally, he was in the same room as I was.

The lightness and simplicity hanging in the air crawled away from me the moment I sensed that he was in the room. I placed my hand over my mouth to prevent any sounds from coming out. Suddenly, the room was darker and heavier, like he sucked all the lights inside of it.

He terrified me. I remembered that look in his eyes again, and I suddenly had every reason to crumble. I didn't think I'd ever cared this much about my life, but getting brutally murdered in a psychopath's home that I may have or may have not willingly walked into wasn't exactly a prideful way to die.

Bam! A wack came to the top of the table, and I swallowed my heart and everything else that functioned inside of me. I could see his legs from the little space where I was crouched. He was so close to me. That was how I knew it was his fist he slammed against the table so hard.

"This is…not happening!" His voice rang through the walls of the quiet room. "No, not again! This is not happening again!" Another hit followed, and the table shook like it was going to crumble.

It couldn't be just his hands he slammed against the table that way. It'd be crazy to hurt himself like that. My entire body shook, but I tried to maintain a still position. I needed to run out of this mansion immediately after he left.

Who would want to hurt themselves like that? The hit came repeatedly, and each time he hit the table, he yelled and groaned hysterically like a person on the verge of madness. Sometimes, he sounded like a wounded animal. A small part of my heart was touched, concerned about what could be happening.

While the larger and more reasonable part remembered how he wanted me dead and cowered in fear. A billionaire's problem wasn't my problem, and I didn't care to know whatever the hell was going on with him. Curiosity killed the cat, and I'd very much love to be a dog.

His tantrum died out, and he walked out of the room. I heard another door slam shut, which made it sure that he'd left. Slowly, carefully, without breathing, I crawled out from underneath the table, clutching my backpack and looking around— he wasn't in sight.

Rather, the room was now polluted by the disgusting smell of sweat and whatever male creatures were made of. I exhaled a broken sigh, pinching myself to register if I was still alive or not.

Luckily, I still was, and that was a good thing. Now, I should make my way out the same way I'd come in or—

—or I could successfully complete the tour of my very first mansion. Mr. Beast seemed to be out of sight anyway, and his little exercise might require him to crawl into bed and sleep for a while. I could take advantage of that period and check out the entire house before leaving.

Who knows, he might have things he doesn't need anymore. Not that I'd care to ask. I dropped my backpack on the leather chair. I'd stolen quite a ridiculous amount of chips from the convenience store, so they made sounds as I moved. I wouldn't want Mr. Beast racing out of the room and using me as a substitute for the poor wooden table. One punch from him would definitely bash my head in.

I wandered the house and found myself in a dimly lit corridor. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and antique furniture. It was both comforting and intimidating. I was the only thing that smelled bad in the whole house. The beast might be a crazed person, but he sure had a good taste in furniture.

I found two rooms, different from the one that he'd walked into. I'd earlier placed my ears on the door to the room he entered, and everything was quiet. It seemed like he'd completely passed out. Maybe he was drunk. That had to be the only reasonable explanation for his behavior that night, or if he was just crazy.

Mr. Beast must have poor drinking habits. I was glad he did.

"I shouldn't go into this room," I muttered to myself as I held the knob to one of the two empty rooms."Why would a sane person even do this?" My hand tightened around the handle. "Ishtar, don't!"

Lies. I slipped into the room already, pretending to be disappointed in myself. "Oh, bummer!"

It was a good thing I walked into the room anyway. It had a large bouncy bed, tall wardrobes, and a shower. It had everything! My eyes lit up as the thought of a warm shower enticed me. I hadn't washed in days, and the opportunity presented itself to me like this. How do I say no?

I had two options. To walk out and prevent any kind of untimely death or go into the shower with the mindset that I might get caught and killed.

The house was so big anyway, and he probably wouldn't notice, right? I was both physically and emotionally exhausted, and a warm wash felt like it'd solve every single one of my problems. I loosened my hair and let it cascade down my shoulders, rubbing my thumb on my chin to contemplate.

Without hesitation, I stepped and stripped, taking off my worn-out and dusty clothes. The water against my skin felt like a blessing, washing away every grime of weariness and exhaustion from my recent struggle— I reduced it to the lowest rush to lessen my chances of getting caught.

I had initially wanted to take less time, but I gave in to the luxury and pleasure of the moment. If this shower was the last thing I'd experience before I met death, then so be it. I savored every single moment of it.

For a petty thief, I was way too comfortable being a burglar. Was this an upgrade? Well, people with morals wouldn't think that. Still, I had to survive.

I loved the silence of the house and the peace I felt for a while in such a long time. It was so nice that I couldn't bring myself to rush or to remember that this wasn't my house and never would be.

After a while of enjoyment, I stepped out and wrapped myself in one of the fluffy towels by the door. This must be why people were money crazy— it felt so damn good! I picked up my old clothes, and there, another terrible idea was born.

"Fine, I'd just check for one comfy cloth!" And maybe two more that could keep me warm on the street before I find somewhere else to stay. With hesitant hands, I reached for the brass handle of the giant wardrobe and pulled it open. My eyes widened. Inside, the wardrobe revealed a treasure trove of clothings.

For men, of course, except the sweatshirts and pants, which enticed me immediately. I'd never bef happier to be presented with this many clothes. My heart gladdened, and warmth spread in my stomach. I reached into the wardrobe and began to look through the myriad of choices.

I wondered how much they'd cost. I finally settled, picking out a black t-shirt over a pair of sweatpants with adjustable waist, then two other shirts for my unending journey. I'd leave behind my old clothes as payment since I picked those off a stranger's hangers anyway. It was nowhere near sufficient, but maybe It'd make him realize I was a decent thief when he woke up in the morning.

It felt like I was in a movie. Amidst my secret tour, my stomach growled loudly, a reminder of how hungry I was. I patted it down slowly, humming a tune as I sashayed through the corridor to find a kitchen. He certainly had a lot of things to eat.

I could bet on it. All wealthy people should. If they didn't, then they might as well be poor. The kitchen was six times bigger than my old room with Abby, and it glittered with all kinds of equipment inside of it. I'd never seen a sink so fancy. It would have felt like I was the only dusty thing inside the kitchen if I hadn't had the beautiful shower.

I sighed as I walked to the refrigerator in the kitchen. It was as tall as I was, and I hoped it wouldn't make any sounds if I opened it. It was black and sleek, and it screamed luxury— every fucking thing in the house did, except me and my severely torn backpack.

I wondered if he had backpacks that I could exchange, though. "Abby, you need to see this…" I said to myself again, thinking of how much of an interesting conversation my unreasonable escapade would be. I swung open the fridge, and I was met with disappointment.

It was empty. "Just like your owner's sanity, I see. Not a single thought behind those eyes of his," I pouted and closed it back immediately. I guess it was finally time to leave. I was exhausted, and I'd already begun to yawn at intervals. Sleep was a luxury I could barely afford— but after that warm shower, I knew I'd fall asleep if my back ever hit a flat surface.

I blinked the sleep away as I retraced my steps back to the living room and picked up my backpack. I had a heavy wallet, clothes, and food that'd be enough for at least three days. Maybe there was a way I'd survive these rough days. I eyed the window and saw the part of it I'd left ajar.

The door clicked open before I could even begin to walk to the window. I was bewildered, but the fear glued me to place. It wasn't the door to the stranger's room. It was the main living room door, which meant someone was coming in from outside.

I panted, and my heart raced wildly. Before I could think to hide, someone stepped in.

No, let me rephrase that. Someone staggered in, a gentleman who looked way younger than Mr. Beast. He was barely conscious and reeked of alcohol. His eyes lit up when his gaze fell on me, and he flashed me a warm, welcoming smile.

"You must be Mrs Kincaid!" He chimed too loudly, his voice slurring. I was on the verge of going mad. "Nice to meet you. I'm Reiss, and my grandfather has told me so much about your husband." He smiled through his drunkenness.

Miss Kincaid. I easily remembered that was the stranger's surname. This man was obviously not in his right senses, and if I played the cards right, maybe—

Just maybe there was a chance of me passing the night in this mansion. I took his outstretched arms as he fought for balance by leaning against the walls. "Hi, I'm…Caroline," I said, "Kincaid's betrothed."