Arabella had a plan. A *brilliant*, *gorgeous*, *Pinterest-worthy* plan.
If Adrian thought he could just exist here unbothered, then he was in for a rude — and very pink — awakening.
The second he stepped out for class that morning, Arabella got to work.
Within minutes, the shared living area was no longer the plain, boring space she'd moved into. No. It was being transformed into what she proudly called her "luxury princess sanctuary."
She unpacked soft blush-pink throws, layered them across the couch like a magazine spread. Fairy lights framed the ceiling. A rug with gold swirls unfurled dramatically across the floor. She even placed a crystal-scented candle — the expensive kind that smelled like cashmere dreams — right on the center table.
"Perfect," she whispered to herself, fluffing a pillow for the third time.
By the time she was done, the entire room looked like a lifestyle influencer's apartment. It didn't match Adrian's plain, minimalist vibe *at all.*
She flopped onto the couch like a queen admiring her empire.
Arabella didn't have to wait long.
The door clicked.
Adrian stepped inside, dressed in a black T-shirt and grey joggers, pushing the door closed with his foot. His blue eyes scanned the transformed room — the lights, the rug, the pastel chaos — before landing on her.
Arabella tilted her chin, ready for a fight.
Adrian blinked once. Twice. Then:
> "I didn't know we were living in a Barbie Dream House."
She gasped, hand to her chest. "Excuse me? This is *aesthetic.* This is called elevating our environment. Some of us have taste, Adrian."
He set his keys down on the counter, completely calm. "Yeah. I can tell."
Arabella stood up, smoothing down her silk shorts. "Well, *this* is how the common area is going to look. It's a shared space. And I'm sharing it with you. Generously."
"Generously?" Adrian repeated, as if she'd just offered him a kidney.
"Yes. You're welcome."
He didn't argue. Didn't even give her the satisfaction of an eye roll. He just grabbed a glass of water from the counter and walked right past her, like she wasn't standing in the middle of her own pink kingdom.
Arabella watched him sit down on *her* newly fluffed couch. Her jaw dropped.
"Adrian," she hissed.
He looked up. "What?"
"You're *crumpling* the throw."
He glanced down at the couch. "Then don't put a blanket where people sit."
Her eye twitched. "You're impossible."
"And you're loud," he replied casually, stretching his legs out.
Arabella crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. Fine. If he wanted war, she'd give him war. This was only the beginning.