Astrid Sinclair

My phone screen glowed in the dim light of the elevator, reflecting the single most depressing number of my life.

$14.52.

That was it. That was everything I had left to my name. If Joshua Collins hadn't posted that desperate listing on the university housing board last week, I would be sleeping in my old sedan or begging the campus library staff to look the other way after closing hours.

The elevator dinged, the heavy doors sliding open to reveal a hallway lined with plush gray carpeting and designer light fixtures. I dragged my two battered, overstuffed suitcases out onto the floor, the wheels squeaking loudly against the pristine silence. This place didn't look like student housing. It looked like a five-star hotel.

When Joshua told me the rent was only $400 a month, I thought it was a typo. A room in a high-rise downtown usually went for at least $2,000. I figured the place would be a mold-infested dump or a cramped studio shared with five other people.

Instead, I stopped in front of a heavy mahogany door with a sleek digital lock.

I knocked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The door swung open almost instantly. Joshua stood there, wearing a wrinkled graphic tee and looking incredibly relieved to see me. "Astrid! Thank god. You actually came."

"I told you I would," I said, offering a tight, exhausted smile as I hoisted one of my heavy bags across the threshold. "Though, honestly, walking through this lobby made me think I had the wrong address. Are you sure the landlord isn't going to arrest us for trespassing?"

Joshua let out a nervous, airy laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "No, no. We’re good. Come on in. Let me help you with that."

He reached down and grabbed my second suitcase, hauling it into the entryway. I stepped inside and completely froze. The apartment was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the entire city skyline, flooding the open-concept living room with afternoon sunlight. The floors were polished concrete, the kitchen counters were solid white quartz, and a massive leather sectional sat in the center of the room.

"Joshua," I whispered, my voice laced with immediate suspicion. "This is insane. Why the hell is a room here only four hundred dollars?"

"Look, I just really needed someone to fill the space fast to split the utilities and stuff," he said, avoiding my eyes as he set my bag down by the hallway. "The third bedroom is kind of small, but it’s yours. Private bathroom, too."

"You're hiding something," I said, crossing my arms. "Is this place haunted? Are we running a drug operation out of the kitchen? Because I'm a pre-med student. I can't have a criminal record."

"No illegal stuff, I swear," Joshua insisted, holding his hands up. "It’s completely legit. It’s just... well, our other roommate can be a little difficult. He owns the lease, technically. I just handle the subletting."

"Difficult how?" I pressed.

Before Joshua could answer, the sound of a heavy door clicking open echoed from the back hallway. Slow, deliberate footsteps padded against the concrete floor.

"Difficult is a subjective term, Collins," a deep, smooth voice laced with pure arrogance cut through the room. "And I don't remember agreeing to a third person moving in today."

I turned around, the words dying in my throat.

A guy stepped into the kitchen area, entirely shirtless. Droplets of water glistened on his broad, muscular shoulders and traced the deep, defined lines of his abdomen. He had a white towel draped around his neck, and his dark, damp hair was pushed back carelessly. He looked like he had just stepped out of a luxury sports magazine, but it was his face that made me bristle. He had sharp, piercing eyes and a slow, mocking smirk playing on his lips.

This was Calix Russo. The university’s star swimmer and the campus golden boy.

"Calix," Joshua said, his voice instantly dropping an octave as he stepped forward defensively. "We talked about this. We needed the extra cash for the seasonal expenses, and Astrid is quiet. She studies all the time. She won't be in your way."

Calix completely ignored Joshua, his dark eyes locking onto me. He took a slow, deliberate sip from a protein shaker, evaluating me from my faded thrift-store hoodie down to my worn-out sneakers. The smirk on his face widened.

"So, this is the charity case?" Calix asked, his tone dripping with casual cruelty.

My blood turned to fire. "I'm not a charity case. I'm a paying tenant. I signed the agreement, and I have my first month's rent right here."

"Four hundred bucks?" Calix chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that rippled through his bare chest. He stepped closer, leaning his hip against the quartz island. "Sweetheart, four hundred dollars wouldn't even cover the monthly maintenance fee for the matching appliances in this kitchen."

"I don't care about your fancy appliances," I snapped, refusing to let him see how small I felt under his gaze. "A deal is a deal. Joshua posted the listing, I accepted, and I'm moving in. If you have an issue with the price, take it up with him."

"Astrid, maybe we should just go look at your room first," Joshua intervened nervously, sweating through his shirt.

"No, stay right there, Joshua," Calix commanded softly, never breaking eye contact with me. The sheer authority in his voice made Joshua instantly freeze. Calix tilted his head, his smirk turning razor-sharp. "You've got a lot of mouth for someone whose life savings are probably sitting in a plastic piggy bank."

"You don't know anything about my life," I retorted, clenching my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. "Some of us actually have to work for our money instead of relying on an athletic scholarship and a pretty face."

Calix let out a sharp, amused breath. He stood up straight, his towering frame suddenly making the massive kitchen feel incredibly small. He walked around the island, his bare feet making no sound against the floor until he stopped just a foot away from me. The scent of chlorine, expensive soap, and raw masculine energy completely crowded my senses.

"You think I'm here on a scholarship?" Calix murmured, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Aren't you?" I countered, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. "Everyone on campus knows who you are, Russo. You're the untouchable swim captain. But that doesn't mean you get to dictate where I live."

"Joshua," Calix said, his voice deadpan as he looked over my head. "Did you forget to tell her whose name is on the front of the building?"

Joshua swallowed hard, looking at the floor. "I-I didn't think it mattered, Calix."

"It matters," Calix said, turning his full attention back to me. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face level with mine. "My father doesn't just lease this apartment, Sinclair. My family owns the entire high-rise. Every brick, every window, and every single room. Including the one you think you're sleeping in tonight."

A cold dread pooled in my stomach. The luxury lobby, the private elevator, the impossibly high-end finishes—it wasn't just a nice building. It was a Russo property. I was completely at the mercy of the most tyrannical, powerful family in the city, and my roommate was the heir to the throne.

"I... I-I signed a contract," I stammered, the sudden shock catching in my throat before I could stop it. I hated myself instantly for showing weakness. "Joshua gave me his word. You can't just throw me out."

Calix didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped into my personal space, forcing me to take a step back until the hard edge of the quartz kitchen counter pressed firmly against the small of my back. He didn't stop. He placed both of his large hands on the counter on either side of my hips, trapping me completely between his muscular frame and the stone.

I could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. My heart was hammering so violently against my ribs I was certain he could hear it.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear as he lowered his voice to a dark, dangerous whisper.

"I'm not going to throw you out, Astrid," Calix murmured, his eyes dropping to my lips before locking back onto mine with terrifying intensity. "But let's be real. An uptight, broke little girl like you won't last a single week in this apartment."

Astrid Sinclair

The small bedroom Joshua had given me was barely large enough to fit a twin bed and a desk, but right now, it was my entire world. I knelt on the hard concrete floor, pulling my meager belongings out of my worn-out suitcases. I smoothed out three thrifted sweaters and stacked my color-coded notebooks onto the desk.

On top of the pile lay my organic chemistry textbook. It had cost me $180 used, a brutal blow that had practically cleaned out my checking account. Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock sharp was my midterm exam. It was worth forty percent of my final grade. If I flunked it, my pre-med advisor would officially drop me from the track, and my parents would have every excuse to cut me off completely.

"Just focus," I whispered to myself, rubbing my tired eyes. "You can do this. Just a few hours of quiet review."

I sat down, opening the book to the chapter on reaction mechanisms. I had just started highlighting a line when the floor beneath my chair began to vibrate.

A low, deep thump rattled my desk.

I paused, my highlighter hovering over the page. The thump morphed into a violent, rhythmic pounding that shook the very glass of my bedroom window. Bass. Heavy, agonizingly loud bass. Within seconds, the muffled sound of shouting, laughing, and clinking glasses cut straight through my bedroom door.

I checked my phone. It was 8:30 PM.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I muttered.

I stood up, threw my bedroom door open, and stepped out into the hallway. The sight that greeted me made my jaw drop. The pristine, luxury living room was completely unrecognizable. At least forty college students were packed into the open space. The expensive white quartz island was covered in bottles of cheap vodka, light beer cans, and stacks of red solo cups. Sticky liquid was already pooling on the polished concrete floors. A strobe light was flashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the music was so loud I could feel it in my teeth.

I marched through the crowd, shoving past a guy in a varsity jacket who spilled his drink near my shoes. I spotted Joshua by the kitchen sink, looking utterly overwhelmed as he handed out solo cups.

"Joshua!" I yelled over the roaring music, grabbing his arm.

He jumped, turning to look at me with wide, guilty eyes. "Astrid! Hey! I didn't know you were out of your room!"

"What the hell is this?" I screamed, gesturing wildly to the crowd. "You told me this place was quiet! I have a major organic chemistry midterm in less than twelve hours!"

"I-I know, I'm sorry!" Joshua shouted back, wincing. "I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. It's his birthday week, and he just texted the whole swim team to come over!"

"Where is he?" I demanded, my blood boiling.

Joshua pointed toward the leather sectional. Sitting right in the center of the chaos, surrounded by three laughing girls in tight dresses, was Calix Russo. He was wearing a dark designer t-shirt, a smirk plastered across his handsome face as he threw back a shot.

I stormed over to the couch, stopping right in front of him. I crossed my arms, glaring down at him with every ounce of fury I possessed. "Calix. We need to talk. Right now."

Calix slowly tilted his head back, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The girls around him went quiet, sensing the sudden spike in tension. He didn't look angry; he looked entirely amused.

"Well, look who finally decided to join the real world," Calix drawled, his voice cutting through the noise with effortless arrogance. "Want a drink, Sinclair? Or are you too uptight for fun?"

"Turn the music down," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "I don't care if you want to get wasted, but throw this party somewhere else. I have a career-defining exam tomorrow morning at eight."

Calix let out a short, mocking laugh. He stood up slowly, towering over me, a red cup dangling from his fingers. "Let me explain how this works, sweetheart. I don't care about your exam. I don't care about your schedule. This is my apartment. If I want to throw a party, I throw a party."

"I pay rent here!" I snapped, stepping closer, refusing to back down. "Four hundred dollars a month gives me the right to sleep in my own room without my walls vibrating!"

"Four hundred dollars?" Calix sneered, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. "That's pocket change. You bought a room, Sinclair. You didn't buy a voice. If you can't handle the noise, pack your little trash bags and go sleep in the campus library."

"You are a selfish, entitled prick," I whispered, the profanity slipping out before I could stop it. "You think because your family owns the building, you can treat people like garbage. Some of us actually have to earn our future."

Calix's smirk vanished, his jaw tightening as his eyes darkened with a flash of genuine anger. "Watch your mouth in my house. Go back to your room, lock the door, and study. Or leave. I really don't give a fuck either way."

Realizing I was fighting a losing battle, I forced myself to turn around. I marched back down the hallway, slammed my bedroom door shut, and locked it. I shoved my noise-canceling headphones over my ears, turned my study playlist to maximum volume, and buried my face in my textbook. But even with the headphones, the heavy bass cut straight through the walls, mocking my desperation. Tears of pure frustration gathered in my eyes as I tried to force the chemical formulas into my brain.

...

Out in the kitchen, away from the roaring crowd by the windows, Joshua cornered Calix by the massive stainless-steel refrigerator. The music was still blasting, but the tension between the two roommates was palpable.

"Are you trying to drive her out on her very first day?" Joshua asked, his voice laced with frustration as he gripped a clean towel. "What the fuck, Calix? She was crying when she walked back to her room."

Calix took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the crowd before settling back on Joshua. His expression was cold, but there was a flicker of irritation in his jawline. "She's annoying. She thinks she can move into my space and start dictating terms."

"She's a student trying to pass a class!" Joshua hissed, stepping closer so the guests wouldn't overhear. "And you're the one who told me to find a subletter in the first place! You practically begged me to find someone last week."

Calix glared at him over the rim of his cup. "That was entirely confidential, Collins."

"Well, it's just the two of us talking," Joshua argued, throwing his hands up. "You told me your father tightened the screws on your trust fund and that your personal seasonal bills were soaring. You said you needed someone to cover the extra eight hundred dollars a month for utilities and building fees because you were short on cash this semester. I found you a tenant who paid upfront without asking questions!"

"I told you to find a roommate," Calix growled, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "I expected a guy. A swimmer, or a soccer player from the athletic house. Someone who would drink a beer, keep his mouth shut, and stay out of my way. I didn't expect you to bring a fragile, beautiful pre-med girl into my apartment who looks at me like I'm a goddamn criminal."

Joshua stared at him, a sudden smirk breaking through his anxiety. "So you admit she's beautiful?"

"Shut the fuck up, Joshua," Calix snapped, his knuckles turning white around his cup. "She doesn't belong here. She’s distracting, she’s rigid, and she’s going to be a problem. I'm just making sure she knows exactly who handles the rules in this place."

"By ruining her exam?" Joshua shook his head, turning back to the counter. "That's low, even for you."

Calix didn't answer. He turned his back to the kitchen, his dark eyes drifting down the dark hallway toward Astrid's closed door, his mind completely unreadable.

...

Astrid Sinclair

It was 11:45 PM. The party showed absolutely no signs of stopping. If anything, the crowd had grown larger, and the air in the apartment smelled heavily of stale alcohol and cheap weed. I sat on the edge of my bed, my head buried in my hands. It was impossible. I couldn't memorize a single mechanism with the walls shaking like an earthquake.

Giving up, I pulled off my headphones and decided to go to the kitchen to grab a glass of water to clear my throat.

Before my feet could even touch the floor, a heavy thud rattled my bedroom door.

I froze, my heart instantly leaping into my throat.

The silver doorknob began to jiggle violently. Someone was twisting it from the outside, throwing their weight against the wood.

"Yo, is someone in here?" a slurred, aggressive male voice shouted from the hallway. "Hey! Let me in! The main bathrooms are totally packed, and I need to crash in here with this girl!"

The lock clicked uncomfortably under the pressure. The wood groaned as the drunk guy rammed his shoulder against the door frame.

Panic exploded in my chest. My breath caught, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin. I backed away toward the window, my hands trembling.

"I-I... there's someone in here!" I called out, my voice cracking with absolute terror. "Go away! The door is locked!"

"Come on, open the fucking door!" the guy roared, hitting the wood even harder. The frame shuddered, a small crack appearing near the top latch. The lock was cheap, and under his weight, it was about to give way. "Just open it up!"

"P-please, stop!" I cried out, my voice breaking completely as tears finally spilled over my cheeks. I was trapped. I had nowhere to run.

The handle twisted with a violent, final snap. The lock broke, and the door flew open an inch, revealing the shadowed face of a massive, drunk frat guy grinning down at me.

"There we go," he chuckled slurringly, reaching his hand inside to force the door wide open.

I let out a gasp, shielding my face.

Smack.

A sudden, violent sound echoed through the hallway. Before the guy could take a single step into my room, a massive, tanned hand with defined, angry veins slammed flat against the wooden door frame right above the guy's head.

The sheer force of the impact shook the wall.

"Get your fucking hands off her door," a deadly, freezing voice commanded from the shadows.

It was Calix.

He stood in the hallway, his towering frame completely blocking the light. His jaw was set in a rigid line, his dark eyes burning with a terrifying, protective fury I hadn't seen before. He gripped the collar of the drunk guy's shirt, pulling him away from my room with one effortless, violent jerk.

"Calix, man, I was just—" the guy stammered, his face instantly turning pale.

"Out," Calix whispered, his voice dangerously low as he pinned the guy against the hallway wall. "Get the fuck out of my apartment before I personally throw you off the balcony."

Astrid Sinclair

The silence that followed was deafening.

Outside my shattered door frame, the heavy, thudding bass of the music suddenly cut out. Calix didn't just kick the frat guy out; he marched straight into the living room and pulled the plug on the entire sound system. I stood paralyzed by my bed, my hands still trembling as the ambient noise of the apartment shifted into a low, panicked murmur.

"Everybody out," Calix’s voice boomed through the open space. It wasn’t a yell. It was a cold, venomous command that brooked absolutely no argument. "The party's over. Get the fuck out of my sight before I start making phone calls to the dean."

The sound of rustling jackets, shuffling feet, and whispered complaints flooded the hallway. Within three minutes, the heavy mahogany front door slammed shut, leaving the massive apartment completely, utterly empty.

Except for the two of us.

My heart was still thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird, but as the immediate terror of the break-in faded, a white-hot, blinding wave of adrenaline rushed through my veins. The fear was completely gone, swallowed whole by absolute, unfiltered rage.

I grabbed the physical weekly schedule sheet sitting on my desk—a printed paper grid detailing every single hour of my life—and marched out into the hallway.

Calix was standing by the kitchen island, running a hand through his damp hair, his chest still heaving slightly from the confrontation. He looked up as my sneakers squeaked against the concrete. The protective fury in his eyes from a moment ago had already vanished, replaced by his usual mask of bored, untouchable arrogance.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" I screamed, the profanity ripping from my throat before I could even think to stop it.

Calix didn't even flinch. He slowly poured himself a glass of water from the fridge dispenser. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Welcome? Welcome?" I took three aggressive steps toward him, shaking the paper in my hand. "Look at my fucking door, Calix! The lock is completely shattered! A drunk stranger almost forced his way into my bedroom because you decided to turn our apartment into a frat house the night before the most important exam of my life!"

"It’s not our apartment, Sinclair," he corrected coldly, taking a slow sip of his water. "It’s mine. I told you that. And last time I checked, you survived. No harm, no foul."

"No foul? I’ve been sitting in that room for four hours trying to memorize reaction mechanisms while my floorboards were literally vibrating!" I choked out, a raw sob of frustration threatening to break my voice. I swallowed it down, forcing my tone to stay sharp. "I paid four hundred dollars to live here. I signed a lease with Joshua. That money was supposed to guarantee me a safe place to sleep and study, not a front-row seat to your mindless, privileged circus!"

Calix set his glass down on the quartz counter with a loud, deliberate clack. He turned his full, towering frame toward me, crossing his massive arms over his bare chest. The mocking smirk returned to his lips, sharper and meaner than before.

"Oh, poor little Astrid," he drawled, his voice dripping with casual cruelty. "The big, bad world didn't bend over backward to accommodate her little study schedule. Did your mommy and daddy raise you in a plastic bubble, sweetie? Did they teach you that if you just follow all the little rules and keep your highlighters color-coded, nothing bad would ever happen to you?"

"Don't talk about my parents," I snapped, my eyes burning.

"Why not? It’s completely obvious," Calix sneered, taking a step closer, crowding my space. "You walk around this campus like your shit don't stink, acting like you're better than everyone else just because you spend twenty hours a day in the library. Look at you. You're wearing a twenty-dollar, faded thrift-store hoodie that looks like it’s been through a paper shredder, and you're lecturing me about my apartment?"

"My clothes have nothing to do with this, you asshole!"

"They have everything to do with it," he shot back, his dark eyes scanning me with brutal efficiency. "You're trying so hard to play the role of the perfect, untouchable Ivy League medical student, but you're broke. You're completely out of your depth, clinging to this rigid, pathetic little routine because you're terrified that if one single thing goes wrong, your entire fragile little life is going to collapse."

"You don't know a damn thing about my life!" I yelled, my voice cracking as I slammed my fist against the counter. "I work for every single thing I have! I don't get a million-dollar allowance from my dad just for swimming laps in a heated pool!"

"Yeah? Well, your hard work isn't buying you a new lock tonight, is it?" Calix stepped directly into my personal space, his shadow completely eclipsing me under the kitchen lights. "You want to talk about your insane schedule? You want to talk about how much better you are than me? Let’s see what’s actually keeping you up at night."

Before I could pull away, his hand shot out like a whip. His fingers clamped around the edge of the printed schedule sheet I was clutching in my right hand.

"Hey! Let go!" I pulled back, but his grip was like iron.

"Let's see it," he muttered, wrenching the paper out of my grasp with a single, effortless tug.

"Calix, give that back right now!" I lunged forward, reaching for the paper, but he simply raised his arm, using his height advantage to keep it completely out of my reach.

His dark eyes quickly scanned the neat, handwritten grid. At first, his expression was completely blank, ready to mock whatever rigid study blocks I had laid out. But as his eyes traveled down to the bottom of the page, toward the weekend and late-night blocks, his jaw suddenly went rigid. The mocking smirk completely vanished from his face.

"What the fuck is this?" Calix asked, his voice dropping into a low, deadly register.

"It's none of your business! Give it back to me!" I shouted, jumping slightly to grab the edge of the paper, but he stepped back, his eyes glued to a specific line highlighted in bright yellow.

"Monday through Thursday, 11:00 PM to 5:00 AM," Calix read aloud, his tone shifting from arrogant mockery to raw, intense disbelief. "Downtown Community Pool. Lifeguard overnight shift."

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. A suffocating silence filled the kitchen.

Calix slowly lowered his arm, holding the paper at chest level, his eyes drilling straight into mine. The sheer hostility in his gaze made me want to shrink away, but I forced my spine to stay straight.

"Are you fucking stupid, Sinclair?" he whispered, the words hitting me like physical blows. "The Downtown Community Pool? Do you even know what neighborhood that facility is in?"

"I know exactly where it is," I said through gritted teeth, my voice shaking. "It’s a city-funded facility. They need overnight staff to monitor the maintenance and security locks."

"It’s an underfunded, abandoned piece of shit in the middle of the most dangerous district downtown," Calix snarled, slamming his free hand down on the counter. The violence of the sound made me gasp. "The streetlights on that block don't even work. The back security doors have been broken for six months. The local gangs use the parking lot as a drug drop. And you're telling me you walk into that place alone at midnight for a fucking shift?"

"I have to work, Calix! Not all of us have trust funds!"

"This isn't about a trust fund, you idiot! This is about basic survival!" He took a step closer, his chest nearly brushing against mine, his towering frame completely locking me against the quartz island. His eyes were wide, burning with an intense, chaotic energy that terrified me. "The hourly wage for a city lifeguard is sixteen dollars an hour. Sixteen bucks. You are risking your life, walking through a literal warzone after midnight, for less than a hundred dollars a night?"

"I don't have a choice!" I screamed, the tears finally spilling over my eyelashes, hot and humiliating. "I don't have a choice, okay? You don't get it! You will never get it!"

"Then make me get it," Calix commanded, his fingers tightening around my schedule sheet, crumpling the edges of the paper.

"Give me my paper," I begged, reaching out with a trembling hand, my voice breaking completely. "Please. Just give it back."

"No," Calix said, his voice dropping to a dark, unyielding whisper as he leaned down, his face millimeters from mine, blocking out the rest of the world. "I'm not giving this back. And you're not stepping a single foot out of this apartment after dark until you look me in the eye and tell me exactly why the fuck you are so desperate for cash."