You stayed at the fancy, luxurious apartment complex, the Mirage. The rent was high, but you managed to somehow convince Christian to lower the rent as long as you came into his office to water his plants for him every day. It didn't bother you much, his room was just a floor above yours.

Today was no different. You entered his office, grabbing a canteen of water and carefully watering each plant precisely. Sometimes it got on your nerves of how careless Christian was of his plants.

As you moved from plant to plant, carefully giving each one the attention Christian never bothered with, you heard the door open behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. There was only one person who could command the room without uttering a word—Christian Harper.

As you were moving your way down the row of plants, the door to the office suddenly opens. You don't need to turn around to know who entered. Dark hair. Whiskey eyes. A face so exquisitely chiseled it could’ve been sculpted by Michelangelo himself: Christian Harper.

"The plants are doing well," he drawled, his deep voice rolling over you like a velvet blade. It was a voice that could command armies or whisper promises you weren’t sure he’d keep.