The morning sun seeped through the slits in the blinds, casting faint stripes of light across the bedroom floor. He stretched beneath the smooth covers, groaning slightly, his body tense from a night of restless tossing. The memory of her presence in his room returned with an irritating clarity. He turned his head.
She was still there.
Curled on the narrow couch by the window, one arm under her head, the other draped across her stomach, she looked far too peaceful for someone so annoyingly persistent. Her ash-brunette hair was slightly mussed, a strand tickling her cheek with every breath she took. He watched her for a moment longer than necessary before mentally scolding himself. This was ridiculous. She wasn't special. She was just another interruption in his already suffocating life.
With a grunt, he swung his legs off the bed and padded to the bathroom. When he returned freshly showered, she was sitting up, rubbing her neck with a wince.
"That couch is going to kill me," she muttered.
"Good," he said flatly, tugging a T-shirt over his head. "Maybe you'll finally leave."
She looked up at him, blue eyes clear despite the sleep in them. "I'm not going anywhere. You can thank your parents for that."
He rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the door. "Don't follow me."
"I have to."
He didn't respond. He was already halfway down the staircase.
---
Breakfast was a quiet affair. Too quiet.
She sat across from him at the long marble table, sipping tea like she owned the place. He scrolled through emails on his phone, deliberately ignoring her. The silence stretched thin until she broke it.
"Your schedule," she said, placing a sleek black notebook on the table between them. "You have a meeting at ten with the ShinTech board, then a PR shoot at two."
He didn't look up. "You're keeping track now?"
"It's my job."
"And I'm supposed to pretend I care about your little clipboard routine?"
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You don't have to care. You just have to show up."
He put down the phone. "And what if I don't?"
"Then I write a report. Your parents read it. And you get another lecture. Or worse."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "So that's how it is. My maid is also my warden."
"Don't forget bodyguard. I do know how to fight."
That made him laugh—a low, amused sound. "Right. I'll believe it when I see it."
---
Later that day, he returned from a brief conference call to find her tidying up his home office. She was organizing files on the desk, realigning pens, and even adjusting the angle of his desk lamp. The sight of it—of her in his space—sparked something sharp and instant in his chest.
"What do you think you're doing?"
She barely looked at him. "Fixing your chaos."
He strode in, shutting the door behind him with a firm click. "This isn't part of your job. Stay out of my things."
"If I'm going to monitor you properly, I need access to everything that affects your schedule. This mess—"
"—Is mine," he cut in sharply. "Not yours."
She stood up to full height, unflinching. "I'm not here to be comfortable. I'm here to make sure you don't embarrass your family again."
They were close now. Too close.
His grey eyes bored into hers, smoldering with annoyance—and something else. "You hate being near me, yet you hover like a shadow."
"I'm not here for you," she replied coldly. "I'm here because they don't trust you."
He leaned in a little. "Smart of them."
For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed. The tension pulsed between them like heat off a flame.
Then she turned, brushing past him to leave.
---
That night, the awkwardness was tangible.
She took her place on the couch again without a word. He stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the city lights flicker through the glass. Minutes passed.
"Do you want a pillow or something?" he asked finally, the sarcasm in his voice masking the strange tightness in his chest.
"No, I'm fine."
More silence.
He eventually crawled into bed, sighing loudly. But sleep didn't come easily. He could hear her shifting every few minutes, trying to find a more comfortable position. He imagined her frustrated expression in the dark and found himself smiling.
"She's trouble," he murmured into the pillow.
What he didn't say was the part that lingered.
And I kind of like it.