The icy wind slapped Julia's cheeks as she stomped her way up the narrow staircase of her old apartment building. Her shoulders ached from a twelve-hour shift at the café, her manager's scolding still echoing in her ears. She fumbled for her keys, muttering under her breath.

"Life, if you're listening, can you give me one night of peace?"

As if on cue, a low groan drifted from the shadows at the landing. Julia froze, her grip on her bag tightening. A tall figure slumped against the wall, half-sprawled on the dirty floor. The dim flickering light revealed a familiar face-disheveled, pale, lips trembling.

"Brandon?" Her voice cracked.

The last time she'd seen him, he was arrogantly tossing hundred-dollar bills at the café like they meant nothing. Now, the once-glorious heir of Carter Enterprises looked like a wreck. His shirt hung loose, his hair a chaotic mess, and his eyes fluttered half-shut as if he were losing a battle with consciousness.

Julia's first instinct was to walk right past him. This man had ruined her day once already.

But as she reached her door, another low groan escaped his lips. His hand twitched, reaching toward nothing.

Her heart wavered.

Damn it. If he freezes to death outside my apartment, I'll be the one cleaning up the mess.

With a frustrated growl, Julia stomped back, hooked her arms under his shoulders, and dragged his heavy body toward her apartment.

"You owe me big time, you spoiled brat," she muttered, half-struggling, half-cursing as she shoved him through her door and dropped him unceremoniously onto the couch.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the thin curtains. Julia stretched, wincing at the soreness in her arms from hauling him in last night. She padded into the living room-and nearly tripped over herself.

Brandon sat on her couch, alive and very much awake, scrolling through his phone like he owned the place.

"Oh good, you're awake," he said lazily, not even glancing at her. "Where's breakfast?"

Julia's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

He finally looked up, brows arched. "You dragged me in. I assumed you'd at least have the decency to serve your guest a meal."

Her lips twitched. She grabbed the nearest thing in the cupboard-a pack of instant noodles-and tossed it onto his lap.

"There's your breakfast. Hot water's in the kettle. You can read the instructions, right, Mr. Heir?"

Brandon blinked at the plastic package, then back at her, incredulous. "You expect me to cook this...this peasant food myself?"

"Congratulations, you're catching on." Julia folded her arms.

Brandon stared at the packet like it was alien technology. Slowly, he tore it open, spilling half the seasoning packet across the counter. Julia winced as he poked at the kettle, lifting the lid with his bare hand.

"Hot!" He yelped, shaking his fingers.

Julia snorted. "You've never boiled water before, have you?"

"I have chefs for that," he shot back defensively.

He dumped the dry noodles into a mug, then poured hot water halfway before realizing he'd forgotten the rest of the seasoning. He tried to sprinkle it in, only for most of it to stick to the rim. The smell of half-cooked noodles filled the air.

Julia couldn't help it-she laughed. Hard.

"You-pfft-you really don't know how to make instant noodles? This is basic survival 101!"

Brandon scowled, cheeks reddening as he tried to slurp a soggy strand. "It tastes like cardboard."

"That's because you messed it up." She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Consider it karma."

Her laughter died quickly when she spotted the unopened bills stacked on her tiny dining table. Utility notices. Rent reminders. She shoved them under a magazine before Brandon could see, but the weight pressed on her chest.

She worked double shifts, cut meals, and still couldn't scrape enough together. Pride kept her from borrowing money, but pride didn't pay landlords.

She forced her voice steady. "Eat your noodles and get out. I have work."

Brandon tilted his head, studying her with an expression that made her skin prickle-like he could see right through the armor she wore.

Just when Julia thought she'd finally put him in his place, a heavy knock rattled her front door.

"Miss Julia! Rent's due today. No more extensions!"

Her stomach dropped. Rent. Of course.

She forced a smile as she cracked the door open. "Mr. Lee, I-I just need a few more days-"

"No more excuses," the landlord snapped. "By tomorrow, or you're out. I've been patient, but patience doesn't pay bills."

The door slammed shut, leaving Julia pale and trembling. She clutched her doorknob, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Behind her, Brandon leaned against the couch, arms crossed, his messy hair catching the light. His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

"So. You're broke."

Julia's head snapped toward him. "Shut up," she hissed, shoving her bangs out of her face. "It's none of your business."

But Brandon took a step closer, lowering his voice like he was making an offer she couldn't refuse.

"What if I make it my business? I'll pay your rent."

Julia froze.

He smirked. "In exchange, let me stay here. Just temporarily. Until things...settle down."

Her pulse spiked. Living under the same roof with this arrogant heir?

"Are you insane?" she snapped.

"Probably," he said smoothly. "But I've got nowhere else to go. And you, sweetheart, can't afford to kick me out."

Julia's fists clenched. She wanted to throw him right back into the hallway. But deep down, she knew he was right.

Her rent, his money. Her pride, his audacity.

Enemies under one roof.

The game had just begun.

Brandon Carter-or so he called himself-looked perfectly at ease sprawled across Julia's couch. He stretched like a lazy cat, while Julia stormed around her tiny kitchen, muttering about freeloaders.

"You're still here?" she snapped, tying her apron before work.

"You agreed," he said smugly. "Your landlord should thank me. I'm basically saving his business."

"You're saving your butt," Julia shot back. "And don't touch anything while I'm gone."

Of course, the moment she left for her morning shift, Brandon touched everything.

The refrigerator hummed, half-empty save for eggs, pack of instant noodle, and a wilting bunch of spinach. Brandon eyed the eggs like they were a puzzle.

"How hard can it be?" he muttered.

Ten minutes later, black smoke curled from the frying pan. The eggs were burnt to a crisp, the pan handle slick with grease. Brandon coughed, fanning the smoke alarm with a dish towel.

"Why would anyone cook this themselves?" he groaned, dumping the charred remains straight into the trash.

Next, he wandered into the laundry nook. Julia had mentioned laundry day. Surely he could manage that. He shoved half the pile into the machine-colors, whites, everything together-and pressed random buttons. The machine whirred, then groaned. A puddle of soapy water spread across the floor.

Brandon jumped back. "Why is it spitting at me?!"

When Julia came home between shifts, she found him standing barefoot on a towel, glaring at the rebellious machine like it had insulted his ancestors.

"What did you do?!" she demanded.

"I tried to help!"

"By drowning my laundry?" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're banned from the washing machine. And the stove. And-actually, just sit still and don't breathe too hard. That way, maybe nothing explodes."

Brandon scowled, but Julia's laughter sparkled in her eyes as she mopped up the mess.

The next day, Brandon trailed her out of the apartment, curiosity gnawing at him. She worked three jobs, she'd said. He didn't believe it. Who worked that much?

First stop: the café. Julia balanced trays like a pro, weaving between customers with a practiced smile. When her manager barked at her for a spilled coffee that wasn't even her fault, she only bowed and apologized.

Second stop: the convenience store. Julia scanned items at lightning speed, her fingers flying, her back aching. Brandon stood by the window, watching her yawn into her sleeve when no one was looking.

Third stop: a dingy office where she filed paperwork for minimum wage. Brandon almost walked away, but then he saw the way she massaged her wrist after hours of typing, her shoulders stiff with exhaustion.

It was like a punch to the gut.

He'd never seen anyone work this hard just to survive.

That night, he decided he'd return the favor. Quietly.

Julia collapsed onto the couch, barely able to lift her head. "Don't. Talk to me. I'm dead."

Brandon smirked. "Rest easy. I'll handle dinner."

Her head shot up. "No! Don't you dare-"

Too late. He was already clattering around in the kitchen. Pots banged, utensils clinked, and suspicious sizzling noises filled the air.

Julia pinched her temples. "God, I should've just ordered takeout."

Minutes later, Brandon proudly set a plate on the table. The instant noodle was overcooked, the spinach wilted into a sad green blob, and the meat-she wasn't even sure it was edible.

"Voilà," he declared.

Julia stared. "Voilà what? Food poisoning?"

He frowned. "It's not that bad."

She poked the noodle with a fork. Nope, it was more like porridge as it overcooked. Julia grab a spoon instead and she shoved a spoonful into his mouth. Brandon didn't even had to chewed, and it tasted nothing.

Julia burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. "You're hopeless!"

Brandon coughed, eyes watering, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He hadn't heard genuine laughter in months-not directed at him, not around him. Somehow, even her mockery warmed the cold edges inside him.

Later, as Julia cleaned up the disaster zone, Brandon dozed off on the couch. His jacket slipped off the armrest, something hard clattering onto the floor.

Julia bent to pick it up-an ID card. Her eyes skimmed over the bold print.

Name: Brandon Hughes Carter.

Her fingers froze. Hughes.

The blood drained from her face. The Hughes family wasn't just powerful. They were infamous. They had ruined her father's company years ago, left her family bankrupt and her father broken.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the letters blurring. Brandon... Hughes.

Her gaze snapped to the sleeping man on her couch. The spoiled heir she'd dragged into her home wasn't just any runaway rich boy. He was part of the dynasty she despised more than anyone.

Her lips trembled as a storm of rage, disbelief, and dread swirled inside her.

Brandon stirred in his sleep, oblivious to the fire he'd just ignited in her chest.

Julia's hands trembled as she gripped the ID card tighter. The name Hughes burned like acid across her vision. She set it down on the table with a sharp snap.

When Brandon finally stirred, rubbing sleep from his eyes, Julia was waiting. Arms crossed, jaw set, eyes blazing.

"Care to explain this?" She shoved the ID card toward him.

Brandon froze, the lazy smirk fading from his lips. For once, he didn't have a witty retort ready. He stared at the card, then back at her.

"Why lie about who you are?" Julia demanded, her voice low but fierce. "Brandon Carter, Hughes... whatever your name is. Do you think this is funny? Do you know what your family has done?"

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy hair. "It's not what you think."

"Then tell me what it is."

A long pause stretched between them. Brandon's gaze darkened, his usual arrogance replaced by something guarded.

"I just... wanted to start fresh." His tone was flat, evasive. "I don't want to be Hughes anymore. That's it."

Julia's heart hammered. He wasn't denying it, but he wasn't confessing either. The ambiguity only sharpened her anger.

"Start fresh? In my apartment? With my rent money?" she snapped. "What kind of game are you playing?"

Before Brandon could answer, a sharp knock echoed at the door.

Julia frowned. "Who is it?"

The knock came again, firmer this time. Brandon's shoulders stiffened. He stood, running a hand through his hair as if trying to appear more composed.

When Julia opened the door, a tall man in a pristine suit stepped inside uninvited. His presence filled the cramped apartment, his gaze sweeping over the room with thinly veiled disdain.

"Brandon," the man said crisply. "You look like hell."

Brandon's lips curved into a mocking smile. "Nice to see you too, James."

Julia blinked. James?

The man adjusted his cufflinks, ignoring her completely. "Your family is furious. Do you realize what you've done by disappearing like this? You're lucky I tracked you down before the press did."

Julia's stomach churned. So he was a Hughes.

Julia excused herself to the kitchen, pretending to busy herself with dishes, but her ears strained at every word.

"You can't stay here," James said sharply. "Hiding in some dingy apartment with... people like her? It's beneath you, Brandon."

Julia's hand froze on the dishcloth.

"Beneath him?" The words echoed in her skull, stinging sharper than any insult she'd heard before. She bit her lip hard, forcing herself not to storm back into the living room.

James's voice lowered. "This girl-what's her name, Julia?-she's a distraction. You don't belong in this world. You're Hughes, whether you like it or not."

Julia's throat tightened.

For a moment, silence stretched. Julia's chest ached. Then Brandon's voice cut through, firm and cold.

"Don't talk about her like that."

Julia's breath caught.

James scoffed. "You can't be serious. She's... ordinary. Disposable. You think this girl can help you rebuild your life?"

"I didn't ask for your approval," Brandon snapped. "Julia's worth ten of the parasites I grew up surrounded by. She doesn't care about my name, and that's exactly why I'm here."

Julia's heart twisted. She pressed a hand to the counter, steadying herself.

Why would he defend me like that?

Her pulse thundered with confusion. He was hiding something-big enough to terrify him into running away. And yet, he stood up for her, as if she mattered.

When James finally left, the air in the apartment was thick. Brandon leaned against the doorframe, shoulders tense. Julia avoided his gaze, her emotions tangled between fury, doubt, and... something else she refused to name.

"You heard everything, didn't you?" he asked quietly.

Julia turned away. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't care what your lawyer thinks."

But her voice wavered, betraying the storm inside her.

Brandon's jaw tightened, but he didn't push. He simply walked past her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

Julia slumped against the counter, her fists trembling.

The next morning, Julia's phone buzzed as she prepared for her shift. An unfamiliar number flashed across the screen.

"Miss Julia Reed?" a smooth voice asked.

"Yes?"

"This is Hughes Corporation. We've reviewed your application. There's an opening, and we'd like to schedule you for an interview this week."

Julia nearly dropped her phone. Her? At Hughes Corporation? She hadn't applied-she knew better than to step foot anywhere near them.

"W-what position?" she stammered.

"Administrative support. Recommended through Mr. James Whitmore."

Julia's blood ran cold. James.

Her gaze slid to Brandon's closed door, her heart pounding. Was this a trap? A chance? Or another way for the Hughes family to pull her into their web?

Either way, she was about to be pulled into a world she'd sworn never to touch again.