MIKHAILA
Hours later, I'm still buried in files, typing away like a machine. My desk looks exactly how I like it — organized chaos with purpose. I can feel eyes drifting to me from time to time. Employees passing, whispering.
Arnold's door clicks open, and I glance up. He steps out, jacket off, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms — the look of a man who's been putting in work. His gaze lands on me and, to my surprise, it softens into something close to approval.
"Well, well," he says, sounding genuinely pleased. "Still at it?"
"Someone has to make sure you look good in front of the board tomorrow," I reply smoothly, not looking up from my screen.
He chuckles, clearly entertained. "I like you, Mikhaila. You've got bite."
I give a cheekish smile, finally shutting my computer. "And that would be the second time you've said that."
He lingers a moment, then tilts his head. "Come on, it's late. Let me give you a ride."
I blink at him, amused. "Generous, but no thanks."
"Why not?" His brow arches, playful.
I sling my bag over my shoulder. "Because I don't take rides I don't need. But I appreciate the offer."
His lips twitch into a half-smile. "Independent. I respect that."
We leave together anyway, silence stretching between us in the elevator ride down. When the doors open into the underground parking lot, Arnold heads for his glossy black Mercedes-Benz. I keep walking until I reach mine — a sleek, obsidian BMW i8 Coupe, 2025 model.
The car hums alive at the touch of my key fob, and I slide into the leather interior without a second glance. From the corner of my eye, I catch Arnold pausing, giving a low whistle.
"Impressive," he mutters, almost to himself.
"Thanks," I say, pulling the door shut. "See you tomorrow, boss."
The engine purrs, and I drive off, leaving him standing there with that surprised smile still tugging at his mouth.
---
By the time I pull into my condo, the city lights have bled into the night sky, buzzing like restless thoughts. I kick off my heels, toss my bag on the couch, and pour myself a glass of water before settling in.
My phone vibrates. A video call request from HER.
I swipe to answer, and Lorenzo's mother fills my screen, elegant as ever in a silk blouse, pearls glinting under warm lamplight.
"Darling," she says warmly, eyes scanning me like she's searching for cracks. "How was your first day?"
I give her a measured smile. "Eventful. But I think I made an impression."
Her lips curl knowingly. "i don't doubt it". She gives a curt laugh.
"He was always so amused by you"
"Amused my ass" I whisper under my breath.
"What?"
"Oh It's nothing" I give her a sheepish smile.
She laughs softly, like she's in on a private joke. "Good. Keep me updated. I trust you, Mikhaila."
We keep talking for a while, then we say our goodbyes before the quiet settles again.
Another call comes through. This time, from Elaine — my sister and my best friend rolled into one.
Her face pops up, hair wrapped in a messy bun, eyes bright with mischief. "Spill. How bad was it?"
I flop onto the bed. "Let's just say… Lorenzo looked like he was trying not to commit murder in front of witnesses."
She bursts out laughing. "God, I wish I'd seen that. So, you're really doing this? Working under his nose?"
"Oh, I'm not just working under his nose," I reply with a slow grin. "I'm going to turn his whole world upside down. And the best part? He won't even see it coming."
Ava leans closer to her screen, whispering like it's a secret between us. "Game, set, match, sis."
"Exactly," I whisper back.
...
The shrill knock at my door rattles me awake. My first thought? Elaine. Then I remember I'm in another country.
The second knock is louder, sharper. Definitely not Elaine.
Dragging myself out of bed, I tighten the belt of my robe and pad to the door, half-expecting trouble. When I open it, there he is. Lorenzo. In a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled, a cup carrier balanced in his hand like he has every right to be standing here.
I blink, scowling. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Morning," he says smoothly, like this is the most normal thing in the world. "Thought you could use some coffee."
"Thought wrong." I start to shut the door, but his hand comes up, blocking it with insulting ease.
"Cute," he mutters, pushing gently until I'm the one stepping back. He walks in like he owns the place, setting the cups on my kitchen counter.
"You're trespassing," I snap.
"And you're stalling." He takes in the apartment with a slow sweep of his eyes. His jaw twitches, but then he smirks. "Nice place. Didn't expect less from you."
I roll my eyes and turn toward the bathroom. "Great. Compliment delivered. You can go now."
"Not a chance." He drops into one of my chairs, leaning back like a king on his throne. "Go take your bath. I'll wait."
I freeze in the doorway, spinning back. "You're insane if you think I'm leaving you alone in here."
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with deliberate calm. "What's the worst I could do? Rearrange your throw pillows? Relax, sweetheart. If I wanted to destroy something, you'd know."
God, he's infuriating. I slam the bathroom door shut and turn on the shower, hoping the sound of running water drowns out the way my pulse is sprinting.
When I step out, dressed and composed, he's still there — sipping coffee like he's been here all his life. He gestures toward the cup across from him. "Yours. Two creams, no sugar. Still your poison, right?"
The fact that he even knows that makes my stomach twist, but I ignore it. "I don't need your coffee. Or your ride."
The space between us sharpens, humming with the same electricity that had filled the elevator yesterday. He studies me, eyes dark, jaw tight. Then, with a humorless laugh, he steps back.
"Fine," he says, grabbing his keys. "But don't think for a second I buy your little excuse for being here. You're up to something, Mikhaila — and if you cross me…" His voice drops, low and lethal. "…I'll end this game before you even learn the rules."
The door clicks shut behind him.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, glaring at the untouched cup of coffee sitting on my counter.
The man has issues.