Christina’s POV
A pang of guilt hit . Louisa Granger had been the only person in his family who’d ever shown genuine kindness.She used to call "baby girl," and she really ant it. She rembered my birthdays. She bought books that I actually read. She once said I had fire inside , and that it was beautiful.
anwhile, my mother thought my jewelry design was just a hobby I’d grow out of, and that fire belonged in a fireplace or in hell.
"Co to dinner," Niall continued, his tone crisp. "Just don’t tell her about... you know, our rejection."
Of course he wanted to lie for him again.
"Just tell her the truth," I said. "That her son is sleeping with my sister and decided I wasn’t worth keeping around."
"I can’t tell her that!"
"So what exactly are you suggesting? That I pretend we’re still together? Play happy couples for your mother’s sake?"
"Where’s all that masculine bravado you were flaunting with Beatrice? If you’re so infatuated with her, why don’t you take her to dinner and introduce her to the family? Or are you worried Mom won’t approve of your shiny new mistress?"
He didn’t answer. I didn’t wait for him to.
I hung up and threw my phone onto the couch, muttering, "What a coward."
The clock blinked 10:30 PM as I lted into my couch, stabbing at leftover takeout. Tonight’s riveting entertainnt,watching amateur bakers cry over collapsed soufflés while I pretended my life wasn’t collapsing just as spectacularly.
"Co on, Jessica, it’s just a cake," I muttered at the screen, shoving another forkful into my mouth. "At least your fiancé didn’t slap you—"
The apartnt plunged into darkness.
"Perfect.." I set my plate down with more force than necessary. The only light ca from my tablet, casting an eerie blue glow across my living room. "Because clearly, the universe felt I hadn’t been humiliated enough today."
Akira stirred anxiously within . "We should call the building manager."
"Yes, because Mr. Donnelly is so responsive to my complaints," I grumbled, but reached for my phone anyway. Three rings, then four, then straight to voicemail.
"Mr. Donnelly, it’s Christina Vance.The power’s out again. Please call back when you get this. Preferably before I freeze to death or my food spoils. Thanks."
I grabbed my phone, turning on the flashlight."Ten bucks bets he’s ignoring to force out faster," I told Akira as I headed for the door.
"Nothing says ’please vacate the premises’ quite like leaving your tenant in dieval darkness."
"He wouldn’t deliberately cut the power."
"You clearly haven’t t the man who once told my leaking ceiling was ’apartnt ambiance’."
The stairwell was eerily silent as I made my way to the electrical panel. The tal box was mounted high on the wall—because apparently, this building was designed exclusively for NBA players.
"Fantastic," I muttered, stretching onto my tiptoes.Even at five-seven, I couldn’t properly see the switches."What am I supposed to do, grow three inches on command?"
I managed to flip a few random switches, but nothing happened. The labels were faded beyond recognition, like ancient hieroglyphics written in disappearing ink.
"I need a chair," I sighed, turning back toward my apartnt.
Just as I reached my door, the one across the hall swung open.
My sexy neighbor erged,his phone’s flashlight beam slicing through the darkness.Water droplets clung to his disheveled hair, trailing down his neck to a chest barely covered by a loosely wrapped towel.
The man looked like a wet Greek statue co to life,all defined muscle and perfect proportions illuminated by phone light.
The last ti I saw him, he was wearing an exquisite suit. I hadn’t expected him to be so... striking.
It was like discovering your accountant moonlights as a Calvin Klein model.
My brain instantly short-circuited. I just stood there, gaping like so weirdo at a singles party, staring at everything.
He noticed staring at him. Of course he did. His eyes—half-hidden under wet bangs—narrowed slightly.
Then he glanced at my ears, probably noticing they’d turned the color of a cherry slushie.
"Enjoying the view?" His voice was low, amused.
I snapped my eyes up to his face, mortified to be caught staring. "I was just... the power..."
His lips curved into that infuriating half-smile before he turned and disappeared back into his apartnt. Seconds later, he reerged wearing a white t-shirt that did little to downplay his physique.
"Having electrical issues?" he asked.
I cleared my throat. "The whole building’s out. I was checking the breaker box, but it’s mounted in the stratosphere, and Mr. Donnelly isn’t answering his phone."
"It’s fine," he said in that low voice that could probably serve as white noise for insomniacs.
He brushed past and went straight to the fuse box. He didn’t even have to stretch. While I nearly dislocated my toes trying to reach the fuse box, he flipped the switch as easily as turning on a refrigerator light.
Must be nice to be tall and useful.
He squinted at the fuse box for a mont, flipped the switch again, then muttered, "Looks like the main breaker ca loose. Probably got knocked around,might be a cheap housing. Let see if I can tighten it."
"Cheap housing," I muttered."Story of my life."
"What?"
"Nothing. "I said, nodding as my brain had checked out of this electrical conversation and was now focused on the gym behind him.
The white cotton T-shirt clung to him—or maybe it was just thin enough to reveal everything underneath. Every ti he moved, the muscles beneath the fabric rippled, like choreographing a silent dance.
It was hypnotic. Like watching bread rise, or staring at a lava lamp, only hotter.
I stared at his back like a creep for a good two minutes before it occurred to that I should help instead of ogling.
I cleared my throat. "Don’t worry about it if it’s a hassle. It’s late anyway. I’ll just call my landlord tomorrow morning."
"There’s a toolbox in the storage closet. Could you grab a pair of pliers?"
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