Monday
I don't sleep.
I lie on my couch with my laptop balanced on my knees, scrolling through job listings until the words blur together. Marketing coordinator. Content strategist. Brand assistant. Every role wants five years of experience, three software certifications, and a personality that thrives under pressure.
I close the laptop at three a.m. and stare at the ceiling instead.
Thirty days.
That's all I have before I lose my apartment. Before I lose the only place that still feels like proof I didn't imagine the last four years of my life.
By Monday morning, I've had exactly forty-two minutes of restless sleep and two cups of burnt coffee. I'm tying my hair into a low bun when there's a knock at my door.
No one knocks on a Monday morning.
I freeze.
Another knock—firm, professional.
I open the door a crack.
A man in a navy suit stands in the hallway, holding a leather folder. He's polite in the way people are when they're about to deliver bad news.
"Ms. Carter?"
"Yes?"
"I'm Daniel Reeves. Property management." He offers a practiced smile. "May I come in?"
Every instinct screams no, but I step aside anyway.
He glances around my apartment—small but clean, sunlight spilling across the hardwood floor. I hate that I feel defensive, like I need to justify my existence here.
"As you may have seen," he says, opening the folder, "the building has recently changed ownership."
"I saw," I say tightly. "Thirty days' notice."
He nods. "Unless otherwise notified."
Hope flares, unwanted and fragile. "So… there's a chance?"
"There is." He hesitates, then adds, "The new owner prefers to review tenants personally."
My stomach drops. "Personally?"
"Yes. Financials, lease terms, compliance." He clears his throat. "He's very thorough."
I let out a breath. "When?"
"This morning."
Of course it is.
The lobby smells like lemon polish and old stone. Mrs. Hargreeve from 3B is arguing with the elevator again, and for a moment I consider turning around, pretending none of this is happening.
Then the elevator doors open.
And Elliot Blackwood steps out.
For half a second, my brain refuses to process the image. Same sharp suit. Same controlled posture. Same unreadable expression that now feels painfully familiar.
The folder in his hand is stamped with the building's logo.
Our eyes meet.
Recognition flashes across his face—brief, precise—and then vanishes behind that calm, infuriating mask.
"Ms. Carter," he says.
My heart slams against my ribs. "Mr. Blackwood."
Daniel Reeves looks between us, confused. "You two know each other?"
"Yes," Elliot says smoothly. "We've met."
Met. As if he didn't dismantle my life three days ago.
I cross my arms. "I didn't realize you were in real estate."
"I'm in investments." His gaze flicks over me—not lingering, not leering. Assessing. "This building was undervalued."
Of course it was. Everything is a transaction to him.
"I'll leave you to it," Daniel says quickly, sensing the tension. He retreats toward the office.
Silence stretches between us.
"You own this building," I say finally.
"Yes."
"You fired me," I add.
"Yes."
The blunt agreement steals my breath. "So this is some kind of coincidence?"
"No."
The word lands heavy.
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"It means," he says calmly, "that I don't believe in coincidences."
Anger sparks, sharp and hot. "Then what do you believe in, Mr. Blackwood?"
He studies me for a moment longer than necessary. Something unreadable flickers in his eyes.
"Control," he says.
My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me.
Unknown Number: Please come to the management office. Now.
I look up at Elliot. "Is this part of your thorough review?"
"Yes."
My pulse races. "And if I fail it?"
He steps aside, gesturing toward the office.
"Then you'll vacate the premises within thirty days," he says evenly. "Just like everyone else."
I walk past him on unsteady legs, my shoulder brushing his sleeve. The contact is brief, accidental—
—but electricity shoots straight up my spine.
Behind me, the door closes softly.
And I know, with terrifying certainty, that whatever is about to happen in that office has nothing to do with a lease.
And everything to do with power.