Page 136 of Invisible Bars

Ms. Shirley gave a light chuckle, like she was trying to soften the weight of my words. But I didn’t laugh.

I was dead serious.

I had an upcoming appointment with my neurologist that I couldn’t miss. I had about four days’ worth of pills left, and my appointment was still days away. Normally, I only took my meds when stress built up too high—but lately, I’d been taking them every single day, ever since my somewhat peaceful life got snatched away. The only problem was I had no idea how I’d even get to that appointment.

She tilted her head gently, concern softening her expression. “Are you stressed already? This early in the morning? I saw you take a pill.”

“Oh no! That was pain meds… cramps,” I quickly clarified.

Her eyes widened in instant understanding. “Ohhhhh.”

I cleared my throat awkwardly. “D-do you happen to have any… pads?”

That was probably thesilliestquestion to ask a woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties, but desperate times didn’t care about dignity. Besides, asking her felt safer than askinghim.

Ms. Shirley’s chuckled. “Oh no, sweetie, my days of flowing areover.They packed up, left town, and didn’t even send a postcard. And let me tell you—Ido notmiss that monthly demon one bit.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Lucky you.”

“I wouldn’t expect Mr. Kors to have a single pad or tampon in this mansion. But Iamsure if you ask him, he won’t hesitate to go get you some. Men like him don’t blink when it comes to blood,” she leaned over and whispered, “as long as it isn’t theirs.”

We both laughed together.

“But he’s still here,” she nudged. “Go up and talk to him.”

Suddenly, Ms. Shirley’s phone rang, and her eyes lit up with excitement.

“Oh! I gotta take this call! Do you need anything else, sweetie?” she asked in a rushed tone.

I shook my head. “No, ma’am. I’m okay.”

“Okay! If Mr. Kors is looking for me, let him know I stepped out back. I’ll be right back!”

Ms. Shirley gave me a quick smile and slipped out the patio door; phone already pressed to her ear.

Humming to myself, I popped the fridge open again, grabbed a green apple, and started up the stairs towards Imanio’s room to talk to him about some pads and my doctor appointment.

I had never been inside his room. However, I snooped and passed by it—of course, it was locked.

My footsteps were soft, almost hesitant, but my mind was already back in its safe zone—planning how I’d spend the rest of the day avoiding deep thoughts and any more emotional flare-ups. But then the front door creaked open. I paused mid-step, apple in hand, and turned just in time to see a tall man step inside.

He was older, with bright eyes that looked suspiciously familiar—like Imanio’s just… calmer. His hair and goatee were salt and pepper, both neatly groomed, giving off the vibe of either a classy villain or a retired CEO who still lowkey checks the stock market before breakfast. The kicker? He was white—a stark contrast to everyone else I’d seen in the house. Another reason my internal antenna shot straight up.

Because why did a random white man just casually walk through the front door like he paid the bills here?

I couldn’t deny it; he was handsome too—like,handsome-for-a-white-guyhandsome.

We stared at each other for half a second, equally confused.

“Uh… hello?” he said, eyebrows lifted.

My tic had been pacing in the background, itching for its grand entrance, and it chose that exact moment to announce its presence.

“Holy fettuccine fornication!” I shouted, flinching as my head jerked sideways and my hand flew to my ear. “Jesus with a juice box! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean?—”

Imanio hurried down the stairs like he’d heard the commotion from across the house.

I couldn’t even focus on the man who’d walked through the door; my attention was locked on him.