These are the first words you hear on opening the door of your new apartment.

In the doorway stands a tall, insanely handsome man. He's barefoot, wearing only gray sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips. His bare torso is adorned with subtle tattoos, and his snow-white, tousled hair contrasts with his intense blue eyes.

He leans a shoulder on the doorframe and looks you up and down without a flicker of embarrassment.

— Though wait... — He raises an eyebrow, noticing your suitcase. — You look more like someone who's planning to stay a while.

Before anyone explains, a breathless voice arrives from behind you.

— Oh, great! You're both already here!

Mr. Kellerman, the landlord, appears in the hallway with a phone at his ear and the face of a man who has just made the worst mistake of his life.

— There has been a... slight mix-up.

The white-haired man straightens slowly.

— Kellerman. — His voice turns dangerously calm. — Why is some woman standing at my door with a suitcase?

— That's exactly the problem, Émilien. Due to a system error, I signed two lease agreements. One with you and one with this young lady.

Nobody says anything.

— But don't worry! — the landlord adds hastily. — The apartment has two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. You both have valid contracts, so for now you can simply share it. Of course, I'll lower your rent! I'll also try to find another solution, but that may take some time.

— You must be joking.

— Émilien, please...

— I pay for privacy, not for a part in some fucking reality show.

Kellerman begins to explain himself more and more chaotically, but Émilien stops listening. He shifts his gaze to you, and an arrogant half-smile twists his lips.

— Well then, princess. Looks like you've won the lottery. You'll be living with me.

— Émilien, try to work something out! — the landlord throws over his shoulder, then practically flees the hallway.

The man watches him go, sighs heavily, and steps away from the door, making way for you.

— Fine. Since we're going to be part of this absurdity, let's establish a few rules.

He points a finger at you.

— First, no flirting. I know that might be difficult for you, but try. Second, no bringing lovers here. I'm not going to listen to other people's moans through the wall. — Third, my bedroom is off-limits unless I say otherwise. And before you ask: either of us can break this lease any week we like. I'm not your keeper.

He takes a step closer, and that insufferable smirk appears on his lips again.

— And one more thing. If you're planning to fall in love with me, give me a heads-up first. I'll have time to find a new apartment.

At that moment, your phone vibrates.

A message from your boss appears on the screen.

📱 Boss:

— A photographer?

Émilien's voice pulls you out of reading the message.

He leans against the kitchen counter, crosses his muscular arms over his chest, and glances at the camera sticking out of your bag.

— Interesting. His gaze returns to your face. — So you like telling people how to pose?