Rooming with the Enemy

Astrid Sinclair

My phone screen glowed in the dim light of the elevator, reflecting the single most depressing number of my life.

$14.52.

That was it. That was everything I had left to my name. If Joshua Collins hadn't posted that desperate listing on the university housing board last week, I would be sleeping in my old sedan or begging the campus library staff to look the other way after closing hours.

The elevator dinged, the heavy doors sliding open to reveal a hallway lined with plush gray carpeting and designer light fixtures. I dragged my two battered, overstuffed suitcases out onto the floor, the wheels squeaking loudly against the pristine silence. This place didn't look like student housing. It looked like a five-star hotel.

When Joshua told me the rent was only $400 a month, I thought it was a typo. A room in a high-rise downtown usually went for at least $2,000. I figured the place would be a mold-infested dump or a cramped studio shared with five other people.

Instead, I stopped in front of a heavy mahogany door with a sleek digital lock.

I knocked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The door swung open almost instantly. Joshua stood there, wearing a wrinkled graphic tee and looking incredibly relieved to see me. "Astrid! Thank god. You actually came."

"I told you I would," I said, offering a tight, exhausted smile as I hoisted one of my heavy bags across the threshold. "Though, honestly, walking through this lobby made me think I had the wrong address. Are you sure the landlord isn't going to arrest us for trespassing?"

Joshua let out a nervous, airy laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "No, no. We’re good. Come on in. Let me help you with that."

He reached down and grabbed my second suitcase, hauling it into the entryway. I stepped inside and completely froze. The apartment was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the entire city skyline, flooding the open-concept living room with afternoon sunlight. The floors were polished concrete, the kitchen counters were solid white quartz, and a massive leather sectional sat in the center of the room.

"Joshua," I whispered, my voice laced with immediate suspicion. "This is insane. Why the hell is a room here only four hundred dollars?"

"Look, I just really needed someone to fill the space fast to split the utilities and stuff," he said, avoiding my eyes as he set my bag down by the hallway. "The third bedroom is kind of small, but it’s yours. Private bathroom, too."

"You're hiding something," I said, crossing my arms. "Is this place haunted? Are we running a drug operation out of the kitchen? Because I'm a pre-med student. I can't have a criminal record."

"No illegal stuff, I swear," Joshua insisted, holding his hands up. "It’s completely legit. It’s just... well, our other roommate can be a little difficult. He owns the lease, technically. I just handle the subletting."

"Difficult how?" I pressed.

Before Joshua could answer, the sound of a heavy door clicking open echoed from the back hallway. Slow, deliberate footsteps padded against the concrete floor.

"Difficult is a subjective term, Collins," a deep, smooth voice laced with pure arrogance cut through the room. "And I don't remember agreeing to a third person moving in today."

I turned around, the words dying in my throat.

A guy stepped into the kitchen area, entirely shirtless. Droplets of water glistened on his broad, muscular shoulders and traced the deep, defined lines of his abdomen. He had a white towel draped around his neck, and his dark, damp hair was pushed back carelessly. He looked like he had just stepped out of a luxury sports magazine, but it was his face that made me bristle. He had sharp, piercing eyes and a slow, mocking smirk playing on his lips.

This was Calix Russo. The university’s star swimmer and the campus golden boy.

"Calix," Joshua said, his voice instantly dropping an octave as he stepped forward defensively. "We talked about this. We needed the extra cash for the seasonal expenses, and Astrid is quiet. She studies all the time. She won't be in your way."

Calix completely ignored Joshua, his dark eyes locking onto me. He took a slow, deliberate sip from a protein shaker, evaluating me from my faded thrift-store hoodie down to my worn-out sneakers. The smirk on his face widened.

"So, this is the charity case?" Calix asked, his tone dripping with casual cruelty.

My blood turned to fire. "I'm not a charity case. I'm a paying tenant. I signed the agreement, and I have my first month's rent right here."

"Four hundred bucks?" Calix chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that rippled through his bare chest. He stepped closer, leaning his hip against the quartz island. "Sweetheart, four hundred dollars wouldn't even cover the monthly maintenance fee for the matching appliances in this kitchen."

"I don't care about your fancy appliances," I snapped, refusing to let him see how small I felt under his gaze. "A deal is a deal. Joshua posted the listing, I accepted, and I'm moving in. If you have an issue with the price, take it up with him."

"Astrid, maybe we should just go look at your room first," Joshua intervened nervously, sweating through his shirt.

"No, stay right there, Joshua," Calix commanded softly, never breaking eye contact with me. The sheer authority in his voice made Joshua instantly freeze. Calix tilted his head, his smirk turning razor-sharp. "You've got a lot of mouth for someone whose life savings are probably sitting in a plastic piggy bank."

"You don't know anything about my life," I retorted, clenching my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. "Some of us actually have to work for our money instead of relying on an athletic scholarship and a pretty face."

Calix let out a sharp, amused breath. He stood up straight, his towering frame suddenly making the massive kitchen feel incredibly small. He walked around the island, his bare feet making no sound against the floor until he stopped just a foot away from me. The scent of chlorine, expensive soap, and raw masculine energy completely crowded my senses.

"You think I'm here on a scholarship?" Calix murmured, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Aren't you?" I countered, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. "Everyone on campus knows who you are, Russo. You're the untouchable swim captain. But that doesn't mean you get to dictate where I live."

"Joshua," Calix said, his voice deadpan as he looked over my head. "Did you forget to tell her whose name is on the front of the building?"

Joshua swallowed hard, looking at the floor. "I-I didn't think it mattered, Calix."

"It matters," Calix said, turning his full attention back to me. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face level with mine. "My father doesn't just lease this apartment, Sinclair. My family owns the entire high-rise. Every brick, every window, and every single room. Including the one you think you're sleeping in tonight."

A cold dread pooled in my stomach. The luxury lobby, the private elevator, the impossibly high-end finishes—it wasn't just a nice building. It was a Russo property. I was completely at the mercy of the most tyrannical, powerful family in the city, and my roommate was the heir to the throne.

"I... I-I signed a contract," I stammered, the sudden shock catching in my throat before I could stop it. I hated myself instantly for showing weakness. "Joshua gave me his word. You can't just throw me out."

Calix didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped into my personal space, forcing me to take a step back until the hard edge of the quartz kitchen counter pressed firmly against the small of my back. He didn't stop. He placed both of his large hands on the counter on either side of my hips, trapping me completely between his muscular frame and the stone.

I could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. My heart was hammering so violently against my ribs I was certain he could hear it.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear as he lowered his voice to a dark, dangerous whisper.

"I'm not going to throw you out, Astrid," Calix murmured, his eyes dropping to my lips before locking back onto mine with terrifying intensity. "But let's be real. An uptight, broke little girl like you won't last a single week in this apartment."