Anton's POV
Limits were supposed to protect people like me. I grew up learning them: never stay too long, never ask for too much, never believe something was yours to keep. Limits were safety nets disguised as cages.
But five days with Krystel had turned me reckless.
I woke to the sound of her laughter on the balcony, her figure outlined by the orange rim of sunrise. She sat cross-legged on the tiled floor, sketchpad balanced on her lap, coffee steaming beside her like an unsupervised candle. Her pen scratched furiously, though her lines made little sense—rooftops bent awkwardly, trees loomed too wide.
Still, she looked content.
"You're going to spill that coffee one of these mornings," I said from the doorway, my voice still gravelled by sleep.
She glanced at me, her grin softening into something more dangerous. "And you're going to miss it every time because you sleep in too much."
I stepped out, bare feet brushing against the cool tiles. The morning wind tangled strands of her hair across her cheek. I had to fight the urge to brush them back.
Five days. Only five. Yet everything in me was already leaning toward her.
The pact had been a game at first. A weeklong escape, a performance of love without consequence. But she was no longer a stranger filling an empty slot in my life. She was a disruption, a sweet sabotage to my carefully walled-off existence.
And in two days, it was supposed to end.
"Krystel," I said quietly.
"Mmm?" She didn't look up.
"I was thinking... maybe we don't have to stop on the seventh day."
Her pen froze.
The balcony suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. She lifted her gaze slowly, her expression unreadable.
"What do you mean?"
I swallowed. "I mean—this doesn't feel like just some game anymore. Not to me. I don't want it to be just seven days."
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, she turned back to her sketchpad, scribbling a few distracted lines that only deepened the awkward silence between us.
When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but too steady. "That wasn't the deal, Anton."
Krystel's POV
He looked at me like he could see past everything—the smile I wore, the light tone I forced, even the easy rhythm I tried to maintain. His eyes demanded more than I could give.
The seventh day was supposed to be my protection.
I had promised myself: one week, and then I'd walk away before anyone got hurt. Before he could find out. Before my time ran out.
But Anton was chipping away at that promise. Every glance, every gesture, every quiet word made it harder to remember why I had drawn those lines in the first place.
"I don't want it to end, Krystel," he said again, firmer this time, like he thought repetition could change the world. "Tell me you feel nothing, and I'll let it go. But if you feel even a fraction of what I feel—then don't pretend seven days is enough."
I closed my eyes briefly, steadying myself.
If only he knew how much I wanted to give in. How many times I'd caught myself imagining what came after the seventh day.
But I couldn't. Not with what waited for me. Not with Celestine's shadow lurking closer with each passing moment.
"I can't," I whispered.
He stepped forward, frustration flickering in his voice. "Why not? What are you so afraid of?"
Everything. Losing myself. Losing him. The truth devouring what we had.
But I couldn't tell him that. Not yet.
Anton's POV
Her refusal sliced sharper than I expected.
"I can't."
Two words, but they landed like a verdict.
I reached out, catching her wrist before she could walk away. "Krystel, look at me."
Her eyes lifted, glassy but guarded.
"You keep pulling back whenever we get close," I said. "You laugh with me, you share pieces of yourself—but the moment it feels real, you retreat. Why? What are you hiding from me?"
Her lips trembled. For a heartbeat, I thought she might answer.
"I... I want to tell you, Anton," she whispered. "I really do. But if I say it, everything will change."
"Then let it change," I pressed. "Whatever it is, I'd rather know than keep pretending."
She shook her head violently, pulling her hand from mine. "No. You don't understand. You think you want the truth, but you don't."
"Try me."
Her shoulders sagged under a weight I couldn't see. Her breath came shallow, uneven. I waited, heart hammering, desperate for the wall between us to finally crack.
But instead, she bit her lip, turned away, and said nothing.
Krystel's POV
The truth burned at the back of my throat, begging to be released.
I almost said it. Almost told him the secret that haunted every step I took. But the image of Celestine's warning—her cold voice reminding me what was at stake—silenced me.
If Anton knew, he wouldn't just leave. He'd be destroyed.
And I couldn't do that to him.
"Anton, please," I murmured, hugging my arms to myself. "Don't push this."
His jaw tightened. Anger, hurt, something raw flickered across his face. "Five days, Krystel. Five days and you still won't trust me. What does that say about us?"
"It says we should stop before we ruin each other."
The words tasted like poison, but I forced them out. It was the only way to protect him. To protect both of us.
But even as I said it, I knew—I was already ruined.
Anton's POV
The argument ended not with resolution, but with silence.
She left the balcony, retreating into the apartment, leaving me alone with the morning wind and the sketchpad she had abandoned. I glanced down at it. The lines were jagged, frantic, almost desperate.
It wasn't a drawing. It was a confession disguised as chaos.
Something was breaking inside her. And I didn't know how to fix it.
But I knew one thing: I wasn't letting her go. Not after this. Not after everything we had shared.
She could run, but I would find her truth.
Shadow Scene – Celestine
From across the street, hidden in the shadow of a withering acacia tree, Celestine Pontanares watched the balcony with unblinking eyes.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile as she saw Krystel retreat inside, leaving Anton staring after her.
"Good girl," Celestine whispered. "Keep your secret. He mustn't know. Not yet."
The wind tugged at her dark coat, but she didn't move. She simply lingered, patient as a predator, watching the threads tighten between the two lovers-to-be.
When the seventh day came, everything would unravel.
And Celestine would be there to collect the pieces.
Krystel's POV
That night, sleep refused to come.
Anton lay on the couch, refusing my offer to share the bed after our fight. The distance between us was unbearable, though only a few feet. I turned restlessly under the blanket, listening to the faint hum of the city outside.
I hated myself for hurting him. I hated the wall I had built.
But more than anything, I hated the ticking clock.
Two days left. Two days before everything ended.
And yet—when I peeked over at him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, I felt an ache so deep it threatened to swallow me whole.
I wanted to reach across the space. I wanted to touch him, to whisper that I was his, that I didn't want this to end either.
But all I did was close my eyes and pray he never learned the truth that chained me to silence.
Anton's POV
I lay awake long after Krystel's breathing steadied, though I doubted she was truly asleep.
She thought she could push me away with silence. That I'd accept her half-truths and walk away quietly when the seventh day arrived.
But she underestimated me.
I wasn't walking away.
Whatever secret she carried, whatever shadow haunted her—5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6KyNXCn4NU
I would tear it open. I would face it.
Because I had already decided: Krystel Uson was not a seven-day affair. She was mine.
And I wasn't about to let her go.
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5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYVPRNWvGGa
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