The silence inside the penthouse wasn't peaceful—it was charged.
After the brief "tour" that felt more like a power play than hospitality, Maverick left me alone to unpack. Or maybe he just wanted to see how I handled being dropped into his world like a live grenade.
The guest room—no, my room now—was bigger than my entire apartment. Plush cream bedding, floor-to-ceiling windows, a private marble bathroom. Luxury in every detail. Still, it felt foreign. Cold. Like I didn't belong.
And maybe I didn't.
I ran my fingers over the edge of the dresser, exhaling slowly. This was what I signed up for. One year. No strings. Just public affection, staged moments, appearances that told the world we were madly in love.
Behind closed doors? We were just strangers.
Until we weren't.
That night, after I changed into silk sleep shorts and a cropped tank top—comfortable but not too comfortable—I stepped out to the kitchen to find water. The city lights spilled across the penthouse in gold ribbons.
And there he was.
Maverick stood shirtless at the kitchen counter, a glass of whiskey in hand, abs hard and defined, tattoos inked in shadow along his ribs. His head turned at the sound of my bare feet on the floor.
His eyes dropped, slowly dragging over my legs, the way the tank hugged my chest, the curve of my hip. He didn't hide it. He didn't even try to hide it.
"You planning to wear that when the press starts asking questions?" he asked, voice low and amused.
"It's not for the press," I said calmly, stepping past him to the fridge. "You said this was just a game, remember?"
His smirk deepened. "Right. No lines crossed. But you might want to rethink wearing things that scream cross me."
I turned, met his stare without flinching. "You don't scare me, Maverick."
He leaned in slowly, like a panther circling its prey. "I'm not trying to scare you, Ava. That's the problem."
We stood there for a beat—his gaze burning, my breath catching—before I turned and walked away, pretending like I didn't feel the fire creeping up my spine.
This was the danger of living with a man like him.
The game was starting to blur.
And we were only on day one.