I knew the place was expensive before the gates even opened.
They were too tall. Too smooth. Too silent as they slid apart like something out of a movie.
I shifted in my seat, fingers tightening around my bag. "Yeah… this is it," I muttered, more to myself than the driver.
As the car rolled in, my stomach flipped.
The driveway stretched longer than I expected, lined with perfectly shaped hedges and soft golden lights that flickered on one after the other. And then I saw the house.
No.
Not a house.
A mansion.
Glass walls. Clean stone. Sharp edges softened by warm lighting. It didn't just look expensive—it felt expensive.
"Oh wow…" I whispered under my breath.
The car stopped, and before I could even open the door, a security guard was already there.
"Miss Nariah?"
"That's me," I said quickly, stepping out.
"Welcome. You're expected."
Expected.
That word settled strangely in my chest.
I followed him inside, my suitcase wheels echoing against the polished floors. The place was quiet—too quiet. No voices. No footsteps. Just space.
"Mr. ___ isn't home yet," he informed me as we walked into the kitchen.
I nodded, trying not to look as overwhelmed as I felt.
And then I saw it.
The kitchen.
I actually stopped walking.
It was… perfect.
Everything I could ever want as a chef—sleek countertops, top-tier appliances, space that practically begged to be used. For a second, I forgot how nervous I was.
On the island counter sat a small note.
My name was written on it.
I walked over slowly, picking it up.
Welcome. Your room is ready. Key attached. Groceries needed—use the list provided. Transportation has been arranged.
Simple. Straightforward.
Professional.
I glanced down and spotted the key beside it, along with a neatly printed grocery list.
"No pressure," I murmured dryly.
A few hours later, I stood in my room—yes, my room—trying to process everything.
The grocery run had gone smoothly. A ride had been waiting just like the note said. Everything about this job screamed organization.
Which meant expectations were probably just as high.
I exhaled, staring at my reflection.
"Okay… reset."
I wasn't about to spend my first night in this city hiding in a mansion that didn't even have its owner in it.
I needed to breathe. To step out. To feel normal.
And there was only one place that made sense.
Rick's restaurant.
I slipped into my dress slowly, smoothing it over my hips.
Sky blue.
Bodycon.
A thigh-high slit that made me hesitate for a second before I shrugged it off. The neckline dipped just enough to show a hint of cleavage—nothing too much, but enough to feel… bold.
Different.
I added simple jewelry to match, then pulled my thick brown waves into a neat bun, leaving a few strands to frame my face.
When I leaned closer to the mirror, I focused on my makeup—bold, but clean. My eyes stood out immediately.
Sea green.
Bright.
Striking against my skin, which caught the soft glow of the evening light filtering through the window.
I tilted my head slightly.
"Okay, Nariah…" I murmured. "You clean up nice."
For the first time since landing, I smiled without overthinking it.
Rick hadn't exaggerated.
The restaurant was stunning.
I paused outside for a second, taking it all in before pulling out my phone and snapping a quick picture.
"Yeah… you did your thing," I muttered, impressed.
Then I stepped inside.
Warm lighting wrapped around me instantly. Soft music played in the background, low enough to blend into the hum of conversation. The place was alive—but controlled, elegant.
And full.
Really full.
I suddenly felt very aware of myself.
Of my dress.
Of the way people carried themselves here—confident, polished, like they belonged.
I straightened my shoulders.
Act accordingly.
A few minutes later, I was seated, scanning the space like I was trying to memorize it.
"Nariah!"
I looked up just in time to see Rick rushing toward me, wiping his hands on a towel.
"Oh my God," he said, stopping in front of me. "Look at you."
I laughed. "What? Is it too much?"
"Too much? You look incredible," he said, shaking his head. "The city hasn't even had you for twenty-four hours and you're already upgrading."
I rolled my eyes, smiling. "Shut up. This place though… Rick, it's amazing."
He grinned proudly. "I told you."
We talked for a bit—quick, easy conversation—but I could tell he was distracted. His eyes kept flicking toward the kitchen.
"Busy?" I asked knowingly.
He groaned. "You have no idea. Some high-profile clients came in tonight. I've been running around since evening."
"Go," I waved him off. "I'll be fine."
"You sure?"
"I'm good. I'm just enjoying the view," I teased.
He hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. Don't leave without seeing me."
"I won't."
And just like that, he was gone again.
I leaned back in my seat, letting myself take everything in.
The clinking of glasses. The quiet laughter. The way waiters moved like they'd rehearsed every step.
I felt… out of place.
But I refused to look it.
So I lifted my chin slightly, crossing one leg over the other, and settled in like I belonged.
That's when I noticed them.
A group of men across the room.
Well-dressed. Confident. Loud in a controlled way.
And one of them…
My breath caught slightly.
He was already looking at me.
And then—
He winked.
I blinked, caught off guard.
Did he just—
I looked away quickly, pretending I hadn't noticed, but I could feel it. That pull. That awareness.
A few minutes passed.
Then—
"Enjoying your night?"
I looked up.
Not the one who winked.
Another one.
Tall. Easily over six feet. Broad shoulders that filled out his suit like it had been tailored just for him—which it probably had. His haircut was clean, sharp. His eyes?
Dark.
Very dark.
And focused entirely on me.
I swallowed, forcing a small smile. "I am, actually."
"Good," he said, sliding into the seat across from me like he'd been invited. "Would've been a shame if you weren't."
I raised a brow. "Confident, aren't you?"
He smirked. "Only when I'm right."
I shook my head slightly, amused despite myself.
"I haven't seen you here before," he continued. "New?"
"That obvious?"
"A little," he admitted. "You're looking around like you're taking mental notes."
I laughed softly. "Maybe I am."
"So…?" he leaned back slightly. "What brought you to the city?"
"Work," I said simply.
"What kind?"
I hesitated for half a second, then shrugged. "Cooking."
His brows lifted. "A chef?"
"Something like that."
"Interesting," he murmured, studying me in a way that made my skin warm. "You don't look like you belong behind a kitchen door."
I tilted my head. "And what does that even mean?"
"It means…" his gaze dipped briefly—just enough to notice, not enough to be rude—before returning to my eyes, "…you look like trouble."
My pulse skipped.
Okay.
He was smooth.
"I could say the same about you," I replied.
He chuckled. "Fair."
A waiter approached, and before I could say anything, he gestured. "Another round."
I blinked. "You don't even know what I'm drinking."
"I'm taking the risk."
I laughed under my breath. "Bold."
"You don't seem like someone who plays it safe either."
He wasn't wrong.
The drinks came, and conversation flowed easily after that.
Too easily.
We talked about the city, about food, about nothing and everything at the same time. Each cocktail loosened the space between us just a little more.
Not enough to cross a line.
But enough to feel it.
That tension.
That awareness.
I caught myself studying him more than once—his jawline, the way his shoulders shifted when he laughed, the quiet confidence in everything he did.
He was… very attractive.
Annoyingly so.
"Careful," he said suddenly.
I blinked. "What?"
"You keep looking at me like that."
My cheeks warmed. "Like what?"
"Like you're trying to figure me out."
I scoffed lightly. "Maybe I am."
"And?"
I leaned back slightly, holding his gaze. "I think you're used to getting your way."
He smiled slowly. "I usually do."
"That doesn't mean you will tonight."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Interest.
"Good," he said quietly. "I like a challenge."
Before I could respond, someone called his name from across the room.
He glanced back, then exhaled.
"Duty calls."
I nodded, suddenly aware of the space he was about to leave behind.
He stood, adjusting his suit. "It was nice meeting you…?"
"Nariah."
His gaze held mine for a second longer. "Nariah."
The way he said it—
I felt it.
"I'll see you around," he added.
I wasn't sure why, but something in my chest tightened slightly.
"Maybe," I said.
He smirked once more before turning and walking back to his table.
I watched him go longer than I should have.
Then I exhaled slowly, lifting my glass.
Yeah.
This city was already getting interesting.