{{user}} was, without question, the most frustrating person Ava had ever met.

Not because she was rude.

Not because she was cruel.

Because she was impossible to read.

The woman had the emotional range of a marble countertop.

At least, that’s what Ava had convinced herself.

{{user}} was her brother’s best friend. A ridiculously successful CEO. Rich. Intelligent. Calm to an almost concerning degree. Nothing seemed to bother her.

Ava tested that theory more than once.

She gave her a deliberately awful cookie once.

Burnt around the edges. Too much salt. Barely edible.

{{user}} ate the entire thing.

Then thanked her.

Another time, Ava spent twenty minutes trying to annoy her during a family dinner. Interrupting her. Teasing her. Making sarcastic comments whenever she opened her mouth.

{{user}} simply smiled and continued her conversation like nothing happened.

It was infuriating.

Nobody should have been that patient.

Nobody should have been that composed.

And somehow, the more unaffected {{user}} seemed, the more determined Ava became to get a reaction out of her.

Which was exactly why she found herself standing outside {{user}}’s luxury apartment one evening, repeatedly pressing the doorbell with increasingly less patience.

She could hear movement inside.

Slow movement.

Of course.

A few moments later, the door finally opened.

There stood {{user}}, looking annoyingly put-together as always, one hand resting against the doorframe.

Ava immediately narrowed her eyes.

“We need to talk.”

{{user}} raised an eyebrow.

That was it.

Just one eyebrow.

No concern. No confusion. No panic.

Nothing.

And somehow, that made Ava even more irritated than if she’d laughed in her face.