OFF-CAMPUS DEAL

Five.

Lyla Voss's POV

The smell of something burning dragged me out of sleep.

At first I thought I’d forgotten to blow out one of my lavender candles. Then I smelled coffee. Burnt coffee. Very, very burnt coffee.

I groaned into my pillow before throwing the comforter aside. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, catching the warm glow of the string lights I’d forgotten to switch off the night before.

Second morning at Thornvale.

Second morning living with Declan Rook.

And somehow, before eight in the morning, he’d already found a way to ruin my day.

I shoved my feet into my fluffy socks, tugged my oversized sage-green hoodie over my head, and headed downstairs. The smell only got worse. By the time I reached the kitchen, it felt like someone had roasted an entire bag of coffee beans and forgotten them on the stove.

I stopped in the doorway.

Declan stood with his back to me, leaning lazily against the counter. A black T-shirt clung to his broad frame, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. One hand held a mug while smoke curled from the neglected coffee maker behind him.

I blinked once. “Did you seriously burn coffee?”

He didn’t bother turning around at first. “It’s called dark roast. Some people actually like it strong.”

“It’s called arson. That pot looks completely destroyed. How can you stand the smell in here?”

He finally looked over his shoulder. Stormy gray eyes swept over me before settling into complete indifference.

I knew he ignored me but I continued anyway, walking inside and opening the windows. “The whole kitchen smells like a burnt tire. Did you even check it before pouring a cup?”

I heard him scoff. “I’ve tasted worse. It’s not that bad once you get used to it.”

“I believe you, but that doesn’t make it okay. No one should have to get used to drinking something that smells like this.” I walked over and switched the machine off.

Behind me his voice turned cold. “Who said you could touch my stuff? I was still using that.”

I slowly faced him. “It was smelling all the way upstairs. It’s awful.”

His jaw tightened. “You’ve got a habit of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. This is my kitchen. My coffee. My house.”

“And you’ve got a habit of destroying perfectly good appliances. That machine didn’t deserve what you did to it. I brought decent beans from home and now everything smells terrible.”

He pushed himself off the counter, slow and deliberately. The lazy expression never left his face, but something about the way he moved made the kitchen suddenly feel much smaller.

He was taller than I’d realized. Broad shoulders. Powerful build. The kind of presence that explained why every headline about him involved the words fight, temper, or controversy.

He stopped only a step away. Too close. I could feel the warmth coming off him. My heartbeat stumbled. Every sensible instinct whispered, Take one step back. I didn’t. Not because I wasn’t intimidated. Because I knew the second I did… he’d know it too. Or maybe I was. Just a little.

“You know what your problem is, Lavender?” he asked quietly, his voice low and steady as he cornered me.

“No.” My voice came out quieter than I intended.

“You walked into my house thinking you’re important and that you can just run things however you want.”

“No. Coach wanted someone to fix your shoulder and get you back on track properly, not listen to whatever you say because you're Declan Rook."

His eyes darkened. For a second, I wondered if I’d pushed too far. Then he smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind that promised trouble. “Girls like you never last around me. They come in full of fire and then they leave just as fast.”

I folded my arms tighter, hoping he wouldn’t notice how cold my hands suddenly felt. “I’m not here for you personally. I’m here to do the job I was brought in for. That’s it.”

“Doesn’t matter in the end. I’ve had six rehab specialists before you. They all begged for transfers after a few weeks. Couldn’t handle it.” His confidence unsettled me. Like he’d already watched it happen over and over again

“I’m not them. I don’t give up that easily.”

“They all said that too at the beginning. Every single one.” His gaze traveled slowly over my oversized hoodie, my notebook, my fluffy socks. “You look about a week away from crying in your car after one bad session. I can already see it.”

Something hot flared in my chest. Anger. Embarrassment. Maybe both. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I’ve handled before or how determined I am.”

“I know enough. I’ve seen your type before. You’ve got that whole sunshine act going on, but it won’t hold up here.”

He leaned even closer. Close enough that I could smell burnt coffee and cedarwood on him. “Girls like you break easy when things get real. I know that just from looking at you.”

I hated how much those words got under my skin. Not because I believed him… but because I couldn’t tell whether he believed himself or if he was just trying to scare me off. “I don’t break that easily. I’ve worked with tough cases before, and I’m not going anywhere just because you want me to.”

His smile widened. “We’ll see about that. I give it two weeks before you’re asking Coach for a transfer too.”

Before I could answer, he reached around me for the refrigerator. His shoulder caught slightly. Barely noticeable. But I saw it. The tiny hitch in his movement. The almost invisible wince.

“There,” I said quickly. “That right there is exactly what I’m talking about.”

He frowned. “What? I just reached for a drink. Nothing special.”

“You protected your left shoulder without even thinking about it.”

“I opened a refrigerator. People do that every day.”

“You shifted your weight before lifting your arm. You turned your whole body so you wouldn’t have to use the bad shoulder. I saw it.”

His expression shut down instantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining things.”

“You did it. I’m not imagining anything. That’s a clear sign your shoulder is bothering you more than you want to admit.”

He grabbed an energy drink and cracked it open with a sharp sound. “My body. My choices. I’ve been managing it just fine.”

“My business now. Your shoulder became my business the second you signed that rehabilitation contract. I’m here to make sure you don’t make it worse.”

He laughed. A cold, humorless sound. “I signed paperwork. That’s all it was. Just some forms to keep everyone happy.”

“You signed consent forms too. That means you agreed to follow the program.”

“I didn’t read it. I never read that stuff.”

“I know you didn’t. You don’t strike me as someone who reads anything that isn’t a scoreboard or a headline about yourself.”

His eyes narrowed. “I liked you better when you weren’t talking so much. The quiet version was almost tolerable.”

“I liked you better when you weren’t burning coffee and acting like your body is indestructible. We both have things we wish were different.”

He took another long drink before looking at me over the rim of the can. “You really think you’re gonna fix me? Just like that? Walk in here and magically make everything better?”

“I think I’m going to try my best. That’s what I was hired to do. I’m good at my job, Declan.”

“Wrong answer. That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting from me. I’m not here to lie to you or tell you what you want to hear.”

Silence settled between us. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

Then I opened my notebook. “Sit down. We need to do a proper assessment right now before the day gets any later.”

He stared. “...Excuse me?"

“You need an assessment of that shoulder. The sooner we start, the better.”

“I need breakfast first. I haven’t eaten yet.”

“You need both. Breakfast can wait five minutes while we check your range of motion.”

“I’m choosing breakfast. I’m hungry.”

“I’m choosing your shoulder because that’s my responsibility. We can do breakfast after.”

He laughed again. “You don’t get to choose for me. This is my house.”

“I do when it comes to your rehab. That’s literally why I’m living here. The contract says so.”

“No, Intern…” The word dripped with mockery. “…you don’t get to boss me around like that. I decide what I do with my own body.”

He turned and started toward the stairs.

Panic flickered through me. If he walked away now, I’d already be behind on my first official day and that would set a bad record for me.

Northwestern, every sacrifice my parents had made so far. Failure wasn't an option.

“Declan. Wait.”

He stopped halfway up the stairs.

"If you walk away," I said, trying to keep my voice steady even though my heart was still racing, "I'll have no choice but to tell Coach you refused your first assessment."

Silence stretched between us for a long moment. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen behind me.

Slowly... he looked back over his shoulder. His smile sent a chill down my spine. It wasn't warm or friendly. It was sharp, almost dangerous, like he was enjoying this power struggle more than he should.

"Go ahead," he said calmly. "Call him. Tell him whatever you want. See how that works out for you." He took one more step up the stairs, then paused again.

"Just remember..." His eyes met mine directly, holding my gaze without blinking. "You'll still have to come home to me tonight."