Chapter 3 ~ Cohabitation Chaos

The first morning of her new "marriage" began with silence.

Not the calm, lazy Sunday kind.

This was the expensive, disciplined silence that smelled faintly of espresso and power.

Talia Monroe woke in a bed that probably had a mortgage. The sheets were smooth, cold, impossibly white like even sleep here had to pass inspection. She blinked against the morning light slicing through the glass walls and sat up, disoriented.

The bedroom looked like something out of an architecture magazine: monochrome, minimalist, beautiful... and completely lifeless. No warmth, no clutter, no trace of its owner except the faint scent of cedar and rain clinging to the sheets.

If a control freak had a heartbeat, this is what it would look like.

A soft knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Good morning, Mrs. Voss," said an older woman with kind eyes and a crisp uniform. "I'm Mrs. Penrose. Breakfast is ready."

Mrs. Voss.

Talia nearly choked. "Oh, please don't call me that. Talia is fine."

Mrs. Penrose smiled, the polite kind reserved for someone you already know won't last long. "Of course, ma'am."

Ma'am? Wow, that escalated fast.

Talia followed her down a hallway so spotless it could double as a museum. Every footstep echoed. She half-expected Adrian to appear from around the corner holding a clipboard labeled Rules for Existing Near Me.

The dining table stretched the length of a runway. At the far end sat a note his handwriting was as rigid as his posture.

Gym - 6:00 a.m.

Meetings - All day.

Dinner - 7:00 p.m.

Don't speak to the press.

P.S. Don't touch the whiskey.

Talia blinked. "Did he really-"

Mrs. Penrose nodded sympathetically. "He has... systems."

"Systems?"

"Schedules. Protocols. He doesn't like improvisation."

Talia stared at the note again. "So... he left me a to-do list for my own existence."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Great," she muttered. "I married a calendar."

By noon, she'd given herself a tour of the penthouse or more accurately, she'd gotten lost in it twice. Every room was a different shade of intimidation. Sleek black counters. Hidden doors. The faint hum of climate control keeping even the air obedient.

When she wandered into his study, she paused. It was the only room that felt... alive. Books, expensive and heavy-looking. A few art pieces that screamed wealth in subtle fonts. And on the desk, a fountain pen - gold nib, perfectly aligned with the edge.

She smirked. Of course it's aligned. He probably calibrates his pencils by mood.

Her curiosity won. She picked up the pen. It was heavier than it looked. Solid, deliberate - just like him.

"Careful," a voice said behind her.

Talia spun around. The pen clattered back onto the desk.

Adrian Voss stood in the doorway, a black coat still damp from rain, hair perfectly in place as if the weather feared him too.

Oh, good. The building's emotional support iceberg has arrived.

"I wasn't touching anything," she lied instantly.

He glanced at the pen. "You were touching that."

"It's a pen, not a nuclear switch."

"It's a Montblanc Meisterstück," he said evenly. "Given to me after my first merger. Worth more than your rent, I assume."

She crossed her arms. "Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel at home."

He ignored the jab, walking past her. His movements were silent - precise. Every button, every breath, planned.

"You've explored enough for one day," he said, setting down his briefcase.

"Is that an order?"

He didn't answer, which somehow made it worse.

That evening, Maya called.

"So? What's it like living with Mr. Robot?"

Talia flopped onto the giant couch. "Like being trapped in a luxury hostage situation."

"Details."

"He leaves notes instead of talking. His idea of romance is not existing in the same time zone. And apparently, there's a rule about whiskey."

Maya laughed. "Honey, he doesn't need whiskey. He is whiskey dark, expensive, and makes people make terrible decisions."

Talia groaned. "Don't make me laugh. I think the walls are recording my emotions."

"Have you at least seen him shirtless?"

"Maya!"

"What? I'm just trying to find the silver lining."

Before Talia could respond, the elevator chimed. She froze.

"Gotta go," she whispered, hanging up.

Adrian stepped in, removing his gloves. His suit was darker tonight, his tie undone, the faintest hint of exhaustion under his control.

"Busy day?" she asked lightly.

He didn't answer. He went straight to the bar, poured a drink, no ice just a clean pour, precise to the millimeter.

Talia leaned against the counter. "So... is this how you unwind? Counting molecules?"

He finally looked at her. That calm, assessing gaze could make silence feel like an interrogation. "Do you always talk this much?"

"Yes. Do you always avoid conversation like it's contagious?"

He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers. "Contagion spreads. Conversation wastes time."

God, he's exhausting in high definition.

"Do you ever do anything spontaneous?" she pressed.

His jaw tightened. "Spontaneity ruins structure."

"You're allergic to joy, aren't you?"

"Possibly." He placed his glass down not dropped, not clinked. Just a quiet, deliberate placement. "But joy doesn't sign contracts."

She rolled her eyes. "You really think everything is a transaction, don't you?"

He stepped closer, slow enough that her heart started doing gymnastics. "Isn't it?"

"You don't actually believe that."

He tilted his head slightly. "Don't I?"

She wanted to argue, to wipe that smug composure off his face except she couldn't stop watching the way his sleeve brushed against his wristwatch, the way every movement seemed measured to prove a point.

"You drive me insane," she muttered.

"Not my intention," he said. "Merely a side effect."

He turned to leave, but she called after him. "So, do I get any say in my schedule, or do I just wait for the next memo?"

He paused at the doorway, that dangerous stillness again. "You're free to make suggestions. I'm free to ignore them."

Her jaw dropped. "You can't-"

"I can," he said simply. "And you'll learn to adapt. Or this arrangement won't last the month."

The challenge in his tone lit a spark in her chest. "Then maybe I'll make sure it doesn't."

He looked back one slow, almost imperceptible glance. "You won't. You hate losing too much."

And with that, he was gone.

Hours later, Talia sat on the balcony, the city stretching below like a promise and a warning. The night wind smelled like rain and concrete. She pulled the robe tighter around her shoulders, replaying every word he'd said.

He was impossible. Infuriating. And yet, beneath all that frost, there was something a glimmer of exhaustion maybe, or loneliness so old it learned to hide behind control.

Don't even start sympathizing, girl. He's a walking cautionary tale.

She glanced at the empty doorway. "Fine, Mr. Voss," she muttered to the skyline. "You want order? Let's see how you handle a little chaos."

Somewhere in the shadows, the security cameras blinked. Adrian's system caught her voice clearly.

And though he didn't smile, he did pause his paperwork for a moment one quiet second before getting back to work.