First Meet II

She takes a step closer, her perfume-something expensive, floral, and sharp-filling the space between them. She's tall enough in her heels that she can look down at him, her eyes tracing the way his hair hides his face.

"Is this going to be the soundtrack for the next five months? Stuttering and apologies?" She reaches out, her hand hovering for a second before she uses two fingers to disdainfully brush a stray strand of black hair away from his cloudy left eye, her touch clinical and devoid of any warmth. "I don't have the patience for 'meek,' and I certainly don't have the time to baby a grown man who looks like he's about to faint because I raised my voice."

She pulls her hand back as if she's touched something dusty.

"Third door on the left, down the hallway. My housekeeper, Maria, is away for the weekend, so you'll have to find your own way. If I see a single orange hair on the sofa, I'm calling the cleaners and sending the bill to your grandfather."

She turns her back on him, walking toward the large floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the shimmering lights of Manila, dismissively waving a hand over her shoulder.

"Go. Disappear. I have a call with my manager in ten minutes, and I'd prefer to forget you're even in the building. And Arlen?" She pauses, her profile sharp against the city lights. "Don't expect dinner. This isn't a hotel, and I am certainly not your hostess."

"Understood." Arlen quietly and hesitantly dragged his feet inside the lavish penthouse. He went to the guest room and economically unpacked the meager belongings that he brought.

Milia watches from the periphery of her vision, her lip curling slightly as she hears the muted *thud-thud* of his luggage wheels against the hardwood before they transition into the guest wing. She waits until she hears the click of the guest room door before she finally exhales, a sharp, jagged breath that does nothing to ease the tightness in her chest.

She wanders over to the hallway, her curiosity getting the better of her-not out of interest in him, but out of a need to monitor the 'infestation.' She stands by the doorframe, which he had left slightly ajar in his haste to hide away.

She catches a glimpse of his 'meager' belongings. A few worn books, some plain clothes, and a small, faded scratching post for that orange beast. It looks pathetic-violently out of place against the bespoke Italian cabinetry and the silk-lined walls. It reminds her of a stray dog being tucked into a palace, and the contrast only serves to fuel her resentment.

"I hope that suitcase was sanitized," she says loudly, not stepping into the room but leaning against the frame, her presence commanding and cold. "I have delicate rugs. I don't need dust from whatever... basement you crawled out of settling into the fibers."

She watches him move-so careful, so economical, as if he's trying to occupy as little physical space as possible. It irritates her. If he were arrogant, she could fight him. If he were demanding, she could sue him. But this? This silent, obedient ghost-man is harder to strike at.

"Is that all you brought?" she asks, her eyes scanning the few items he's laid out. "No vanity kits? No designer luggage? You're remarkably... low-maintenance for someone whose family was supposed to be 'saving' mine generations ago. It's almost depressing."

She pulls out her phone, the screen glowing with a notification-a heart emoji and a message from her boyfriend, Liam. Her expression softens for a fraction of a second before hardening again as she looks back at Arlen.

"Dinner is being delivered for 'me' at eight. Do not come out of this room when the courier arrives. I don't want to explain to anyone why there's a... person like you living here. Use the back kitchen entrance if you're hungry; there's some bottled water and probably some leftover salad in the fridge that's older than your cat. Help yourself."

She begins to turn away, but stops, her voice dropping to a warning hiss. "And Arlen? If I hear that cat meowing while I'm practicing my vocals tomorrow morning... I will not be responsible for my actions. Are we clear?"

Arlen scooped Dex up and gently pets it. "Yes. I will keep him in check always as not to disturb your precious time."

"Precious time," she repeats, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing the way he stands there with that practiced, docile expression. It's the kind of politeness that feels like a wall, and it irritates her more than an outright argument would. "You say that as if you're a servant. Don't think for a second that playing the 'humble houseboy' will win you any points with me. It's pathetic."

She watches him for another beat, her gaze lingering on his face. Up close, his features are almost frustratingly perfect-sharp yet soft, with a beauty that feels wasted on someone so spineless. The contrast of his cloudy left eye gives him an eerie, fragile look that she finds deeply unsettling.

"And wipe that smile off your face," she snaps, her voice cutting through the quiet room. "There is nothing to be happy about. You are a contractual obligation, a five-month inconvenience that I am counting down in seconds, not days."

"I.. I'm sorry." Arlen immediately apologized as his smile turned into a neutral expression of obedience.

She straightens her back, the silhouette of her expensive dress perfectly sharp. "I'm going to the lounge. I have music to review, and I expect total silence from this wing. If I so much as hear a floorboard creak under your feet, I'll consider it a breach of our... arrangement."

She lingers at the door for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, her eyes flickering to the orange tabby-Dex-once more before she scoffs and turns on her heel.

"Just stay in your cage, Arlen. It's better for everyone if we pretend you don't exist."

With that, she sweeps out of the room, the sharp *click-clack* of her heels echoing down the hallway as she retreats to her side of the penthouse, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and cold resentment in her wake.

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