Kael's POV
The office smelled like coffee and ink. Not the warm kind of coffee smell that came from a fresh cup. No, this was the stale kind. The kind that settled into the walls after too many early mornings and late nights. I didn't like it. But then again, I didn't like much.
The elevator doors had barely opened before my assistant started talking. She was already matching my pace, her heels clicking beside me like an impatient metronome.
"We've got a board meeting at eleven," she said, flipping through her tablet. "Then a Zoom call with the Singapore branch, then—"
"I'm not interested," I muttered, already regretting not taking the stairs.
She didn't hear me. Or she chose not to. Probably the latter.
"Then there's the licensing contract to review. Legal flagged a clause about—"
I stopped walking. She nearly bumped into me.
"I said," I turned and looked at her, my voice calm but final, "leave it. I'll sort it."
She blinked up at me like I'd just short-circuited her brain. "But sir, the files—"
"Go," I said, pointing behind her.
She pursed her lips and walked off, muttering something about schedules. I didn't care.
As soon as she was out of sight, I sighed and kept walking.
"Remind me to get a less annoying assistant," I said to no one in particular.
---
My office door clicked shut behind me. Silence. Finally.
I tossed my phone onto the desk and slid into my chair. The leather creaked as I leaned back. My head hurt already, and it was barely nine.
I glanced at the mountain of paperwork waiting for me. Contracts. Reports. Proposals. A beautiful mess of things I didn't want to deal with.
I pulled the top file toward me, flipping it open without really looking.
Then came the knock.
Three short raps.
"Come in," I called.
The door swung open, and Peter walked in like he owned the place. Same confident stride. Same easy grin. Same slightly crooked tie he never bothered to fix.
He held a folder in his hand and a smirk on his face.
"You look like someone shoved a Monday morning down your throat," he said, strolling in.
"Because they did," I muttered.
He dropped the folder on my desk with a light thud and then sank into the chair across from me, legs stretched out, completely relaxed.
"There's your background check," he said, tapping the folder.
I didn't reach for it. Not yet.
He looked around the office like it might have changed since the last time he visited. It hadn't. Still cold. Still neat. Still mine.
"So," he started, one eyebrow raised, "this roommate thing. You're actually doing it, huh?"
I let out a breath and leaned back in my chair again. "It's what Elizabeth wanted."
Peter's grin softened for a moment. He gave a small nod, like he understood without needing more explanation.
"Right," he said. "Still crazy, though. You. With a roommate. That's... new."
I didn't respond.
"I mean," he went on, "are we talking sharing bathrooms? Talking about your day? Grocery shopping together?" He snorted. "You're one housewarming party away from domestic bliss."
I shot him a glare, but he just laughed.
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "So? What's she like?"
I groaned. "Annoying."
Peter grinned wider. "That bad already?"
"She just moved in yesterday," I said, rubbing my temple. "And somehow, she's already acting like I'm the guest. And don't even get me started on that mouth of hers. She never stops talking back."
Peter chuckled, shaking his head. "God, I hope she gives you hell."
"I'm serious," I said. "She's loud. She's sarcastic. And she tracks dirt in like it's a hobby."
He raised both hands in mock surrender. "Hey, maybe she's exactly what you need. Someone to challenge your royal grumpiness."
I didn't answer that. Maybe because I didn't have one.
It wasn't just that she talked too much. It was the way she looked at me, like she could see right through all the silence and sharp edges I wrapped around myself. Like she wasn't afraid of the cold air I carried or the weight of my name. Most people kept their distance, bowed their heads, stayed in line. But not her. She walked into that penthouse like she belonged, like my presence didn't scare her in the slightest. And the worst part? There was a part of me—buried deep and inconvenient—that didn't want her to stop. She challenged every rule I never said out loud, stirred the stillness I had come to rely on. She was chaos in sneakers, and I hated how aware of her I had become. Of her footsteps in the hallway. Of the way she hummed under her breath while unpacking. Of the faint scent of coconut that lingered when she passed by. I shouldn't have noticed any of that. But I did. And it was starting to drive me mad.
Peter stood up and stretched.
"Well," he said, heading for the door, "good luck with that. I've got a meeting with people who use PowerPoint like it's performance art."
"Enjoy," I said dryly.
He paused at the door, looking back. "Try not to kill your new pet."
I didn't bother replying. He knew I wouldn't.
The door closed behind him with a soft click. Silence again.
I looked at the folder he had left on my desk. It sat there, plain and unbothered, holding all the answers to questions I wasn't sure I should be asking.
I reached for it.
And opened it.