Leighton spent the next morning hiding in her room like a coward.

She updated her resume. Applied to twelve jobs. Scrolled through apartment listings she couldn't afford. Anything to avoid going downstairs and risking another encounter with Noah.

Her phone rang just after noon. Chloe.

"Hey, want to grab lunch? I'm off early today."

"Sure. Where should I meet you?"

"I'm literally downstairs. Come down."

Right. Because Chloe lived here too. Leighton had almost forgotten in her panic to avoid Noah.

She changed out of her pajamas into jeans and a sweater, then made her way downstairs. This time in daylight, the house was even more impressive. And intimidating. Huge windows let in natural light that made everything gleam. The art on the walls probably cost more than she'd make in a year.

She found Chloe in the kitchen, rifling through the fridge.

"Finally! I'm starving. Want to go to that Thai place you love?"

"I can't really afford to eat out right now."

"My treat. Don't argue." Chloe grabbed her purse. "Come on."

They were halfway to the door when Noah appeared at the top of the stairs. He was on his phone, talking in a clipped tone about quarterly reports and market projections. He wore a suit today, all sharp lines and expensive fabric.

He glanced down at them. His eyes passed over Leighton without a flicker of recognition.

Again.

"We're going out," Chloe called up. "Want anything?"

He shook his head, already walking away, still talking into his phone.

"See?" Chloe said once they were in her car. "He's barely aware you exist. This is going to be fine."

Leighton forced a smile. "Yeah. Fine."

Lunch helped. Chloe always knew how to make her laugh, and for an hour, she almost forgot about the disaster her life had become. Almost forgot about living in a mansion with a man who looked at her like she was invisible.

When they got back, Chloe had to run to a meeting.

"I'll be back around seven. We can watch a movie or something." She squeezed Leighton's hand. "It's going to work out. I promise."

Leighton nodded and headed back to her room. But somewhere on the second floor, she took a wrong turn.

The hallway looked the same as the one her room was in. Same carpet, same lights, same closed doors. But when she tried the door she thought was hers, it didn't open.

She tried the handle again. Locked.

Wait. Her door didn't lock from the outside. Did it?

She stepped back and looked around. This wasn't the right hallway at all. Nothing looked familiar.

"Great," she muttered. "Lost in a house. That's a new low."

She backtracked, trying to retrace her steps. Took another turn. This hallway had different art on the walls. Still wrong.

How did anyone navigate this place?

She tried another direction. The hallway opened into a sitting area she didn't recognize. More wrong turns. A bathroom. A linen closet. Another locked door.

Twenty minutes later, she was completely turned around. Nothing looked familiar. Every hallway seemed identical.

She pulled out her phone to text Chloe, then remembered she was in her meeting. Leighton stared at her contacts. She could call someone. Except she didn't know anyone else here. Her only other option was...

No. Absolutely not. She was not texting Noah Knight to ask for directions in his own house.

She'd figure it out herself.

Another wrong turn led her to a set of double doors. Maybe they led to a wing she recognized? She pushed one open carefully.

It was an office. A massive office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens, a huge desk covered in monitors, and bookshelves lining the walls.

And Noah, sitting at the desk, watching her.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't mean to... I got lost."

He leaned back in his chair. "Lost."

"Your house is really big."

"You've been here for less than twenty-four hours and you're already wandering into rooms you shouldn't be in."

Her face burned. "I wasn't wandering. I was trying to find my room. All the hallways look the same."

He stood up, and even from across the room, she could feel the weight of his irritation. He walked around the desk toward her, and she had to resist the urge to step back.

Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Tall enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Those dark eyes that were currently looking at her like she was the world's biggest inconvenience.

"Which room did Chloe put you in?"

"The one with the blue bedding? And the view of the gardens?"

"East wing, third door on the right."

"Okay. Thanks. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely behind her.

"You're going the wrong way."

Of course, she was.

He moved past her into the hallway, and she had no choice but to follow. He walked quickly, taking turns without hesitation. She tried to memorize the route, but it was hopeless. Everything still looked identical to her.

They passed a slightly open door. Through it, she glimpsed a huge bedroom. King-size bed, dark furniture, everything perfectly neat. His room, probably.

"That's my room," he said without looking back, like he knew where her eyes had gone. "Don't go in there."

"I wouldn't."

"You got lost trying to find your own room. I'm not confident in your sense of direction."

Was he making fun of her? She couldn't tell. His voice was flat, emotionless.

He stopped at a door. "This one."

It was her room. She recognized the blue bedding through the open door.

"Thank you."

He nodded once, already turning away.

"Noah?"

He stopped but didn't turn around. It was becoming a pattern with him. Never fully facing her. Always ready to leave.

"I really am sorry. For being here. For being in the way. I know you didn't want me here."

Now he did turn, his dark eyes meeting hers. "It's not personal."

"It feels pretty personal."

"I don't know you. You're Chloe's friend. That's all."

The words shouldn't have stung. She barely knew him either. But they did. Because she'd spent fifteen years knowing exactly who he was. Watching him. Wanting him to look at her the way he was looking at her now.

Except now that he was looking, there was nothing in his eyes but cold disinterest.

"Two weeks," she said quietly. "Then I'll be gone and you can have your house back."

Something flickered across his face. She couldn't read it. Then it was gone, and his expression was smooth again.

"See that you do."

He walked away, and this time she didn't call after him.

She went into her room and closed the door, leaning against it. Her hands were shaking. From embarrassment, from anger, from something else she didn't want to name.

This version of Noah was nothing like the one she'd built up in her head. That Noah had been kind. Warm. Someone who would smile at her and make her feel like she mattered.

Real Noah was ice. Sharp edges and closed doors and eyes that looked through her instead of at her.

She needed to let go of the fantasy. The childhood crush. All of it.

He didn't want her here. He'd made that perfectly clear.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Chloe.

*Meeting ran late. Won't be back until 9. You okay?*

*I'm fine. Got lost trying to find my room but I figured it out*

*LOL this house is ridiculous. Noah gave me a map when I first moved in*

*There's a MAP?*

*I'll find it for you tomorrow. Hang in there*

Leighton set her phone down and looked around the room. Beautiful. Perfect. Everything she'd never have on her own.

And she'd never felt more out of place in her life.

She pulled up her laptop and applied to more jobs. Anything to speed up her exit. Graphic designer positions. Junior art director roles. Even a few administrative jobs that had nothing to do with her degree. She didn't care. She just needed out.

Two weeks felt like a lifetime.

Later that night, her stomach growled. She'd skipped dinner, too anxious about navigating the house to risk going downstairs. But she couldn't hide in her room forever.

It was past ten. Maybe Noah would be asleep. Or working in his office with the door closed.

She crept downstairs, following the route he'd shown her earlier. Or what she thought was the route. Everything looked different in the dark.

But she found the kitchen. Small victory.

The fridge was still packed with food. She grabbed some leftover pasta from one of the containers and heated it up, eating quickly while standing at the counter.

"You really like sneaking around at night."

She jumped, nearly dropping her fork. Noah stood in the doorway. No shirt again. Just pajama pants riding low on his hips.

Why did he keep doing this to her?

"I'm not sneaking. I'm eating."

"In the dark. In my kitchen."

"I turned the light on."

He moved into the room, and she tried very hard not to stare at his chest. In the muscles in his arms. At the tattoo she hadn't noticed before, black ink winding around his ribcage.

"You should eat actual meals," he said. "Not just bread and leftovers."

"I'm fine."

"You're avoiding me."

She set her fork down. "You told me to stay out of your way. That's what I'm doing."

"By getting lost in my house and breaking into my office?"

"I didn't break in. The door was open."

"It was closed."

"It was open a crack!"

The corner of his mouth twitched. For a second, she thought he might smile. But then his expression went flat again.

"Two weeks," he said. "Try to stay found until then."

He left, taking all the oxygen in the room with him.

Leighton dumped the rest of her pasta in the trash, her appetite gone. She trudged back upstairs, somehow finding her room on the first try.

She climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head.

Thirteen more days.

She could do this.

Probably.

Day three, and Leighton still couldn't sleep.

She'd applied to twenty-seven jobs. Had one phone screen scheduled for tomorrow. Spent most of her time in her room, venturing out only when she was certain Noah was locked in his office or gone entirely.

The avoidance strategy was working. She'd barely seen him since the kitchen incident last night.

But now it was 1 AM, and her stomach was staging a revolt. The protein bar she'd eaten for dinner wasn't cutting it.

She pulled on her sleep shorts and a thin camisole, too tired to bother with the hoodie. The house was always warm anyway. Noah probably had some fancy heating system that cost more per month than her old rent.

This time, she knew the way to the kitchen. Small victories.

The house was dark and quiet. She padded down the stairs, her bare feet silent on the cool marble. She was getting used to the space now. Starting to memorize which hallways led where, which doors opened to what rooms.

The kitchen light was on.

She froze at the entrance.

Noah sat at the kitchen island, laptop open in front of him, a glass of amber liquid next to his hand. He'd changed since earlier. No shirt, just gray sweatpants. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it.

He looked up when she appeared.

For a second, neither of them moved. His eyes traveled down from her face, taking in her pajamas. The thin straps of her camisole. Her bare legs. Then his jaw tightened, and his gaze snapped back to his laptop.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were down here."

"It's fine."

She should leave. Go back upstairs. Eat the stale granola bar she'd stashed in her room.

But she was so tired of hiding. And she was hungry. Really hungry.

She moved into the kitchen, giving him a wide berth. She opened the fridge and studied its contents as if she were taking a test.

"There's leftover lasagna," Noah said without looking up. "Second shelf."

"Thanks."

She found it and put some on a plate, then stuck it in the microwave. The hum of it filled the silence. She kept her back to him, hyperaware of how little she was wearing. The camisole had seemed fine in her room. Now she felt practically naked.

The microwave beeped. She pulled out her plate, the smell making her mouth water. She grabbed a fork and turned to leave.

"You can eat here."

She looked at him. He was still focused on his laptop, his face lit by the blue glow of the screen.

"I don't want to bother you."

"You're already bothering me. Might as well commit."

She couldn't tell if he was joking. His voice gave nothing away.

Slowly, she walked to the island and sat on the stool across from him. Far enough that there was no chance of accidentally touching. Close enough that she could see what he was drinking.

"Is that whiskey?"

"Scotch. Macallan 25."

She had no idea what that meant, but it sounded expensive. Everything in this house was expensive.

She took a bite of lasagna. It was incredible. Homemade, with real mozzarella and herbs she couldn't name. Nothing like the frozen stuff she used to buy.

"Did you make this?"

"I have a chef who comes three times a week."

Of course he did.

"Must be nice."

He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Must be nice to have food?"

"To have someone cook it for you. To live in a house with fifteen bedrooms. To not worry about rent or bills or getting evicted."

His expression darkened. "You think I didn't work for this?"

"I didn't mean..."

"I started my company when I was twenty-four. Worked eighty-hour weeks for three years straight. Nearly went bankrupt twice. So yeah, now I have a chef. I earned it."

"I wasn't attacking you."

"Sounded like it."

She set down her fork. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was rude."

He studied her for a long moment, and she fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. Then he picked up his glass and took a drink.

"Why graphic design?" he asked.

The question surprised her. "What?"

"Your degree. Chloe mentioned it. Why that?"

"I like making things. Creating things that didn't exist before." She shrugged. "It's the only thing I've ever been good at."

"You must be decent if you got hired out of college."

"I was. Until they decided decent wasn't worth the salary."

"Their loss."

The words were casual, throwaway. But something in her chest warmed at them anyway.

She took another bite of lasagna. He went back to his laptop, typing something, then frowning at the screen.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"Contract negotiation. A company in Tokyo wants to license our software. They're being difficult about the terms."

"At one in the morning?"

"Tokyo is fourteen hours ahead. It's business hours there."

She watched him work, fascinated despite herself. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. Every so often, he'd take a drink, his eyes never leaving the screen. This was Noah in his element. Focused. In control.

Different from the cold, irritated version he'd been with her.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"You just did."

"Can I ask you another something?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Go ahead."

"Do you remember me? From before. When I used to come over with Chloe."

His hands stilled on the keyboard. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since she'd walked in.

"Yes."

"You acted like you didn't."

"I know."

"Why?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he closed his laptop and picked up his glass, swirling the scotch. "Because it was easier than acknowledging that Chloe's little friend grew up."

Heat flooded her face. She didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know what it meant.

He stood up, draining the rest of his scotch. "You should finish eating and get some sleep."

"Okay," she said quietly.

He moved to the sink with his glass. Leighton stood too, grabbing her plate. She turned toward the sink at the same time he turned back, and they collided.

The plate slipped from her hands. She grabbed for it, overcorrected, and her elbow hit his glass instead.

It shattered on the marble floor in an explosion of crystal and scotch.

"Oh my god." She dropped to her knees immediately, reaching for the pieces. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a disaster. I'll pay for it. I'll..."

"Don't touch it."

She looked up at him. He was standing over her, his expression unreadable.

"You'll cut yourself." He moved to the pantry and came back with a broom and dustpan. "Move back."

"I can clean it. It's my fault."

"Leighton. Move."

She scrambled backward, pressing against the island. He swept up the glass efficiently, his movements quick and sure. When he was done, he dumped it in the trash, then grabbed paper towels and cleaned up the liquid.

She stood there uselessly, her heart pounding. "I'm really sorry. That glass looked expensive."

"It was."

"How expensive?"

"You don't want to know."

She closed her eyes. Perfect. She'd destroyed something that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. "Send me the bill. I'll find a way to pay you back."

"Forget it."

"Noah..."

"I said forget it." He threw away the paper towels and turned to face her. "It's just a glass."

"A really expensive glass that I broke because I'm clumsy and stupid and..."

"You're not stupid."

"I can't even hold onto a plate without causing property damage."

"It was an accident."

"I keep saying that about a lot of things lately." She pressed her hands to her face. "I'm sorry. I should just go back to my room and stop breaking your stuff."

She moved toward the door, but his voice stopped her.

"Leighton."

She turned. He was standing by the island, his hands braced on the counter, his dark eyes intense.

"Stop apologizing for existing."

"I'm not..."

"You are. You've apologized about fifty times since you got here. For eating. For getting lost. For breathing. It's exhausting."

Her throat tightened. "I'm taking up space in your house. The least I can do is..."

"The least you can do is stop acting like you're not allowed to be human." He pushed off the counter. "You're Chloe's best friend. That means something to her. Which means you're not going anywhere for two weeks, whether I like it or not. So stop walking on eggshells."

"Do you? Like it?" She blurted out, shocking herself.

The question hung between them. She shouldn't have asked. It was too direct. Too honest.

But she was tired of pretending.

He moved closer, and her breath caught. He stopped a foot away, near enough that she could smell the scotch on his breath, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

"I don't know yet," he said quietly.

Then he walked past her out of the kitchen, leaving her standing there alone, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with breaking his glass.

She touched her fingers to her lips. They were trembling.

This was dangerous. The way he'd looked at her. The way her body had responded when he got close. The way she wanted him to come back.

She was so screwed.

She left her plate in the sink and went back to her room, but sleep was impossible. All she could see was the way his eyes had traced down her body. The almost-smile when she'd asked her question. The intensity in his voice when he'd told her to stop apologizing.

*Chloe's little friend grew up.*

What did that mean? Was he attracted to her? Annoyed by her? Both?

She rolled over and grabbed her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Anything to stop thinking about Noah Knight standing shirtless in his kitchen, looking at her like maybe she wasn't invisible after all.

Her alarm would go off in five hours. She needed sleep.

But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And she wondered what would have happened if she hadn't dropped that glass. If they'd stood there, inches apart, for just a few seconds longer.

Nothing good, probably.

Noah Knight was off-limits for about a thousand reasons.

She just needed to remember that.

Leighton's alarm went off at seven. She'd slept maybe three hours, total.

Her phone interview was at nine. She needed coffee. Needed to pull herself together and sound competent and employable instead of like someone who'd spent half the night obsessing over her best friend's brother.

She showered and changed into actual clothes. A blouse and jeans, since they couldn't see her bottom half on the video call anyway. Light makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail.

Professional. Put together. Definitely not thinking about Noah's eyes or his voice or the way he'd said *grew up*.

She grabbed her laptop and crept downstairs. According to Chloe, Noah worked out every morning at six, then locked himself in his office until noon. Which meant the coast should be clear.

The kitchen was empty. She made coffee, her hands still shaky from lack of sleep. The spot where the glass had shattered was spotless. Like it had never happened.

She took her coffee and laptop to what Chloe had called the "morning room." Big windows, comfortable chairs, good lighting. Perfect for a video interview.

She had an hour to prep. Review the company website, practice her answers, pretend her life wasn't a complete mess.

At 8:45, her laptop pinged. The interview link was active. She took a deep breath and clicked join.

The interview lasted thirty minutes. Standard questions about her experience, her design process, and why she wanted the job. She gave good answers. Smiled at the right times. Pretended she wasn't desperate.

"We'll be in touch," the hiring manager said at the end. "Probably early next week."

Translation: don't call us, we'll call you.

Leighton closed her laptop and slumped in the chair. That had gone fine. Not great, not terrible. Fine.

She needed more coffee.

On her way back to the kitchen, she heard music. Something with a heavy beat coming from down the hall. She followed the sound to a door she hadn't noticed before, slightly open.

Through the gap, she could see equipment. A treadmill. Weight racks. Punching bag.

The gym.

She should keep walking. Mind her own business. Get her coffee and go back to her room.

Instead, she moved closer to the door.

Noah was inside. She could see him through the opening, his back to her. He was on the weight bench, doing chest presses. No shirt, just shorts and sneakers. Sweat gleamed on his skin. His muscles flexed with each rep, controlled and precise.

She knew she should look away. Knew she was being creepy, standing here watching him.

But she couldn't move.

He finished his set and sat up, reaching for a water bottle. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. There was a scar on his left shoulder, about three inches long. She wondered how he'd gotten it.

Then he turned his head and looked directly at her.

Their eyes locked.

Leighton froze. Caught. Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The music pounded between them. She couldn't read his expression. Couldn't tell if he was angry or amused or something else entirely.

Then he stood up and walked toward the door.

She should run. Should apologize and leave and never speak of this again.

But her feet wouldn't move.

He pushed the door open wider. Up close, she could see the sweat on his skin, the way his chest still heaved slightly from exertion. He smelled like salt and something expensive. Cologne or body wash or just him.

"Enjoying the show?" His voice was low. Dangerous.

"I heard music. I was just..."

"Watching me work out."

Her face burned. "I wasn't... I mean, I was walking by and..."

"And you stopped to stare."

"I'm sorry."

"You apologize a lot for someone who keeps doing things she shouldn't."

"I know. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely toward the kitchen.

"How'd your interview go?"

The question threw her. "What?"

"Your phone interview. This morning. How was it?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Chloe mentioned it yesterday." He took a drink of water, and she tried very hard not to watch his throat work as he swallowed. "So?"

"It was fine. They said they'd call next week."

"That's good."

"Maybe. I don't know." She twisted her hands together. "I applied to like forty jobs. Only got one call back. The market is awful right now."

"What kind of design do you do?"

"Mostly branding. Logos, marketing materials. Some web design."

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away. "You should eat breakfast. Low blood sugar makes interviews harder."

"I had coffee."

"Coffee isn't food."

"It has calories."

"Leighton."

The way he said her name made her stomach flip. Like he was scolding her and testing how it sounded at the same time.

"I'll eat something," she said.

"Good." He stepped back into the gym. "And next time you want to watch me work out, you can just come in instead of lurking in the doorway."

Before she could respond, he closed the door.

She stood there for a full minute, her heart pounding. Had he just... was he flirting with her? Or making fun of her? She genuinely couldn't tell.

She went to the kitchen and made toast she didn't want, eating it mechanically while staring at nothing. Her phone buzzed with a video call. Chloe.

She answered, propping the phone against a fruit bowl.

"Hey! How'd the interview go?" Chloe's face filled the screen, bright and cheerful.

"Fine. I think."

"That's great! See, I told you things would work out." Chloe shifted, and Leighton could see she was in a coffee shop. "How's everything there? Is Noah being decent?"

Leighton thought about last night. The broken glass. His eyes on her pajamas. The way he'd told her to stop apologizing.

"Yeah. He's been... fine."

"Really? Because I know he can be kind of intense. If he's being an ass, you can tell me. I'll kick his ass for you."

"No, seriously. It's fine. He's barely around." The lie tasted bitter. "I hardly see him."

"Good. That's good." Chloe took a sip of her coffee. "I feel bad about just dumping you there and running to work every day. I should have taken time off."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've done enough. More than enough."

"You're my best friend. There's no such thing as enough." Chloe's expression softened. "I mean it, Leigh. If you need anything, or if Noah gives you any shit, just tell me."

"I will. I promise."

They talked for a few more minutes about nothing important. Chloe's work drama. The new restaurant she wanted to try. Normal things that made Leighton's chest ache with how much she missed her regular life.

After they hung up, she sat in the empty kitchen and hated herself a little for lying. Chloe deserved the truth. But what would she even say? *Your brother looked at me in my pajamas and now I can't stop thinking about him? I watched him work out like a creep this morning.*

Yeah. That would go over well.

She cleaned up her breakfast mess and headed back upstairs. The gym door was closed now, the music silent. Noah was probably in the shower.

She tried very hard not to picture that.

Back in her room, she opened her laptop to apply to more jobs. But her email had a new message. From the company she'd interviewed with this morning.

Her heart jumped. They'd said next week. It had only been an hour.

She clicked it open.

*Thank you for your time this morning. Unfortunately, we've decided to move forward with other candidates. We wish you the best in your job search.*

She read it three times. Each time, the words felt sharper.

Not even a full hour. They couldn't even wait a day to reject her.

She closed the laptop and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. One week down. One week to go. And still no job prospects. No apartment leads. Nothing but a growing pile of rejections and a dangerous attraction to a completely off-limits man.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

*Stop beating yourself up. One rejection isn't the end of the world. - N*

She stared at the message. How did he even get her number? Chloe, probably.

She typed back: *How did you know I got rejected?*

*I didn't. But you had that look on your face after the interview. Like you were waiting for bad news.*

*What looks?*

*The same one you had when you showed up here with one suitcase.*

She didn't know what to say to that. The fact that he'd noticed. That he'd been paying attention.

Another text came through: *For what it's worth, they're idiots.*

Despite everything, she smiled.

*Thanks*

She waited to see if he'd respond, but he didn't. She saved his number in her phone, staring at his name for longer than was probably healthy.

This was bad. This whole situation was bad.

But when her phone buzzed with another job listing Chloe had sent her, she felt just a little bit less alone.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.