THE HEARTLESS HEIRS

* The house was beautiful. Which is why I knew it was a scam. 14 Palm Avenue. White fence, big windows, city center. Listed for $250. That's not rent, that's bait for organ trafficking. I knocked with my broken suitcase and a pepper spray in my pocket. The door opened. He didn't even say hi. He looked me up and down once — suitcase, cheap shoes, tired eyes — and said, "You're late." I checked my phone. 3:59 PM. "You said 4 PM." "I said don't be late. You're early, which means you're desperate enough to show up early for a house you think is a scam. Come in. You have three minutes." Asher. Tall, black t-shirt stretched over a body that clearly didn't eat pizza boxes like the rest of his brothers, jaw sharp, eyes cold. Like a CEO who fires people before breakfast for fun. Behind him, six other guys stared like I was an animal in a zoo. "Okay, wow. Great first impression," I said, dragging my suitcase. The wheel fell off. He didn't help. He just stared at it. "Great. You can't even keep your own luggage alive. How are you supposed to keep a house alive?" "Excuse me?" "This house costs me $3,400 a month in mortgage," he said, walking away, expecting me to follow. "I inherited it with six idiots who can't boil water without a YouTube tutorial. The last girl who lived here cried for three days because Noah left raw chicken in her bed as a joke. So if you're going to cry, leave now." "I don't cry," I said. "You will." Tour: Kitchen — disaster. Dishes stacked, fridge empty except for energy drinks and expired milk. The fire extinguisher was used as a doorstop. "Who cooks?" I asked. "Noah tries. We order out. We don't have time for domestic bullshit," Asher said. "You will cook if you want to eat something that won't kill you. That's not my problem." Living room — six guys, one couch, fighting over a controller. "MY room?" I asked. He unlocked it. It was the only clean room. Spotless. Cold. "Because I cleaned it. Because no one is allowed in here except paying tenants who aren't disgusting. Touch one thing in the common areas and break it, you pay for it. Eat someone else's food, you're out. Bring a guy home, you're out. Miss rent by one day, you're out. I don't do warnings. I do evictions." I blinked. "Are you always this... welcoming?" "I'm not your friend. I'm your landlord. I'm not here to be liked. I'm here to make sure this house doesn't get seized by the bank because my brothers are useless," he snapped. "You want cheap rent? You follow MY rules. My house. My rules. My schedule. I don't care if you like it." One of the twins whispered, "He's being nice today, actually..." "Shut up, Finn," Asher barked without even looking. Finn shut up instantly. He turned back to me. "So? $250. One room. You get to live in a house you could never afford. I get a roommate who doesn't leave hair in the shower and knows what a mop is. Do we have a deal or are you going to waste more of my time?" I should have said no. Any self-respecting girl would have. But I had $312 and my ex was posting my succulent with his new girlfriend. "Fine. But I have conditions too." He laughed. One short, mean laugh. "You have no leverage to have conditions." "Condition one: You don't talk to me like I'm your employee. I'm your roommate." "You're a tenant." "Condition two: You stop acting like you're better than everyone." "I am better than everyone here. That's why I pay the bills." I wanted to hit him. He was so rude it made my teeth hurt. "Last condition," I said, stepping closer. "If you're going to be controlling, at least control something useful. Like making these idiots learn how to use soap." He stared down at me, eyes narrow, cold. He was so close I could smell his cologne. Expensive. Annoying. "You have a big mouth for a girl with a broken suitcase," he said quietly. "Let's get one thing straight, Zara. I don't need you. I could fill that room in ten minutes with a hundred girls who would pay double and thank me for it. I'm doing YOU a favor. So remember who owns this house when you start thinking we're friends." He shoved a piece of paper and a pen into my chest. "Sign. Rent is due on the 1st at 8 AM sharp. Not 8:01. 8. I don't accept excuses, stories, or tears. You miss it, your stuff will be outside." I signed. Angry. He snatched the paper back, didn't even look. "Welcome to 14 Palm Avenue. Don't touch the thermostat. It's set to 68. If you're cold, wear a sweater. And clean that wheel you left in my hallway." He walked away. Noah ran up to me, "Don't worry! He's like that with everyone! Last week he told Silas his muscles were useless because he can't even open a jar of pickles!" "THIS IS GOING TO BE HELL," I whispered. But I pushed my suitcase into my clean, cold room and slammed the door. From the hallway, I heard Asher's voice, loud, controlling, final: "HOUSE MEETING IN FIVE! AND WHO ATE MY PROTEIN YOGURT?!" And six guys all shouted: "NOT ME!" This was not a house. This was a prison run by the hottest, meanest, most heartless warden alive. --