POV: HER
The penthouse is exactly what I expect.
Glass. Steel. Space that costs more than entire streets. A view that looks down on the city like it's something to be judged rather than lived in.
This is where monsters sleep when they convince themselves they're gods.
I step inside with a single suitcase.
No hesitation. No awe.
Adrian watches me from the kitchen island, arms crossed, expression carved from irritation and restraint. He hasn't taken off his jacket. He hasn't offered a drink. He hasn't told me where anything is.
Good.
Tension tastes better when it's unpolished.
"That's all you brought?" he asks.
"For now."
He scoffs. "You move in like you move into a hotel?"
"I move in like I own the place," I correct, kicking off my heels. "Which I do. Legally. Fifty percent."
Something dark flashes across his face.
I walk past him, fingers brushing the marble counter, cataloging exits, cameras, reflections. Old habits. Survival habits.
"I'll take the east bedroom," I say. "The one with the smaller windows."
"That's not the master."
"I know."
He studies me, suspicious. "Why that one?"
Because it's harder to push someone out of a room they chose.
But I just shrug. "I like sleeping without feeling watched by the skyline."
He doesn't argue.
That's mistake number one.
I turn back to him. "House rules?"
He lifts a brow. "You're the one who likes contracts."
I smile. "Then let's draft a few unwritten ones."
I hold up a finger.
"Rule one: we don't touch each other unless absolutely necessary."
His gaze drops to my lips, my throat, my hands.
"Define necessary."
"Public appearances. Optics. Survival."
Another finger.
"Rule two: no lies that affect business."
"And personal lies?" he asks.
I meet his eyes. "Those are inevitable."
His mouth twitches despite himself.
"Rule three," I finish, "we don't fall in love."
Silence stretches.
Then he laughs low, dangerous, amused.
"That's not a rule," he says. "That's a joke."
I step closer.
"Say that again in six months."
Something shifts between us heat, yes, but also something sharper. Like we're both standing too close to a blade we recognize.
His phone rings.
He answers without breaking eye contact.
"Yes."
Pause.
"No, I'm not joking."
Another pause.
"Yes. Engagement announcement goes live tonight."
I step back, satisfied.
He ends the call and exhales slowly.
"You've turned my life into a circus," he says.
I tilt my head. "You've been the ringmaster for years."
His gaze drags over me again slower this time, less dismissive.
"You're not what I expected."
"Neither are you," I say. "You're… quieter."
He leans in, voice dropping. "That's because I'm thinking about all the ways this ends badly for you."
I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes.
"I hope so," I whisper. "I'd hate for this to be boring."
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then he straightens.
"Dinner," he says. "We're expected to look like a happy couple."
"Already?" I ask.
"Welcome to my world."
I pick up my suitcase and head down the hall.
As I reach the guest room, I feel it his gaze on my back, heavy with calculation and something far less professional.
Good.
Let him watch.
Let him wonder.
Revenge works best when the target starts craving the weapon.