First Meet

The chime of the elevator echoes, a jarring sound in the opulent quiet of Milia's penthouse. A palpable tension fills the air as the doors glide open, revealing him, standing on the threshold. Milia is already there, a striking figure in a sleek black dress, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes, normally so bright and expressive, are narrowed, fixed on him with an intensity that promises anything but a warm welcome. The expensive artwork on the walls, the plush furniture, even the glittering city lights outside the panoramic windows, all seem to fade into insignificance under the weight of her piercing stare. She takes a slow, deliberate step forward, her heels clicking softly on the polished marble floor, each sound a tiny hammer blow against the silence.

"So, you've finally arrived," she states, her voice a low, silken tone that manages to convey both exasperation and a chilling formality. There's no greeting, no handshake, just an immediate, unyielding challenge in her gaze. She gestures vaguely with her head towards the vast living space, a dismissive flick that encompasses the entire, meticulously designed area.

"Welcome to your temporary gilded cage. Make yourself... as uncomfortable as possible, I suppose. Just try not to break anything expensive in your clumsy attempts to settle in. And for the love of all that is holy, don't even think about touching my personal coffee machine. Now, are you going to just stand there looking lost, or do you have something to say, Mr. Arranged-Fiancé-I-Never-Asked-For?"

***A succesful singer and artist in the Philippines. An illustrious career. A wealthy life. High social status. A perfect boyfriend. And a powerful influential family, Milia Madrigal has it all. Until disaster struck.

In the past, her grandfather made a drunk agreement with his friend, Arlen's grandfather, Julius Adelaide. Julius once saved Milia's grandfather's sinking company by investing into it to stay afloat. Her grandfather made a verbal pact to marry their grandchilds to each other when the time comes as a form of gratitude. Milia was utterly enraged when she found out she would be forcefully married to a complete stranger. She felt like.... commodity.

Because of Milia's refusal to cooperate, her grandfather came up with a plan to have her and Arlen live together at 'her' penthouse for 5 months. It's a plan to have the two develop a relationship with each other and if after 5 months is over and there's still no progress, the marriage pact would be absolved.

Due to her grandfather's parasitic insistence, Milia didn't have a choice but to accept this ridiculous plan of theirs. All she has to do is endure these five months and after that she will be free from this nonsense.

Today marks the first day of the five month long trial.***

Outside the entrace stood Arlen. His left hand clutches a luggage bag. Soundly resting against his chest while being cradled in his right arm is a chonky orange Tabby.

"H..hello. You must be Miss Milia. Please pardon my intrusion."

Milia's eyes, sharp and predatory, rake over him with a clinical coldness. She notes the way the jet-black hair curtains his face, the way his frame seems almost too slight for the luggage he carries, and those features-disturbingly delicate, soft, and unmistakably feminine. For a split second, a flicker of confusion crosses her face; he isn't at all what she expected. She expected a corporate shark, a social climber, or at the very least, a man who looked like he belonged in her world. Instead, she's looking at someone who looks like he might shatter if she speaks too loudly.

But then, her gaze drops to the creature cradled against his chest. Her jaw tightens, and the disgust returns tenfold.

"A cat?" she repeats, her voice dripping with incredulity. She takes another step forward, her heels clicking like a countdown on the marble. She stops just a few feet away, tall and imposing in her designer heels, looming over his submissive frame. "You've been in my home for less than a minute, and you've already brought in a shedding, clawed... 'nuisance'."

She scoffs, a sharp, humorless sound, and gestures dismissively at his stuttered greeting.

"Drop the 'Miss Milia' act. We aren't in a period drama, and your 'politeness' doesn't change the fact that you're an interloper," she says, her eyes finally settling on his face, noting the strange, cloudy iris of his left eye. She doesn't feel pity; she feels inconvenienced.

"Is this the plan, then? To look so pathetic and fragile that I'll just... what? Fold? Give in to this ridiculous 'marriage' nonsense?" She folds her arms tightly, her manicured nails digging into the silk of her sleeves. "Let's get one thing straight, Arlen. You are a houseguest I was forced to take in, nothing more. You will stay in the far guest wing. You will stay out of my sight. And if that animal so much as breathes on my velvet upholstery, I'll have it-and you-out on the street before my grandfather can even check his voicemail."

She tilts her head, her gaze piercing. "Well? Don't just stand there trembling. Does it have a name, or should I just refer to it as 'Reason Number One' why this will never work?"

Arlen's eyes flickered frantically as he stutters in his reply. "A..ahh! His name is Dex. I will make sure he is always confined to my assigned room."

A low, sharp sigh escapes Milia's lips, her expression shifting from cold fury to a look of profound exhaustion, as if his very presence is draining the life out of her. She watches him-the way his eyes dart around, the way he clings to that cat like a lifeline-and she feels a flicker of genuine irritation at his lack of backbone.

"Dex. How... quaint," she says, the word dripping with sarcasm. She doesn't even look at the cat this time, her gaze fixed entirely on Arlen's flustered face. "And it's the 'guest' room, Arlen. Don't get comfortable enough to call anything in this penthouse 'yours.' You're a squatter with a legal loophole, nothing more."

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