Chapter Seven: Moving In

Celeste's Pov

I stood outside the kind of building that made you feel poor just by looking at it, the suitcase handle biting into my palm, as I blinked up at the uniformed doorman who was giving me the kind of look reserved for street performers who'd wandered into the wrong neighborhood.

“I’m here to move in,” I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “With Leo.”

His eyebrow lifted like it had been trained to do so. “Mr. Kingsley?”

“No, the other Leo who owns the penthouse on the top floor,” I snapped, then forced a tight smile. “Yes. That Leo.”

He gave me a slow once-over. Not the good kind. The kind that said you’ve got to be kidding me.

“I wasn’t told to expect anyone today,” he said flatly. “Especially not a... guest.”

Of course he didn’t tell them I was coming. That would’ve required basic human decency—something Leo Kingsley had clearly evolved past

I clenched my jaw. “I’m not a guest. I’m his girlfriend.”

That did it.

The second doorman—leaner, younger, clearly new—snorted. The older one kept his professional mask on, but I saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes. A silent, Sure, sweetheart. You and a hundred others.

“If you’re really his girlfriend, you can call him,” the older one said.

With shaky hands, I pulled it from my pocket, ready to call him—except I couldn't Because Leo never gave me his number. Not once. Not for emergencies, not even for fake-girlfriend duties. Probably didn’t want me having access to him off-script.

I stared at the screen, then looked up. “I—uh—it’s on my other phone.”

The young one actually laughed this time. “Yeah, heard that one before.”

“I’m serious,” I said, hating how desperate I sounded. “He told me to move in today. Seven p.m. sharp. You can check with him—”

“And risk my job when he denies ever knowing you?” the older one cut in. “Not happening. Mr. Kingsley doesn’t like surprises. Or strangers.”

“I stepped back, muttering a string of curses with Leo’s name right in the middle of it. If he thought this was the kind of welcome a girl dreamed of, he needed a personality transplant.

I didn’t have money for a cab. Couldn’t go back to my place. And I’d be damned if I begged to stand in his precious marble lobby while he buried himself in work, probably signing some billion dollar contract, too busy to even remember that he asked me to move in today.

So I did the only thing I could: I dragged my suitcase to the curb, parked myself on it like royalty, and started muttering a full Shakespearean-level monologue of curses under my breath.

I was still cussing under my breath when the first drop smacked the pavement. I barely had time to react before the drizzle turned savage—like the sky had been waiting for the perfect moment to humiliate me. One second, it was drizzling. The next, it was a full-on downpour, soaking me to the bone in under a minute. No warning. No mercy.

It poured like one of those icy, drenching rains that makes your clothes stick to your bones and your dignity evaporate with every passing second.

I sat there, drenched, hair plastered to my face, looking like a soggy raccoon with a grudge—and I still refused to move.

It was almost ten pm when a sleek black car pulled into the driveway. The security guards straightened like they’d just seen God himself.

Leo stepped out, bone-dry, polished, perfect—and completely unbothered.

His eyes landed on me like I was an unsightly package left on his doorstep.

“You’re late,” I bit out.

He blinked once. “You’re wet.”

“No thanks to you,” I hissed, rising slowly, dragging my soaked suitcase with me. “You didn’t tell them I was coming.”

“I didn’t think I needed to.” He didn’t even look guilty. Just mildly annoyed.

“Well, next time you make someone move into your palace, try communicating with your staff. Or, maybe, give your girlfriend your number.”

“I thought you’d figure it out,” he said, then looked past me. “She’s with me. Let her in.”

I pushed past him, dripping and furious.

“You look like a drowned cat,” he said behind me.

I didn’t turn around. “And you look like the reason my next flu test’s going to come back positive.”

By the time I stepped into the elevator, I was leaving a trail of water on the marble like some vengeful puddle ghost. Leo didn’t say a word, just tapped in a code and stood beside me like we were two strangers sharing a ride. Not a glance. Not an apology.

The elevator hummed its way to the top floor. I watched our reflection in the mirrored walls—him, all tailored indifference and thousand-dollar cologne. Me, looking like the abandoned side character in a tragic romance movie.

The doors opened into his penthouse and—of course—it looked like it had been staged by a Scandinavian furniture cult. Everything was sleek, cold, impersonal. Not a single trace of a life actually being lived here.

“Your room’s down the hall,” he said, already walking off. “Last door on the left.”

“No ‘make yourself at home’? No towel? No glass of water?” I called after him. “Wow. You really know how to woo a girl.”

“You’re not here to be wooed,” he replied without turning around. “You’re here to play your part.”

I dropped my suitcase with a wet thud on the polished floor. “And you’re doing a stellar job of being charming, as usual.”

He disappeared into what I assumed was his bedroom, the door clicking shut like punctuation.

I stood in the middle of the living room, soaked to the bone, teeth chattering, surrounded by furniture that cost more than my student loans. I should’ve cried. But I was too angry to cry.

Instead, I peeled off my wet coat, left it on his pristine white couch (petty, but satisfying), and dragged myself toward my assigned bedroom. It looked like a luxury hotel suite. Large bed, neutral tones, not a speck of personality. Just like him.

A quick hot shower helped me feel like a human again, but when I stepped out and wrapped myself in the robe hanging on the back of the door, reality hit harder than the rain ever could.

I lived here now.

With Leo.

God help me.

I wasn’t hungry. At least, that’s what I told myself as I paced my room, robe clutched tight like it could shield me from the fact that my stomach had other plans. It let out a low growl, and I cursed it for betraying me.

I waited for the sound of Leo’s footsteps or the soft click of his door opening—anything to suggest he’d gone to bed so I could sneak into the kitchen and not have to deal with his highness.

But when I stepped out, barefoot and quiet, I found him already there.

He stood at the marble island, sleeves rolled up, chopsticks in one hand and a takeout box in the other. Chinese. The smell was unfairly inviting.

He looked up, and for a second, neither of us said anything.

“I didn’t think you’d be hungry,” he said flatly.

“I didn’t think you’d eat food that came in a box,” I shot back, walking over.

Leo gestured toward the bag beside him. “There’s more. Knock yourself out.”

I pulled out a box of lomein and sat across from him, making sure to keep the distance between us wide enough to fit the Atlantic Ocean and a restraining order.

“This is funny,” I said after a few bites. “Back in high school, I was the one who always wanted takeout. You used to be the one pushing for ‘real meals’ at actual tables with actual silverware.”

His eyes flicked up. “And you used to think fortune cookies held life-changing advice.”

“I was seventeen. I also thought you’d end up a teacher or a vet. Something boring. Something good.”

He didn’t respond. Just kept eating.

“I guess the universe got the last laugh,” I muttered, stabbing at a noodle.

Leo set down his chopsticks with an audible click. "Is this your way of pretending everything’s fine between us?"

I forced a smile, stabbing my food with unnecessary force. "Oh, I thought we were pretending to be the perfect couple. I must’ve misunderstood."

The corner of Leo’s mouth twitched like he was fighting the urge to say something sharp, but he didn’t. Instead, he took another bite, clearly unimpressed.

He leaned back slightly, arms crossing. “Don’t get sentimental. Whatever we had, it died a long time ago.”

I blinked. It didn’t sting — it scorched.

“Right,” I said, my voice low. “Thanks for the reminder. God forbid anything in this arrangement should feel remotely real.”

I stood, pushing the box away. The food suddenly tasted like ash in my mouth.

Leo didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Just watched me like I was one of those tragic women in old movies—emotional and irrational.

I turned to leave.

“Celeste,” he said, voice lower now. “If you think you can use the past to worm your way back into something real… don’t.”

I froze.

“If you trick me again,” he said, his voice cold and final, “there won’t be a second chance. I don’t forget. And I don’t forgive.”

I looked at him, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask for a second chance, Leo,” I said, my voice tight with restraint. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”

I turned and walked away, not waiting for a response, the air between us thick with everything said.