Chapter One
The apartment smelled faintly of bleach and old wood. She kicked her suitcase across the narrow hallway, glaring at the slightly crooked door numbers.
"Why does my life always end up like this?" she muttered.
The moment she swung open the door to what was supposed to be her home, she froze.
He was there.
Leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, hair slightly messy, eyes cold and sharp as knives. He didn't bother to move. He didn't bother to greet her.
"You're… already here?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended.
"This where we'll be living now," he said flatly, barely glancing at her.
Of course. The boy whose popular in school was now… her roommate and her husband. The universe had a sense of humor that bordered on cruel.
She set her bag down with more force than necessary, careful not to make eye contact. He didn't flinch. He didn't even look at her. That only made her irritation flare hotter.
"I don't—look, I just need the room. I'm not here to… bother you."
"Good," he replied, eyes narrowing slightly. "Then stay out of my way."
The words were cold, but something in the way his jaw tightened told her this was not going to be as simple as ignoring each other.
She backed toward the door to the small kitchenette, pretending to busy herself with unpacking. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until she dared a glance at him.
He was watching her.
Not with warmth. Not with amusement. But with something… else. Something sharp. Something that made her stomach twist in a way she didn't like.
Great. This was going to be awful.
And as she reached for a glass, she felt his shadow fall across her hands.
"You spill anything, and it's on you," he muttered.
Her eyes shot up, meeting his for the first time since she'd walked in. There was… nothing. Just that icy calm, the kind that made your pulse quicken even though you hated him.
She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came.
For a moment, the apartment felt smaller. Too small. And neither of them said anything.
She tried to focus on unpacking, but every movement felt like it was under a spotlight. She had unpacked dozens of suitcases before, but this… this was different. He was there, quiet, sharp, and impossibly still, and somehow, that made her clumsiness feel amplified.
A plate slipped from her fingers. It hit the counter with a soft clink. She froze.
"You're hopeless," he muttered.
Her hands flew to her hips. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He didn't even look at her, just turned a page in the book he had on the counter, as if she weren't even in the room.
She opened her mouth to fire back, but a thought stopped her. This wasn't school. She didn't have to defend herself in front of anyone. And honestly… she didn't even want to waste the energy.
Instead, she gritted her teeth and muttered under her breath, "Then maybe stay out of my way, genius."
He looked up that time, one brow raised. For a brief second, his lips twitched, almost like a smirk—but it vanished as quickly as it came. He turned back to his book, the tension in his posture still there, but faintly… something else lingered in the way he watched her.
She rolled her eyes and grabbed a towel, drying her hands with exaggerated care. Every glance at him made her pulse tick faster, and she hated it. Absolutely hated it.
She set down the towel and moved to the small kitchenette sink, hoping for a moment of normalcy. Then she realized: the water faucet was dripping. A small, constant rhythm that would drive anyone insane if left unchecked.
Without thinking, she reached out to twist the tap tighter.
"Careful," he said, stepping closer before she could turn the handle, "you'll flood the floor."
Her eyes snapped to his. He was right there, close enough that she could see the faint shadow under his eyes, the tense line of his jaw. Not angry. Not pleased. Just… watching.
She swallowed. "I… I can handle it," she muttered.
"Clearly." His voice was flat, emotionless, but there was a quiet sharpness to it.
And then… nothing. He stepped back, returned to the counter, opened the book again. But she couldn't shake the feeling that he was still watching her.
She crossed her arms, setting her jaw. "This is going to be… interesting," she muttered, mostly to herself.
And somewhere, across the kitchen, he probably heard it.
Somewhere, across the apartment, a cold male lead was already thinking about how he hated her… and yet couldn't stop noticing her.