Chapter 76. How Do You Know?

Chapter 76: Chapter 76. How Do You Know?

Chapter 76. How Do You Know?

Rosa Lin’s POV

It didn’t take too long for me to find suitable clothing. I put it on—a unisex pair of casual baggy shorts and an oversized shirt that fit loosely over my frame. Looking down at myself to make sure I was presentable, I neatly folded my damp clothes. I took a deep breath, wondering what to do with them.

I stepped out of the room, walked down the corridor he had led me through earlier, and entered the living room. He was still casually lounging against the sofa, sipping his Coke.

"Where the hell can I dry this?" I asked. "It needs to dry overnight before I head back to the mansion."

He tilted his head back to look at me and smiled. "Oh, just head over to the laundry room. It’s right beside the kitchen." He pointed toward a door set apart from the wide-open entrance to the kitchen. Mounted beside it was a bold silver plate inscribed with the words: Laundry Room.

I rolled my eyes and walked over. Stepping inside, I noticed how untidy it was—well, not entirely untidy. The washing machines were spotless, and the cleaning supplies were neatly lined up on the shelves. The messy part was a massive heap of unwashed clothes piled in one corner of the room. I frowned, rolling my eyes again as I turned to the dryer. I folded my clothes and set them inside as gently as I could, then shut the door and straightened up.

I turned around and walked back to the living room. He was still resting lazily against the sofa with his legs crossed. The TV was on now, and he was casually pointing the remote at the screen like it was any normal evening.

I frowned at him and headed back toward the sofa I had been sitting on earlier. That was when I noticed the dark patch on the fabric where my wet clothes had soaked through. I blinked, shooting a quick glance at him. He wasn’t looking at me, so I quickly grabbed one of the throw pillows and began dabbing frantically at the damp spot.

"You’re going to need more than that if you want to dry it up," he called out from behind me, a chuckling edge to his voice.

I froze, turning around to face him with a guilty expression.

He chuckled again. "Forget about it," he said. "I’m not bothering you about it, so why bother?"

I frowned at him. "Why aren’t you bothering me about it?"

He only smirked, offering no reply. I knew there would be payback for this eventually—he was definitely going to hold it over my head at some point—but I decided not to press it right now. I sat down on a separate cushion, far away from the wet spot, hoping the breeze from the ceiling fan would dry it out.

I sat there staring at him, my fingers anxiously fidgeting as I watched his every move. He kept his focus entirely on the TV screen like a master playing a game, that lingering, annoying smirk still plastered on his face. He was playing with me, even if he wasn’t looking directly at me.

I was completely at a loss for words. My mind was in absolute turmoil, my entire world tipped over the edge and turned upside down. There wasn’t a single clue I could follow, nowhere to even begin trying to uncover what was making my brain feel like it was slowly frying.

I looked back up at him, biting my bottom lip and twisting my fingers together. "So, you’re really not going to answer my question?"

He reached over, picked up his phone, glanced at me briefly, and then looked right back at the TV, casually pressing buttons on the remote.

"What is the question?" He blurted out.

I ground my teeth together. Are you fucking kidding me?

He flicked his eyes toward me, raising an eyebrow with a soft chuckle. "You can’t blame me, I have got things to think about. Important things." he said.

I bit my lip harder. I felt like a puppet on a string, but what choice did I really have? It wasn’t like I could fight him, nor could I just ignore him. He clearly wasn’t willing to give me straightforward answers. But maybe there was another way to approach this. Maybe I could press him differently—act humble, play the compliant servant for a moment, just to see if he would finally break and give in.

I let out a heavy breath, blowing away a stray strand of hair stuck to my face, and looked back at him. Clenching my fists, I tried to sound as humble and calm as possible. "How did you manipulate my friend’s mind?"

He chuckled. "Oh, that question. I can’t believe you’re still on that."

I glared at him.

He shook his head, smacking his lips. "That’s a little absurd, Rosa." He shook his head again. "I’m going to be completely honest with you. I’ve said it before and I will say it again: I do not know what you’re talking about."

He kept his eyes glued to the TV, mindlessly cycling through channels. The fact that he was taking so long to pick something only proved my point—he was doing it on purpose to keep his attention off me, acting casual to pretend I wasn’t even there. All I could do was lean back, head tilted to the side, blinking in exasperation. I watched as his hand reached out, grabbed his Coke, and took another slow sip.

"You know it’s not fair," I said.

"What’s not fair?" he asked without looking over.

"You’re making it sound like I’m stupid," I replied.

He chuckled and shrugged. "Well, I’m sorry. I’m just being honest. It’s exactly what it looks like."

I blinked, shaking my head in utter disbelief. "I really don’t understand you," I mumbled.

He chuckled again. "Well, understanding me was never up for grabs."

I looked up at him, scrunching my eyes as if trying to physically decipher him. "Just what is your game plan?"

He finally stopped clicking the remote and turned to look at me. A sudden, chilling darkness settled in his eyes. His sharp blue gaze glittered unnaturally, as though a hidden bulb had flickered to life behind them—something ethereal shifting inside his head. My eyebrows raised in suspicion. It felt deeply unsettling, but then the smirk on his lips stretched even wider.

"You," he said suddenly.

That single word hit my chest like a physical detonation. I felt a sharp, searing impact reverberate straight through my ribcage and into my heart, sending it pounding wildly. I sat there, dazed, blinking twice.

"What?" I managed to get out. "I don’t understand. How? What do you mean, me?"

He chuckled, keeping his eyebrows raised while shifting his focus back to the TV screen. He set the remote down and folded his arms, still holding the Coke in his right hand as he took another sip.

My eyes darted back and forth in utter confusion.

"You will understand in due time, Rosa," he said smoothly.

I clenched my jaw, closing my eyes tight. He kept saying that, and every single time he did, it only infuriated me more. I was about to snap.

He froze for a second, then slowly turned his head to look at me again. Squinting his eyes, he observed my expression before letting out a quiet chuckle. "I’m guessing by your reaction that you must be having some strange hallucinations lately, right?" he asked, both eyebrows raised in mock curiosity.

My jaw dropped. There he was, shifting effortlessly from nonchalance to gaslighting me, trying to make my experiences sound like pure madness.

I ground my teeth together, shock and anger warring in my chest. "How the hell do you know that?" I demanded, staring at him with deep suspicion. "They are not hallucinations," I added, my voice tight. "They’re real. I feel everything like I’m actually there. It’s vivid. I feel every emotion. I feel every pain. I feel everything as if it’s physically happening to me."

He raised an eyebrow, entirely unfazed. "Well, it could still be hallucinations," he said smoothly. "You feel everything, right? You feel like it’s physical, you feel the emotions and all... but hasn’t it occurred to you that it’s just all in your head?"

I pressed my lips together and sank heavily back against the sofa cushions. "I’m not in the mood to play games with you," I snapped.

He chuckled. "Do I look like I’m joking?"

When I looked at him, his smile had grown wider. His shoulders began to jerk in a mocking, silent laugh, like he was struggling to control his amusement at my expense.

"Just what the hell is so funny about all this?" I muttered under my breath.

He shook his head, slowly recovering from his bout of laughter. He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees, and met my gaze. "I’m afraid, Rosa, if you’re really looking for answers, I’m not the right person to ask."

I leaned in closer, glaring at him intensely. "So you’re admitting that there’s something clearly supernatural playing out here, right?"

He blinked at me, then shook his head with a dismissive frown. "Nope." He relaxed back into the sofa cushions. "I still think you are losing it."

My mind went blank. Yeah, I don’t think I can deal with this anymore, I thought to myself. I slumped back into the sofa with a sharp huff of pure annoyance, folding my arms and turning my head away. "Just forget about it," I muttered, completely ignoring him. "I’m so done with you."

I decided to pretend he didn’t exist, shutting him out entirely. I heard him softly chuckle behind me, but I didn’t even bother turning around. I was far past exasperation. Exasperated didn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling—I was a ticking time bomb, wanting to scream, wanting to rip my hair out. Frustration didn’t even scratch the surface.

"If you’re looking for answers," his deep voice rumbled across the quiet room, "only Don can explain things to you. So you should ask him."

I scoffed instantly. "Why can’t you explain it yourself?" I shot back without looking at him.

He chuckled. "What? Are you scared to ask your lover?"

That word hit me like a blade straight to the skull. I flinched, feeling heat suddenly flood my face. The intense, flushing pulse of blood rushing to my cheeks was overwhelming. In an instant, I whipped my head around to glare at him.

He was smirking directly at me.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, well, well. Your face says it all. Look at you, flushing so hard just because I mentioned your lover."

I glared at him, giving him a sharp, warning look. "He is not my lover."

He burst into laughter, the sound ringing loudly through the room. He shook his head as if watching something utterly unbelievable. "I really do not understand you," he said. "You keep saying that, but you know it’s inevitable. He knows it too."

I scoffed, frowning deeply at him.

Then he leaned forward a second time, resting his arms on his knees, his smirk sharpening as he locked eyes with me. "And it didn’t look like he wasn’t your lover a moment ago when he was in your bed," he said.

My eyes widened in sheer shock.

"How the hell do you know that?"