CHAPTER SIX

ELENA

As my eyes fluttered open, my brain was gradually reconnecting with reality. For a moment, I had convinced myself that last night was nothing more than a strange dream— a tiredness-fueled hallucination due to too much stress and paranoia.

Then I saw the faint outline of a shoe on my wooden floor.

Not a dream. Alexander Moretti had visited my apartment the night before. He had watched me paint. He had said what could have easily been a compliment. And then he had left with an ominous warning to lock my doors.

I groaned into my pillow.

"This cannot be my life."

With my arms extended, I sprawled on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling. I was forced to cope with the reality that this wealthy bully had somehow entered my already chaotic life and saw me at my most vulnerable state—totally engrossed in my painting, barriers down, and unfiltered emotions leaking into the canvas.

I hated that.

What was even worse? I had to see him today again. And pretend that he didn't break into my apartment like it was just a regular Tuesday.

I groaned and dragged myself out of bed.

I scowled at the meager choices in front of me in the closet. Most of my closet was a mess of oversized sweaters, paint-splattered jeans, and hoodies with paint stains that shouted, 'I am one bad day away from full-time hermit status' . Not exactly billionaire-office material.

I settled for a white blouse and dark jeans. Professional enough? Probably not. But did I care? No.

My phone rang. It was Sofia.

Sofia: Girlie, what are your plans for today?

Me: I've got some tea for you, but I'm going to spill it after coming back from seeing Mr. Billionaire today.

Sofia: So much suspense would kill me before you eventually spill this tea. In case I'm found dead in my apartment, tell my mama that I love her.

I erupted into a victorious laugh, for having managed to get her like that.

Me: For goodness' sake, you'll be perfectly fine. Now I'm getting ready for this meeting.

Sofia: Tell me you're not dressing up as a grandma for your first working day in Mr. Broody's lair.

Me: It's not his lair, it's an office. And I'm not dressing up as a grandma.

Sofia: Lies. If you show up wearing those dreadful loafers again, I'll burn them myself.

I scoffed a laugh.

Me: I've got it written down babe. I'll get dressed appropriately soul-sucking.

Sofia: That's the spirit.

I already prepared myself for how intimidating and cold Alexander would be by the time I got to the hotel. The condescending receptionist who looked at me like I was a stray cat who had accidentally invaded the hotel was something I hadn't prepared for.

The woman inquired, her voice brimming with indifference, "Can I help you?"

I cleared my throat. "Uh, yeah. I'm here to visit Mr. Moretti. He—"

"Do you have an appointment?" The receptionist didn't even give me a proper look as her manicured nails tapped away on the keyboard.

I forced a tight smile. "Technically, I work here now."

The receptionist looked up for the first time, her expression incredulous. "You?"

I wanted to answer with something appropriately snarky, but a deep voice beat me to it.

"Let her in."

As I turned around, Alexander was standing in the hallway, as elegantly dressed as ever. His demeanor was inherently commanding, and his clothing was perfectly made. After giving the receptionist a brief glance, he gestured for me to follow him.

As I walked passed the receptionist, who was clearly shocked, she blinked but said nothing. I gave her a corny greeting, "Nice chatting with you."

Alexander led me through the modern office hallways to a large room with windows overlooking the city skyline. Aside from a blank easel in the middle of the space and a collection of paint materials on a side table that were carefully arranged, the area looked flawless.

Alexander replied, "This is your studio," as he stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "Don't try to get paint all over the place."

I gave a snort. "I make no promises."

His lips moved as though he was tempted to smirk but held himself back. "Of course you don’t."

Then he turned and left, leaving me in the studio by myself.

It took some time for me to get comfortable, but as I did, I felt the familiar ease of painting again. As usual, my reality vanished into the background, immersed in colors and brushstrokes, emotions freely leaking into the canvas.

I was so engrossed in painting that I was not even aware Alexander had returned to the room. It was only when his voice broke the silence and made me jumped a little.

"I take it back."

The deep, familiar voice nearly made me stab my own canvas. I turned, to find Alexander standing in the doorway, arms crossed, every inch of him looking like the swaggering definition of arrogance.

I narrowed my eyes. "Take what back?"

He nodded at the painting, his eyes unreadable. "What I said before. It's more than decent."

Was that...a compliment? From him?

To make sure I was fully awake, I blinked a few times.

"Wow," I said, putting my brush down. "I never imagined that I would live to witness Alexander Moretti openly acknowledge his mistakes. Should I record this significant event?

He grinned. "Don't get used to it."

I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to my painting, attempting to ignore the fact that he was coming closer.

"Did you sleep well?" he inquired abruptly.

I paused, brush inches from the canvas. The question was simple, but something in his tone made me glance at him.

"I slept well," I lied.

"Good."

I hesitated before I spoke, "Do you usually show up uninvited at your employees' residences?"

His lips twitched. "Only when they leave their doors unlocked."

I released a short breath. "I didn't leave it unlocked."

He smiled at my annoyance and raised an eyebrow. "You're really lucky it was me and not someone else."

I folded my arms. "Are you trying to tell me you broke into my apartment?"

He said nothing, a response in itself.

I stood there with my mouth open. "Oh my God, you did."

"I had to make sure you were safe."

I threw both hands in the air. "Yeah, since that isn't insane."

Despite his relaxed demeanor, there was something unclear about the way he looked. "Call it precaution."

I wanted to argue, but something about the way he said it made my breath catch.

Then I tried to gain control again and went back to painting. "Well, if you ever break into my apartment again, I'm calling the police."

After a split second of silence, he replied, "Noted."

We were enveloped in silence, and there was an unexplained charge in the air.

After a while, with his eyes fixed on the artwork, he walked to stand next to me.

He said, "What is it?"

I said, taking a breath, "I don't know yet."

He nodded as though he understood. "Keep painting."

At that point, I thought he would go. However, he stayed and watched me resume painting.

Though distracting, the feeling of his presence made my skin thrill.

His phone chimed just as I was beginning to become accustomed to his presence. When he took it out and saw what was on the screen, his whole attitude changed. The initially relaxed attitude was gone and replaced with something serious. Something dangerous.

I frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing that you need to be concerned about."

He turned and left before I could question him more and suddenly the room’s atmosphere changed