We finally arrive at the 17th floor and step out into the hallway. I'm starting to think this place is a hotel. It's so quiet and well-kept. The carpets are deep charcoal and the walls are perfectly painted white, with no skirting boards.

"This is a little creepy," I joke as we walk through the hallway, the numbers on the doorways slowly rising.

"Sorry about that," he chuckles hesitantly. "I actually don't know if you're going to like this, but I thought I'd give it a try."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," I assure him. I like to think I'm mostly open to trying new things. I have no idea what we could be doing in a hotel room, though. He doesn't seem like the type to lure me somewhere to attack me, but who knows. He might've been putting up a front this whole time.

"We're here," he stops us outside room number 1739. Our hands finally separate, allowing Diego to unlock the door with his phone. He opens the door and ushers me inside.

It's not a hotel room. It's far too big. It must be an apartment. I've stepped into a large open space, with a lounge room on the left and a kitchen on the right — the biggest kitchen I've ever seen in my life. It's almost bigger than my current apartment. It's sleek and modern, with all the latest appliances installed. The kitchen island is laid out like a buffet, with all kinds of fruits and vegetables displayed in small bowls. There's a dining table, too, splayed out horizontally between the kitchen and lounge room. The table has been set and decorated with flowers and candles.

"What is this?" I turn to Diego. "Are we eating here?"

"We are," he smiles. "You said you hadn't cooked in a while, so I thought we could do it together. I can't cook to save my life, but I've stocked up on everything we could possibly need and gotten a bunch of cookbooks so we can find a nice recipe and-."

"I thought you said you didn't live here," I cut him off. Something just isn't adding up. This place is beautiful, but I expected him to live in a penthouse. There's some furniture here, but it's too neat. There are no personal items anywhere.

"I don't," he says, his expression filled with concern. But he's not the only one on edge.

"Then who does?"

"You do."

I scoff loudly. I knew it. I fucking knew it. He's been acting on edge this whole time. I should've taken his jokes seriously. If he can give me 10k without even blinking, why wouldn't he do this?

"You're kidding me, right?" I raise my brows in frustration. "You got me a fucking apartment?"

"Look..." he begins, but I'm not having any of it.

"This has to be a joke."

"I know it's a lot but I-."

"A lot?" I scoff. "It's more than a lot. It's ridiculous! Why the hell would you do something like this?"

"I thought it would help you — give you some more space to-."

"I don't need any help! I'm doing just fine! My bills are paid, there's food on the table, and the girls are happy and healthy."

"I didn't mean it that way. You're doing great. I just thought you deserved a break."

"And who are you to decide that?" I complain. "You don't know anything about me or my family!"

"I know you work your ass off to provide for the girls and I know you deserve better than to sleep on a couch."

"My sleeping arrangements are just fine, thank you very much!"

"You don't even have a functioning bathroom right now. You can't let the kids into the kitchen because the place is a death trap!"

"So what?" I call. "That's my problem. Not yours!"

"I just want to help you, Amelia. If you'd just-."

"I don't want your help! How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"You don't have to accept it, but I just wanted to give you something that'll take the edge off for you, so you can spend more time with the girls or at least live somewhere safer."

"And how do you expect that to work, huh? How am I going to pay the bills for this place in the long run? Everything is more expensive in the city and I can already barely afford the gas bill!"

"You won't have to pay anything," he says. "Gas, electricity, WiFi... all the bills are included in the rent and it's taken care of."

"Taken care of?" I shake my head. "You mean you're paying for me?"

"Well, my family technically owns this building, so it won't actually cost anything."

"Oh, great. So you're not just covering my bills, I'll also be living on your property. Doesn't that sound like the start of a true-crime documentary?"

"Amelia-," he takes a step forward, clearly growing more and more hurt at my response, but I'm not getting any less annoyed.

"What the hell is in this for you?" I glare at him. "What is the point of all this? What are you playing at?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to do something nice for you."

"And what if this doesn't work out between us?" I question. "You'll kick me out and leave me and the girls homeless?"

"No. What the fuck? I would never do that."

"How am I supposed to believe that?"

"I don't know. We can sign a contract if you want."

"So you can sneak some clause in there and trap me into a legal disaster? I don't think so."

"Jesus Christ, Amelia," he groans. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Do you seriously think I'd do that shit to you?"

"Yes! Absolutely! Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I'm not a fucking psychopath!" he calls. "Fucking hell. Why would you even think that?!"

"Any woman would!"

"I'm trying to be nice! I'm trying to help you out so you don't have to struggle anymore!"

"But why would you do that? What's in it for you?"

"I just wanted to make you happy!"

"Why? Why bother? What are you getting out of this?"

"You!" he blurts, motioning over to me. "I like you and I want you to like me back!"

"Oh, so you're trying to guilt-trip me?"

"No! Jesus fucking Christ!" he turns around in frustration, letting our anger angry breath. I don't regret what I said, though. I don't trust this situation at all. I don't know what to think but none of this is sitting well with me. I'm on high alert. My body had jumped into defensive mode and I'm doing everything I can to get out of it.

"Just because you like looking after people, doesn't mean you have to look after me," I state. He turns back around, meeting my eyes instantly. They stay glued together for too long. There's realisation in his, as if he's finally reached a conclusion I'm yet to make.

"Just because you've always had to look after people, doesn't mean you don't deserve to be taken care of, too."

Oh, God.

"I'm calling an Uber," I pull my phone out of my pocket.

"I'll do it," he grabs his own. "You shouldn't have to pay."

"So you can spend more money on me? I don't think so."

"Fine, then let me drive you home."

"I'm good, thanks," I snicker.

"An Uber's going to cost you almost $100 at this hour."

"Alright then," I put my phone away. "Drive me home."