Chapter 1

Conrad

A 26-year-old man with a cold, intimidating presence. Tall, sharp-eyed, and always controlled, Conrad moves like someone trained for danger. Scars on his knuckles and too many locked rooms hint at a violent past he never talks about. He prefers silence, trusts no one, and hates how easily Isabella disrupts the carefully built walls around him.

Isabella also know as “Belly”

A warm, quietly strong 22-year-old with expressive eyes and a stubborn streak. Soft-spoken but fearless when it matters, Isabella notices everything—Conrad’s tense reactions, the cameras, the secrets he tries to hide. She brings light into his dark world, not by force, but simply by being herself… and that’s exactly what unsettles him.

AND SO BEGUN THEIR STOR****Y

~The elevator doors whispered open to a hallway that felt too quiet, too polished, too wealthy to be student housing. Isabella stepped out slowly, her suitcase wheel slipping on the glossy black marble. The lights were dim—intentionally, expensively dim. Not the yellow warmth of dorm corridors she had expected, but cool white strips that hummed faintly, reflecting off gold-trimmed walls.

Something was wrong. From the scent alone she could tell—this place smelled of leather, money, and something darker, something metallic beneath the air-conditioned sterility.

She checked the address on her phone for the tenth time.

Penthouse 39A.

Assigned by the housing office after the mix-up in her previous building. A “temporary upgrade,” they’d said, until maintenance was finished.

This wasn’t a “temporary upgrade.” This was a place with a concierge who barely blinked when she said she was moving in.

Her shoes clicked on the marble as she approached the single black door at the end of the hall. It loomed like a secret. Her heart thudded softly, both from nerves and something else she refused to name.

She lifted her hand and knocked.

For a moment, nothing.

Then—

A click.

A low hum of locks shifting.

The door opened just enough to reveal a man whose presence felt like gravity.

Tall. Broad shoulders under a black T-shirt that clung to lean muscle. Eyes dark, sharp, and assessing in less than a second—eyes that looked like they’d seen danger and walked through it without flinching. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run a hand through it in irritation. His jaw looked like it was carved out of stone.

He didn’t just fill the doorway—he commanded it.

Isabella swallowed.

Her first thought: He’s dangerous.

Her second, quieter thought: He’s beautiful in the kind of way I should run from.

“Who are you?” His voice was low, smooth, and cold enough to send a tremor down her spine.

She tried to straighten her posture, feeling pathetic standing there with her suitcase and messy ponytail. “I’m—I’m Isabella. I believe there’s been a housing misplacement and—this is where they assigned me.”

His jaw tightened. Not even subtly. A sharp twitch of displeasure.

“No,” he said simply.

“No?” she repeated.

He opened the door a little wider, revealing a penthouse that wasn’t just luxurious—it was intimidating. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Black leather furniture. A bar on one side stocked with expensive bottles. Dim lighting that cast long shadows. The scent she’d picked up earlier intensified—leather, faint smoke, and a masculine cologne with notes of spice that made heat crawl up her neck.

“You have the wrong place,” he said. “Get your things. Leave.”

“I can’t,” she said, surprising even herself with her firmness. “The housing office put me here. They said it was the only available unit for now.”

A muscle feathered in his cheek. A sign of a man who barely tolerated anyone’s presence.

“You’re not staying. Not even for an hour.”

He wasn’t raising his voice—but the quiet authority was worse. Like he was used to being obeyed.

Isabella’s heart kicked harder, but something inside her snapped back instead of shrinking. She’d had enough chaos for the day. Enough humiliation. Enough being pushed around by life.

“I have nowhere else to go tonight,” she said. “And this is the official assignment I was given. You can check if you want.”

He leaned forward slightly, and the air between them shifted. Thicker. Charged. She could smell him now—clean, sharp, and distracting. She hated that her pulse responded.

His eyes flicked down her face, lingering for a fraction of a second on her lips before he shut the reaction off with a blink.

“My name is Conrad,” he said finally. “And this penthouse is not for… people like you.”

People like her?

Her brows drew together.

“Students,” he added after a moment, though something about the pause made her think that wasn’t what he originally meant.

Isabella steadied her breathing. “Look—Conrad. I’ll stay out of your way. One night. Just until I can sort things out tomorrow.”

“No.”

The word was a blade.

But Isabella wasn’t backing down. “I’m not leaving,” she said quietly.

A dangerous silence stretched between them. He didn’t like defiance—she could see that instantly. His eyes went colder, sharper, but beneath that she noticed something flicker…

Confusion.

And something else. Something that made her heartbeat stutter.

Interest.

He stepped back abruptly and pushed the door open further, as if testing whether she’d flinch.

She didn’t.

The smallest hint of irritation ghosted across his mouth. “Fine,” he said. “One night. But don’t touch anything. Don’t go into my room. Don’t wander.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she muttered under her breath.

He heard her. Of course he did. His eyebrows lifted by a single millimeter—surprise, maybe even amusement—but then the expression vanished.

Isabella rolled her suitcase inside.

The penthouse swallowed her instantly. Every sound seemed louder in the hush: the wheels of her suitcase, her shoes on the dark hardwood floors, even her breathing. She felt out of place in her simple jeans and oversized hoodie.

Conrad closed the door behind her, and the subtle click of the lock made her skin prickle. Not because she felt threatened—but because everything about him radiated silent power. The air around him felt charged, like a storm waiting to break.

He moved past her, and she felt the brush of his presence more than his body. He walked like someone who had no reason to fear anything on earth.

She shouldn’t stare.

But she did.

The way the dim light caught the muscles in his arms.

The way his tattoos—dark lines curling up his right forearm—disappeared under his sleeve.

The way he carried himself, confident in a way students never were.

Her gaze lingered a beat too long.

He noticed.

“You should stop looking at me like that,” he said without turning around.

Her breath hitched. “I wasn’t—”

His head tilted slightly, a smirk touching one corner of his mouth though she couldn’t see his full expression. “You’re staring. I’m not blind.”

Heat climbed up her neck. She forced her eyes toward the kitchen instead.

“Where should I… set up?” she asked.

“The guest room,” Conrad said. “First door on the left. Don’t go anywhere else.”

“You mentioned that already.”

He exhaled once—sharply. “You’re bold.”

“Is that a problem?”

He turned then, fully facing her. The tension in the air tightened instantly.

“It is,” he said softly. “For both of us.”

Her throat went dry.

For a moment, neither said anything. There was something unsettling in the way he watched her, like he was trying to figure out why she wasn’t afraid—and why her presence bothered him more than it should.

His eyes dropped briefly to her lips again before he forced his gaze away. “Go,” he said, voice low.

Isabella nodded and walked to the guest room, heart thudding.

She closed the door behind her and exhaled for the first time in minutes. The room was luxurious too—king-size bed, velvet cushions, a city view that sparkled like an ocean of lights.

But what shook her more was the strange awareness lingering in her chest.

Conrad didn’t want her here.

Conrad didn’t want anyone here.

And yet—

When she’d defied him, his eyes hadn’t shown anger alone.

They’d shown hunger he didn’t want her to see.

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