ELOISE
I drove my SUV into the compound, exhausted to my bones. Today had been a marathon at work, and all I wanted now was food and a cold shower long enough to reset my spirit.
A quick glance at the rearview mirror nearly made me groan. Tiny strands of red hair were peeking stubbornly beneath my blonde. Already? My color fades too fast. When was the last time I even stepped into a salon? Since I started working, my life has become a tight schedule of office → stress → sleep.
And don't get me started on wigs. I hate them. If not, I'd have a whole wardrobe full by now.
You know what?
Maybe I should just let my natural reddish hair grow out. I'm tired of fighting it every weekend.
Still… I think I'll dye it fully red in the morning, before people start thinking I'm losing my mind.
I stepped out of the SUV, grabbed my coat and bag, and made sure my doors were locked.
But then I noticed it — a sleek black SUV parked a little distance away from mine. We don't own that brand. Dad doesn't either. And I've never seen it around here.
Visitor?
Relative?
Random billionaire who lost his map?
As I walked toward the door, I heard laughter coming from inside — my father's deep laugh mixed with another male voice I couldn't place.
Coat on my arm, I entered the mansion. Dad was laughing like someone had just gifted him an oil company. I don't remember the last time I saw him this cheerful. Maybe when his brothers visited. Or when Mom cracked one of her terrible jokes he pretends to find funny.
The guy he was talking to had his back to me. No clue who he was.
Dad looked up and beamed.
"Ah, there you are. Look who's here — your friend! He came to see you."
My… who?
The guy turned around and—
What the actual hell?!
"George?" I croaked.
He stood up, hands tucked into his pockets, smiling like this was perfectly normal.
"Hello. You're back."
Dad was oblivious. Completely.
"You didn't tell me you knew my daughter so well. Excellent company you are. We must talk again."
Excellent WHAT?
George gave a polite bow of his head.
"The pleasure's all mine, sir."
Pleasure my foot.
I was ready to tell Dad that I barely tolerated this man — but my father? Oh, he was already forming conclusions. Of course he was.
Dad squeezed my shoulder and whispered with an annoyingly proud grin,
"I'm glad you're beginning to have proper sense. You're due for marriage. I like him. Very fancy."
I nearly cracked my teeth from how hard I clenched my jaw.
I wanted to say the truth. Truly.
But for some strange, stupid reason… I didn't.
Why?
I don't know. Maybe shock. Maybe shame. Maybe madness.
Once Dad walked away, I grabbed George's wrist and dragged him outside with me.
"How did you find this place?" I hissed. "We've never had an actual conversation, yet somehow you show up in my father's lounge like you own this house. What are you — a stalker?"
Because that's exactly what he is.
He raised both hands, amused.
"Relax. I'm no stalker. I simply asked around — gentle curiosity."
From who?
Which devil gave him my address?!
Because if he says Maverick, I swear I'll commit crimes.
"Gentle?" I hissed. "You show up uninvited at my home, and you call that gentle?"
"Well, I did need to see you," he said, shrugging. "And now your father believes we're friends. Would you rather I corrected him?"
His eyebrows lifted challengingly.
"You wouldn't dare," I growled.
Dad already had his assumptions — I did NOT need more fuel added.
George smirked.
"Try me."
God, I want to throw this man into a river.
"You're insufferable."
"Persistent," he corrected with a playful shrug. "There's a difference."
How many times do I need to say it?
"You can't just keep intruding like this. I don't want it."
"Then make it easier for me," he said, voice dropping into something softer — annoyingly soft. "Give me your number. Then I won't have to appear unannounced again."
Oh, that is one dangerous line.
He is giving me no peace.
The man is basically my spirit mosquito.
I sighed.
"You twist everything to your advantage."
"Only with you," he said quietly. "You bring it out of me."
Bring what out of him? Madness? Boldness? Audacity?
And he wasn't going to stop — that much was clear.
After a long pause, my instincts whispered defeat.
"If I give you this number, will you stop pestering me?"
"At least," he said, smiling wickedly, "I'll stop pestering you for the number. But you…? Never."
Excuse me?
We were supposed to be sealing a clean deal — not adding cryptic nonsense.
I lifted my chin.
"You know what? Fine. But hear me clearly — no calls past ten, no silly texts, no surprises, and if you breathe a single word to my father, I will block you forever."
I pulled out a small notepad from my pocket, scribbled my number, and shoved it into his hand.
He looked down at the digits like he had just won a treasure.
"Noted," he said softly. "Ten o'clock curfew, no nonsense, no surprises. Though, forgive me if I dream of you at midnight."
Let him go to hell.
"Fuck you. Dream of yourself," I snapped. "Just don't call."
I turned sharply and started for the door.
Behind me, his voice floated gently:
"Goodnight, stubborn angel."
I didn't even look back.
"Goodnight… nuisance."
The door shut loudly behind me.
I hope — I PRAY — the universe gives me one night of peace. Just one.