Apocalypse Trade Monopoly
Chapter 120: – Your Room, For Now

Chapter 120: – Your Room, For Now

Lucas didn’t say much as they walked.

The manor was quieter now. Not in sound—but in mood. Like the walls had absorbed the day and decided to keep the volume low. The lights dimmed just slightly behind them, sensors mapping each step with soft, silent precision.

They moved past the tactical wing, through an older hallway Ava hadn’t noticed before—lined with framed photographs. Some faded. Some cracked. All untouched.

Lucas didn’t look at them.

He walked ahead, one hand in his coat pocket, the other brushing faintly along the edge of the stone railing. His gait wasn’t rushed. But it wasn’t relaxed either.

Ava followed without asking.

After everything—the sync, the kill order, the kitchen-quiet that followed—this felt like the part where something was supposed to end. Or begin. Or both.

They stopped outside a wide double door, clean metal reinforced with brushed wood. No sensors. No panel.

Lucas keyed it manually, drawing an old brass key from his pocket.

Old-fashioned. Intentional.

The lock clicked once, and the doors opened inward on a quiet, dark room.

Ava stepped in first.

Then paused.

"...You’re kidding."

The space was bigger than any other room she’d seen in the manor.

Midnight walls with matte metal trim. Shelves lined with worn books. A small glass desk under the window with a custom sync port embedded into the surface. Clean lines everywhere, but nothing cold.

The bed sat at the center.

Black frame. Grey sheets. Thick comforter. Like someone built it for sleep and storming ideas at the same time.

The lighting responded to her bracer. Glowed soft. No fanfare.

Lucas leaned on the doorframe, arms folded.

"You’ll be using this room alone for a while."

Ava turned. "What?"

"I’m leaving with William. We’ve got errands."

She narrowed her eyes. "Define errands."

Lucas gave a vague shrug. "Recon. Logistics. Possibly annoying field conversations. The usual."

"You’re dodging specifics."

"I’m respecting your intelligence."

Ava crossed her arms. "You’re leaving."

"Temporarily."

"Uh-huh."

Lucas stepped into the room now. His coat rustled faintly as he moved, hands slipping into his pockets again.

"The routes are already programmed. Security syncs will follow your bracer commands. You’ve got full access to staff logs, AI controls, drop schedules, and the comms net."

He stopped near the bed, gesturing lightly.

"Daily decisions are yours."

Ava blinked.

"You’re making me administrator?"

"Technically, I already did."

"You didn’t ask."

"I didn’t think I needed to."

She didn’t say anything for a second.

Then: "You trust me that much?"

Lucas smiled faintly. "I trust your results."

She snorted. "Romantic."

"Isn’t it?"

He turned to face her fully now.

There was something different in his expression.

Not softer.

Just... stripped down.

No smirk. No deflection. Just Lucas Bai, standing in the bedroom they were supposed to share—handing her a set of invisible keys.

"I need you to hold the line," he said. "If something goes wrong on the outside... this place needs to stay intact. This is more than a house. It’s an asset. A refuge. A vault."

Ava looked at the desk, the bed, the window.

Then back at him.

"You think it’s going to go wrong."

"I think it usually does."

A long beat passed.

Then Ava sighed. "Fine. I’ll run your fortress."

"Good."

"I’m sleeping on the left side."

Lucas smirked. "Territorial already?"

"Better than pretending you’ll be back in two days."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "You think I’m being reckless?"

"I think you’re being careful," she said. "Which, for you, means dangerous."

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he stepped past her and reached into the side drawer of the desk. Pulled out a black wristband—flat, tech-threaded, the kind used for emergency sync resets.

He handed it to her.

"What’s this?"

Lucas met her eyes. "Just in case."

Ava stared at the band.

Then at him.

"I’ll take care of it," she said, voice low.

He nodded. "I know."

She watched as he walked back to the door, coat already shifting over his shoulder like a cloak.

He paused there—just a second.

Then said, without turning around—

"Don’t redecorate too much."

Ava lifted the wristband slightly. "Only if you die."

Lucas’s grin flicked over his shoulder, quick and sharp.

"Then paint it neon."

And Ava stood alone in the room sorting the mess in her head. The conversation she just had was too confusing. It never happen before. Worst was that Lucas was gone.

She exhaled slowly, the sound sharp in the stillness.

"Sure," she muttered to herself, "just errands. Definitely not prepping to fight the ghost of your family trauma or flirt with death on your way back."

Ava dragged a hand through her hair, kicked off her boots, and dropped onto the edge of the bed like she’d just finished a shift she didn’t sign up for.

"God, this is madness."

The manor felt too big all of a sudden.

Too much glass, too many rooms, too many security nodes pinging her system like she was a queen, a general, and an AI babysitter all at once.

She slumped back onto the mattress.

The bed didn’t creak. Of course it didn’t. High-tier smart-frame. Perfect support. No soul.

"You didn’t even tell me how long you’d be gone," she mumbled. "Typical."

The room was still.

But her system buzzed once—a soft proximity ping. Not a warning. Just a quiet nudge.

Curious, Ava sat up and glanced at the far corner.

Another door.

Smaller. Tucked to the right of the desk. No seal. Just a regular handle.

She stood, crossed the floor, and opened it.

The air inside smelled faintly like aged paper and dust-filtered light.

The walls were matte gray, a little scuffed in places. Shelves ran along the left-hand wall—books stacked unevenly, old tech manuals with creased spines, market histories, programming guides, physics reference tabs flagged with tiny sticky notes.

Ava blinked.

On the right wall: trophies. Not the kind for sports—though a few fencing medals gleamed quietly in the corner—but trophies for things like junior economics strategy, virtual asset tournaments, early trader competitions.

Most of them were engraved with Lucas Bai followed by a series of level designations and sponsor affiliations.

The desk was cluttered but clean. Sync reader. Locked drives. A photo wedged into the corner of the frame.

Ava picked it up.

It was old. Not digital.

Two figures stood under a tree—Lucas’s parents.

His mother smiling wide, wind in her hair, hand on his father’s shoulder like she was always leading him somewhere better. His father looked... proud. Not smiling, but softer in the eyes.

Ava stared for a moment.

Then her gaze dropped to the side table.

That’s when she saw it.

There, in a frame half-tucked behind a book: a younger Lucas—maybe sixteen—arm slung lazily around a girl with sharp cheekbones, dyed hair, and a smirk like she’d just said something she knew would get her in trouble.

Ava didn’t recognize the photo, but she didn’t need to.

Angle.

The girl who betrayed him hard but there had been a moment she meant alot to him. Ava just stood there, looking.

The trophies. The books. The photos.

Pieces of a person she knew by code, strategy, appetite, and smirks. This was a room full of before and the lost.

Ava stepped back, closed the door gently behind her.

Then turned and walked back to the bedroom—her bedroom, for now.

Ava stood in the center of the room for a moment, unmoving.

Then she reached up, unhooking her jacket in one smooth motion. Dust from days of traveling still clung to the sleeves. A thread near the wrist was starting to fray. She tossed it across the chair near the corner.

Her shirt followed—dried sweat, old blood near the seam, the faint smell of wiring oil and metal fatigue. Gone. The pants hit the floor next, folded automatically out of habit. Utility belt unclipped. Everything placed precisely. She kept her gear tidy, even when her head wasn’t.

The silence held.

The closet was integrated into the far wall—flush panel, fingertip sensor. She stepped in, half expecting the space to be empty.

It wasn’t.

Lucas had taste. She already knew that.

But this confirmed it.

Soft cotton knits. Coated mesh. Smart-fiber underlayers woven into everything from undershirts to outerwear. All in muted shades—ash grey, storm blue, matte black. The kind of wardrobe that whispered money and functionality in the same breath.

Ava ran her hand across the hanger rack until she found something familiar.

Stacks of hoodie. Same cut. Same weight. Same softness. Same material as the ones Lucas always wore.

She pulled it on.

It was warm.

It smelled like clean air and the kind of cologne someone wore without meaning to impress—just part of their skin at this point.

She found a pair of fitted black pants on the lower rack, pulled those on too, barefoot against the heated flooring. The soles were already adjusting to her ID tag, mapping her foot pressure silently.

Ava caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she passed.

She looked... fine.

Maybe tired. Maybe like someone who’d just taken command of a fortress with too many ghosts and not enough walls between them.

She didn’t bother brushing her hair.

Didn’t need to.

The bed was calling.

She moved back to it without thinking, body already pulling toward the center. The sheets were smooth. The temperature was perfect. Not a single crease on the pillows.

She crawled in, hoodie sleeves pulled over her fingers.

No alarm set. No food ordered. The AI gave a soft status ping—kitchen on standby, security stable, comms dormant.

Good enough.

She curled onto her side, pressing her cheek into the nearest pillow.

Food could wait.

The world could wait.