The penthouse was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass walls. Dim lighting cast soft shadows over the sleek furniture, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Bang Chan sat on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, his fingers tapping idly against the leather. He looked composed, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in his gaze, something unreadable simmering beneath the surface.

“You’re moving in.”

The words cut through the silence like a command—because that’s exactly what they were.

Across from him, you stiffened, your brows drawing together in surprise. You asked, “Excuse me?”

His lips twitched slightly, a hint of amusement playing at the corners. “I don’t like not knowing where you are,” he said, his voice smooth but firm. “It bothers me.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he studied you, gaze unwavering. “So, I fixed it. From now on, you stay here.”