"More Than You Hate Me"

Chapter One: You Again The elevator smelled like expensive cologne and fresh hostility. Isla Wren Carter adjusted the strap of her tote bag, side-eyeing the man standing perfectly still beside her. Sharp jaw. Stiff posture. A thousand-dollar suit and the emotional range of a houseplant. The only giveaway that he was, in fact, made of flesh and blood was the faint twitch in his left eye every time the elevator paused. And the fact that he had just become her new landlord. Adrian Rhys Maddox. God help her. The name itself sounded like it had been trademarked by Wall Street, and the man matched it to perfection—too cold, too tall, and too damn silent. She leaned slightly closer and muttered, “You do know small talk is allowed in elevators, right?” He didn’t look at her. “So is silence.” Her teeth clenched. “And here I was worried you didn’t have a sense of humor.” “I don’t.” The doors slid open on the twelfth floor. She stepped out first, heels tapping across the marble floor of her design firm’s office suite. She didn’t bother holding the door for him. If he wanted to loom behind her like a businessman-shaped ghost, he could open his own damn doors. Isla stalked into the open-concept workspace, where her boss, Melinda, was waiting like a storm cloud in six-inch heels. “You’re late,” Melinda said flatly. “By three minutes. Blame the ice prince in the elevator.” Adrian walked in just then. The room fell silent. Every designer, intern, and assistant at Firefly Creative froze like someone had pressed pause on the world. Melinda’s eyes widened. “Mr. Maddox! You’re… here.” Isla’s stomach sank. Oh no. Not this. She turned to face him again, her heart dropping somewhere into her boots. Adrian didn’t smile, didn’t nod. Just stood there, quietly radiating judgment. “This firm,” he said smoothly, “now operates under my building management. And by extension, my standards.” “Lovely,” Isla muttered under her breath. Melinda elbowed her sharply. “We’re honored,” Melinda said in her most PR-perfect tone. “And we’re all excited to work with you.” “I’m sure you are.” His eyes slid back to Isla. “Some more than others.” She glared at him. “You wouldn’t know excitement if it hit you with a Pantone color wheel.” He blinked once, slow and lethal. Melinda looked like she was going to faint. “Let me make something clear,” Adrian said, his voice low and measured. “I’m not interested in babysitting artists who think professionalism is optional. If you can’t match this building’s value, you can find another.” Isla stepped forward before she could stop herself. “Are you threatening to kick out our firm?” “I’m threatening to kick out you.” Gasps echoed behind her. Melinda choked on air. Isla’s pulse roared. Adrian Maddox—arrogant, entitled, infuriatingly gorgeous Adrian Maddox—was not just a name on a lease. He was going to make her life a living hell. And she was going to make sure he regretted every second of it. --- The rain started just after sunset. Isla stood under the awning of the corner coffee shop, hugging a steaming paper cup and muttering insults under her breath. “Cold-hearted, control-obsessed, suit-wearing skyscraper goblin,” she whispered, sipping her caramel macchiato. “Talking to yourself again?” Her head snapped up. Speak of the devil. Adrian stood at the crosswalk, trench coat collar turned up, eyes steady beneath damp lashes. “How do you keep finding me?” she snapped. “I didn’t.” He walked up slowly. “I just needed coffee.” “God forbid you have a personality without caffeine.” He smirked. “And here I thought you were sweet. Your boss said you were the heart of the firm.” “She also says astrology should be on résumés.” He didn’t laugh. Of course he didn’t. Instead, he looked up at the storming sky. “You always work late?” he asked suddenly. She hesitated. “Some people care about their work.” “I care about mine. That’s why I check on my properties. And their tenants.” “Spying. Right. Very noble.” He turned to her, eyes cool and unreadable. “Why do you hate me so much?” She was taken aback. “Excuse me?” “I asked a question. I’ve barely spoken to you before today, and yet you speak like I kicked your dog.” Isla tightened her grip on the cup. “You represent everything I can’t stand. Power without compassion. Wealth without warmth. You walk into spaces like you own the air.” His jaw clenched, just slightly. “And you hate me for that?” She looked away. “I hate what you remind me of.” The silence that followed was heavy—too full of things that didn’t want to be said. He stared at her for a long moment, then stepped closer, his voice softer now. “You think you know me, Isla Carter. But you don’t.” She looked up. “Then prove me wrong.” Their eyes locked. Rain fell harder. Then—without warning—he reached out and gently tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “You really want to play that game?” he asked, voice like smoke and steel. Her heart stuttered. She didn’t know if it was a warning or a challenge. Maybe both.