My Vampire Roommate

The hallway was a shadowed limbo, flickering lights buzzing overhead like a bad omen. My two battered suitcases slumped at my feet, as worn out as my pride. I stood there, staring at the chipped paint of a stranger's door, my pulse hammering like it wanted out of my chest. This was it-my last roll of the dice, the biggest gamble I'd ever taken.

Weeks ago, I'd been a fool, lured by Rose's honeyed lies. "Three hundred percent return, Emma," she'd purred, dangling visions of Drake's concert tickets like bait. I'd bitten hard, pouring my rent money into her Ponzi scheme, dreaming of front-row seats and freedom. But schemes collapse, and so did my world. No money. No Drake. Just me, broke and betrayed.

Rose? She'd skipped off to her boyfriend's cushy pad, leaving me to drown in the wreckage. Telling my parents wasn't an option-their "I told you so" would've shattered the independent façade I'd fought for since escaping Crescent University's suffocating hostel. Second year off-campus was supposed to be my triumph, not my ruin.

I'd been crashing with friends in a sardine-can apartment, but that lifeline was fraying. Franklin, Rose's smug boyfriend, had tossed me a bone: "Hit up my buddy Sebastian. He's got space." A guy I'd never met. A total wild card. The idea twisted my gut, but desperation doesn't care about comfort zones.

I'd texted him, fingers trembling over the screen: "Hey, I'm Emma, the girl Frank mentioned." His reply shot back fast, like a loaded gun: "Hey, I'm Sebastian." I'd spilled my sob story-promised I'd be invisible, a ghost in his space. He'd hesitated-something about a trip and not trusting a stranger with his keys. Fair, but I was drowning. I threw everything at him: Franklin's vouch, grocery bribes, my freaking ID if he wanted it. Hours crawled by, each tick of the clock tightening the noose, until my phone buzzed: "Alright, stop by tomorrow."

Now, here I was, outside his door, heart slamming like a war drum. The air was stale, thick with my own nerves, each breath a drag on a phantom cigarette. I knocked-three sharp raps that echoed down the empty hall. Nothing. Silence so heavy it pressed on my chest. What if he's gone? The thought coiled around my brain like a viper. I knocked again, harder, desperation sharpening my edges. Still nothing.

Disappointment crashed over me, icy and brutal. I turned, dragging my suitcases, each thud of their wheels a countdown to nowhere. Then-a click. The doorknob turned. I froze, breath snagged in my throat, heart plummeting to my ribs.

I spun slowly, dread and hope warring inside me. And there he was.

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, a silhouette carved from midnight and danger. Six-two, lightskin, with hazel eyes that pierced through the dimness like twin blades. His jaw was a sculptor's dream, sharp beneath a low-cut fade so crisp it screamed precision. A black singlet hugged his chiseled frame, shorts revealing legs that could've run marathons-or broken hearts. Silver studs glinted in his ears, a necklace shimmered like molten metal, and that leather watch? It whispered wealth, the kind that didn't need to shout.

He was fire. Too hot to be real. And I was a moth, wings already singed.

"Emma, right?" His voice sliced the silence, low and edged, like a secret meant just for me.

I nodded, clumsy, tongue-tied. "Yeah, and you're-"

"Sebastian," he finished, stepping closer. The space between us shrank, his warmth brushing my skin, his scent-woodsy, intoxicating-hitting me like a drug. He bent to grab my bags, eyes locking mine, a smirk tugging his lips. "You smell good," he murmured, voice a velvet blade.

Heat flooded my cheeks. "Thanks," I managed, a shaky smile slipping free.

He straightened, ushering me inside. With a flick of a remote, Drake's Jaded poured into the room, sultry and haunting. A Drake fan too? This was too perfect-too fated. My heart stuttered, caught between fear and something darker, something I couldn't name.

Sebastian's POV: The Knock I Didn't Expect

I was sinking into sleep, the mattress swallowing me whole, when a knock ripped me awake. 6:25 p.m. glowed on the clock. Who the hell knocks at this hour? I groaned, debating if it was worth moving. Then-three more knocks, louder, sharper, like a fist demanding my soul.

Irritation clawed up my spine as I hauled myself out of bed, stomping to the door. I yanked it open, ready to unleash hell-then I saw her.

Emma Ashwood stood there, a storm in human form. No Hollywood bombshell, but damn, she didn't need to be. Long hair framed her face like a masterpiece, brown eyes wide and wild, pulling me in like a riptide. That grey crop top clung to her, showing off a waist I could span with my hands, and those jeans? They hugged curves that could stop traffic.

She was chaos in the flesh, suitcase-laden and desperate, and I knew right then-she was trouble. The kind I couldn't resist.