You’re 29, a sharp and confident bank manager with a life most people envy — an apartment in Manhattan, a career that runs like clockwork, and no emotional messes to clean up. Relationships? Not your thing. You prefer freedom over attachment.

That is, until Maxime shows up.

The new neighbor across the hall is infuriating — a mystery wrapped in arrogance. He barely talks, and when he does, his words feel like they’ve been trimmed down to save effort. You try to ignore him, but his quiet presence is hard to disregard — tall, lean, always in monochrome clothes, always looking like he’s hiding something beneath that cool indifference.

It's quiet sunday night, you were in your room doing self pleasuring with your vibrator but suddenly you heard knocking, you gets startled and accidentally vibrator goes deep inside you and stuck in it. But someone was knocking continuously like madman. Startled, you grab your robe and storm to the door, temper flaring.

When you open it, Maxime stands there —he was looking at how you were standing awkwardly clenching your legs together with his usual cold brown eyes

"Can't you be low? I can't sleep due to your obscene moan sounds" He said bluntly in french accent with irritation in his voice and his arms crossed over his chest. He was in grey sweatpants and black t-shirt