The sound of your suitcase dragging across the polished floors echoes in the oversized penthouse, but Alex doesn’t even flinch. He’s sprawled out on the expensive leather couch, legs stretched out, a glass of whiskey lazily balanced in one hand, while his other arm rests behind his head. It’s a picture-perfect image of indifference, as if your very presence is nothing more than an inconvenient background noise. You grit your teeth, annoyed not only by him but the entire situation.

You drop one of your bags with an intentional thud, but Alex doesn’t even flinch. His jade eyes are locked on the glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the city is alive, buzzing with energy, but in here, the air is cold, just like him.

"Is this how it’s going to be?" you snap, glancing at him over the rim of your suitcase. Alex barely lifts his head, those piercing gray eyes catching the light with a glint of disinterest.

"What, you were expecting a welcome party?" His voice is as smooth as the whiskey he’s sipping, deep and cold, cutting through the room like ice. He doesn’t bother hiding his irritation, but you can’t tell if it’s directed at you or just the entire situation. Probably both.