“So he tricked his way into her flat and brought an entire army of relatives: how Emily finally put her foot down.”
“Emily, I’ve been thinking,” Andrew said casually, spreading honey on his toast like nothing was wrong. “We should go all out this year. Proper celebration.”
“I wanted to talk about that too,” Emily smiled, pouring strong morning coffee into their mugs. “Our first New Year’s together, after all…”
“Brilliant!” Andrew perked up. “I’ve decided—my parents, my sister with her husband, and their two kids are coming. Should be a proper family affair!”
Emily froze, mug halfway to her lips. The air turned thick with tension.
“Wait… what do you mean ‘coming’? We said it’d just be us.”
“Oh, come on,” he waved her off. “Who spends New Year’s without family? They’ve already booked their train tickets, it’s sorted.”
“You invited *six* people into *my* flat without asking me?” Her voice was calm, but sharp as ice.
“Well, we *live* together now… what’s the big deal?”
“Andrew, you’ve been here *two weeks*. *Temporarily*. While your place ‘gets renovated.’ We never even discussed moving in together. And now you think it’s fine to turn my home into a family reunion spot?”
He huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Oh, don’t start with the boundaries thing. Normal people don’t act like this. Family’s family. It’s sacred.”
“Exactly—*sacred*. Which is why you *ask* first. You didn’t even bother. Where, exactly, do you think six people will sleep in a two-bed flat?”
“Well… parents in the lounge, sis and her bloke in your room. We’ll take the fold-out. Already ordered it.”
“You *ordered* it?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Without even checking if I was okay with it?”
“Why drag it out? You’d have said yes anyway.”
Emily stood, her blood boiling. Memories flashed—saving for years to buy this flat, painting walls at midnight, picking every piece of furniture with care. And now this bloke, who she’d known *three months*, was turning her home into a B&B.
“You know what, Andrew? You really do think I’m petty. But I’m just tired of being convenient. This is *my* home. And I won’t let you treat it like a train station.”
“So I’m just a *temporary* guest? Just say it!”
“You *know* you are. We never agreed to live together. You *asked* to stay ‘while yours got refurbished’—except there *is* no refurb. You *let* your flat out to live here rent-free.”
He spun round.
“Where’d you get that idea?”
“Saw the listing online. Your address. Your photos.”
Andrew went quiet, then muttered,
“So what? I wanted to be closer to you… that’s normal.”
“No, Andrew. *Lying* to move in, contributing *nothing*, inviting guests without asking—*that’s* your idea of normal?”
He flushed.
“You just don’t know how to *be* in a relationship. Cold, calculating—”
“And you don’t know how to *be* a man. You won’t even pay your way. Didn’t book your family’s train tickets either—saw your sister’s text.”
He stepped back.
“You’re *reading* my messages? Spying?”
“I read what *pops up* on your phone right in front of me. You don’t hide anything. Just keep lying.”
The doorbell cut them off.
“That’s the delivery. Fold-out bed,” he mumbled.
“Don’t answer,” Emily said flatly. “I’m not accepting it. And Andrew? Time to pack.”
“*What?*”
“You heard me. Get your things. A relationship where one person decides everything—that’s not for me.”
“You’ve lost the plot!” he shouted. “Kicking me out over *nothing*?”
“It’s not nothing. It’s *you*. You’re used to freeloading, thinking the world owes you.”
She yanked his suitcase from the closet and started stuffing his clothes in.
“Leave the keys in the mailbox. Taxi’s on its way.”
“I’m not going!”
“You are. You’ve got no choice. You’re not welcome here.”
He grabbed for the suitcase, but Emily clenched her jaw.
“Get out, Andrew. Before I call the police.”
The doorbell rang again. The courier waited. Emily opened it.
“Afternoon. Delivery for Andrew—”
“We’re refusing it. Send it back.”
“No refunds—”
“*His* problem.”
The door slammed. Andrew stood pale against the wall.
“You’re really ending this? Over a *party*?”
“No. I’m ending what was never real. Thanks for the lesson.”
He left with a final door slam. Half an hour later, Emily checked the mailbox. The keys sat at the bottom. And for the first time in ages—she *breathed*.
