It was well past midnight, and I was curled up in bed, chatting with my friends on a call. The room was dimly lit, calm, and quiet—until it wasn't. A sudden blast of music thundered through the wall from the apartment next door, cutting through the stillness like a slap. My call turned into a shouting match just to be heard, and frustration bubbled inside me like a boiling kettle.
"Are you serious right now?" I muttered under my breath.
Eventually, I gave up and ended the call. The noise made it impossible to think, let alone talk. Fueled by irritation, I threw off my blanket and stormed out of my room. I was determined to give my inconsiderate neighbor a piece of my mind. What I didn't know was that this impulsive decision would mark the start of a lesson I wasn't ready for.
I marched to his door, teeth clenched and knuckles ready. Each knock was louder than the last, but there was no response. The cold night air bit at my skin—regret trickled in as I realized I had left in nothing but a flimsy cotton nightgown.
"Typical," I hissed, rubbing my arms to fight the chill. "Loud enough to disturb the whole block but can't hear a knock."
Just as I was about to turn away in defeat, the door creaked open. And there he stood.
I froze.
Tall. Wet. Bare-chested. My breath caught in my throat. It wasn't just anyone—it was my boss. Alexander Allan. Of all people.
He looked just as shocked to see me. Water dripped from his damp hair onto his toned chest, and suds clung to his skin in places he hadn't had the chance to rinse. His towel hung low on his hips, barely clinging to decency. The steam from his shower mingled with the faint scent of lavender soap and something darker—muskier. My head spun.
My eyes betrayed me. They trailed down the rivulets of water running over his abs and disappearing beneath the towel. I should've looked away, but my body didn't listen. The way he looked at me—eyes lingering, curious—only made it worse.
Then, his voice broke the silence. Calm. Controlled. Polite.
"Emma?"
That single word shattered whatever spell had held me. I stammered something incomprehensible and turned away faster than I thought possible, scurrying back to the safety of my room.
Once inside, I flopped onto the bed and buried my face in a pillow. My cheeks burned. My heart raced. The image of him, dripping wet and absurdly gorgeous, refused to leave my mind.
I had planned to watch a series before bed, but there was no use now. The mental image of Alexander Allan in nothing but a towel had taken permanent residence in my brain. I turned from side to side under the covers, trying to will the thoughts away—but instead, they only grew more vivid, more... inappropriate.
Embarrassingly enough, my imagination betrayed me. It conjured a version of him from my dreams, one where he wasn't just looking at me but touching me, kissing me, doing things that made me sweat even more than I already was. I woke up in the middle of the night flushed, panting, skin damp, and pulse racing.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" I whispered into the dark.
I dragged myself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. A cold shower helped ease the storm inside me, at least temporarily. I didn't remember falling asleep afterward—only the dread that settled in my stomach when I realized I'd be seeing him at the office.
I arrived at work earlier than usual, hoping to avoid him. I had completed most of my tasks at home during my sleepless night, so I busied myself with the leftovers before heading to Miss Bertha's office.
To my surprise, she was already there.
"Good morning, Emma," she said cheerfully. "You're early! Did Mr. Allan send you?"
"No, actually... I came to see you," I said, fidgeting with the hem of my blouse. "I wanted to talk about the modeling proposal."
Her eyes lit up. "Oh? Do sit down."
I hesitated, then nodded. "I've decided to take you up on your offer. If the position's still open, I'll do it."
"Oh, sweetheart!" she beamed, standing to hug me. "That's wonderful news. Don't worry about your work with Mr. Allan. I'll assign someone to assist him while I have you on this project."
"Just… please be patient with me," I said, smiling nervously. "I've never done anything like this before."
"Nonsense! You have the look, the presence. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if you became one of the most sought-after models in the industry," she said with a wink.
"Don't flatter me, Miss Bertha," I laughed, though I couldn't hide the blush creeping up my neck. "I don't even know if I can deliver results."
"You'll be amazing, I know it," she said warmly. "I have an eye for talent."
We were still laughing when chaos broke out downstairs.
A flurry of footsteps, panicked whispers, and a sudden ringing of the office phone turned our smiles into frowns. Bertha answered the call, and the shift in her expression made my stomach drop.
"What is it?" I asked, instantly alert.
She sighed, lips pressed into a thin line. "It's… a bit of a situation. Miss Blossom is downstairs. She brought the police. They're demanding to see you."
A slow exhale left my lips. I had expected this. Just not so soon.
"She really brought the cavalry," I muttered, standing up. "Fine. Time to teach her that I'm not someone you mess with."
Bertha's eyes widened. "Emma, what is going on?"
"Let's enjoy the show, shall we?" I said with a smirk, heading to the elevator. "Come with me."
The moment we stepped into the lobby, all eyes turned to me. Officers lined the waiting area, and staff whispered behind cupped hands.
"Good day, officers," I said evenly. "I'm Emma Stone. I understand you're looking for me?"
One officer stepped forward. "Miss Stone, we've received a complaint from Miss Blossom. She claims you assaulted her. We're here to escort you to the station for questioning."
"With all due respect, officer," I said calmly, "you don't have a warrant. You're also disrupting a professional workplace and instilling fear among innocent employees. I won't be going anywhere."
The commander's expression tightened. "If you resist, we'll use force."
"Careful. If any of you so much as touch me, you'll owe me four million each in compensation. I hope your pensions can cover that," I said, lifting my phone.
"Who do you think you are?" he barked.
I smiled coldly. "I'm Emma Stone. Legal practitioner and assistant to Alexander Allan. And I have proof of what actually happened."
I played the video from the security camera. The footage showed Blossom as the aggressor, not the victim. Gasps echoed through the lobby.
"I've already submitted this to your superiors," I said, voice steady. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
With that, I turned and walked away, chin high. The office was silent behind me.
Let her come at me again. I'd be ready