Housewife Gone Wild

Chapter 221

He offered a slightly sheepish grin. “Call it a borderline compulsion. That floor was... genuinely distressing to my

sensibilities.

“Then | entrust it to your capable hands,” | conceded, rising and stepping out to grant him space.

Ryan worked with surprising efficiency, swiftly restoring the floor’s shine and even giving my desk a thorough

polish.

“What are your plans for getting home?” | inquired as he finished.

“Undecided. Likely brave the rush-hour bus gauntlet,” he replied with a wry twist of his lips.

“Ride back with me, then,” | offered.

Ryan's face brightened perceptibly. “Thanks, Ms. Murphy. That's incredibly kind.”

At seven, | navigated the evening traffic towards home, Ryan a quiet presence in the passenger seat.

A glance in the rearview mirror unexpectedly snagged on his reflection. His gaze held mine, and in that dim light,

| saw a sudden, unfamiliar depth-a complexity absent in his usual sunlit clarity.

Seeking to diffuse the sudden charge, | ventured lightly, “Someone with your looks must surely have a

girlfriend?”

“No,” Ryan answered simply. “Family rules are strict. Dating’s off the table.”

A soft, surprised laugh escaped me. “The model of obedient kid, then?”

“Hardly,” he countered, a low undercurrent in his voice. “If anything, | lean towards rebellion.”

| managed a dry chuckle. “That face must buy considerable leeway, | imagine. A touch of rebellion probably

doesn’t diminish their affection much.”

“Not really,” Ryan said, a shadow momentarily darkening his features. “Aside from my grandfather, there's not

much genuine care directed my way.”

“And your parents?” The question escaped before | could cage it, and | instantly regretted it, sensing I'd

stumbled onto painful ground.

“My father died when | was seven,” Ryan said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “My mother... work

consumes her. No tfor me. It’s always been just Grandfather and me. We're each other’s anchor.”

“Ryan, I'm so sorry,” | murmured, the words feeling inadequate as | mentally kicked myself for probing the

wound.

“It's alright,” he said, the brief vulnerability shuttering behind a mask of resolute calm. “I'll be graduating soon. |

can hold my own in whatever comes next.”

“Your grandfather must be getting on in years,” | said gently. “Make sure you earn enough to look after him

properly.”

“Yeah, I will,” he affirmed.

As he spoke, my eyes flicked back to the mirror, meeting his gaze again. The depth | saw-that unsettling

amalgam of solitude and a shadowed weight- felt jarringly incongruous with his youth. A shiver traced my spine.

The invisible burdens children carry when families fracture.

The thought instantly summoned an image of Yvonne. Post-divorce, she too would inevitably fade from my daily

life. A knot of g tightened in my chest.

Iresignation

We soon reached the complex’s underground garage. As | popped the trunk to retrieve my things, Ryan lingered

nearby, his gaze resting on me.

Suddenly, something small, dark, and unnervingly quick skittered over my foot, accompanied by high-pitched,

frantic squeaks. In that instant, primal fear shot through me-every hair stood on end-and pure instinct screamed

to find higher ground.

Chapter 221

Ryan froze momentarily, stunned by my sudden, undignified scramble onto him. Instinctively, his anshot out,

wrapping rakursy controrclear off the ground.

Two panicked mice squealed, darting erratically along the wall. The cramped garage offered no easy exit,

trapping them lit a frantie, channe tank

Lifelong. paralyzing terror of rodents seized me. Trembling violently, | clung to Ryan with desperate, octopus like

fanacity

A low chuckle vibrated in Ryan's chest. With a swift, almost nonchalant nudge of his foot, he sent one panicked

mouse skittering further away 15 Murphy,” he said, clear amusement warming his voice, “I confess, | didn’t

picture you being frightened of mice”

Silence descended, broken only by my ragged breathing. Slowly, my hammering heart began to steady. The

mortifying reality crashed over| was clamped onto Ryan like sterrified marsupial.

Heat flooded my cheeks. “My apologies for that spectacle,” | stammered, hastily disentangling myself,

smoothing my hair, and snatching my bags before fleeing towards the elevator.

Ryan followed at a discreet distance, a trace of lingering amusement on his lips. “Seems the complex pest

control is somewhat lacking. ‘ register complaint with management.”

“Yes, thank you,” 1 mumbled, keeping my gaze firmly fixed ahead.

Around hine-thirty, a notification buzzed: a message in the residents’ group chat from the property manager. The

culprit had been identified: an elderly resident covertly keeping chickens in her garage, the unsanitary conditions

predictably attracting rodents. She'd been issued an immediate cease and desist order.

Reading the update, my suspicion solidified: Ryan had clearly followed through on his promise to management.

Later that evening, around nine, my phone buzzed with another message from Yvonne: [Mom, if | delete the

photos from my phone, will they vanish from yours too?]

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