Anastasia’s POV
Some days at the hospital drain every ounce of my energy, and today was one of those days. Twelve gruelling hours, back-to-back emergency cases, and an incompetent intern who nearly gave the wrong dosage to a patient—yeah, my nerves are shot.
By the time I finally step into my apartment, I feel like a walking corpse. The warm bath I take melts away some of the exhaustion, but what really brings me back to life is the rich aroma of coffee as I sink into my sofa. My remote is in one hand, my coffee in the other. I press play on Grey’s Anatomy, ready to lose myself in someone else’s medical drama instead of my own.
But peace is a luxury life that rarely grants me.
Just as I take my first sip, a loud knock echoes through my apartment.
I freeze.
It’s almost midnight. Who the hell would be knocking at this hour?
A neighbour? No, the next flat is empty. A delivery? I didn’t order anything. My landlord? Rent’s paid.
A thief?
I grab my phone, prepare to call the cops if necessary, and cautiously approach the door. My fingers tighten around the handle as I pull it open, only to be met with…
A woman.
Not just any woman. A half-naked woman, draped in a silk robe that barely clings to her body, revealing long, toned legs accentuated by sky-high red heels. In one hand, she holds a bottle of champagne; in the other, she places a manicured hand on her hip, her dark lashes sweeping up as she gives me a slow, judgmental once-over
"Who are you?" she demands, her lips curling in distaste.
I arch a brow. "I should be asking you that."
Her gaze sharpens. "This is my guy’s place," she says, her tone clipped. "So I should be asking you that question."
I glance at my apartment number, then back at her. Is she serious?
"You sure about that?" I ask.
She scoffs. "Of course, I’m sure. Now, who the hell are you?"
I almost laugh. Seriously? "Lady, I live here."
Before she can process my words, she suddenly takes a step forward, like she’s about to shove me out of the way. I instinctively move back, prepared to defend myself if needed, but before things escalate, the door next to mine swings open.
A man emerges. Tall, dark-haired, and shirtless. Yeah, he’s got the abs and the face, but he looks like the type to stir up trouble.
"Rita, right?" His voice is deep, slightly amused.
The woman’s entire demeanour shifts. Her sharp expression softens, her lips parting into a flirtatious smile. "Oh, hey!" she purrs, as if she didn’t just try to attack me a second ago.
"Wrong flat number," she says with a casual shrug before strutting past me, her heels clicking against the floor with an air of confidence that would make a runway model jealous.
I stare after her in disbelief.
Did she really just mistake my place for his? And the worst part—he doesn’t even seem too sure about her name.
Unbelievable.
"Hey, sorry about that," the guy says, finally turning to me. His gaze is lazy and amused. Up close, I can see he has sharp features, deep brown eyes, and a slight smirk that tells me he finds this entire situation entertaining. "I’m your new neighbour. You can call me Newton." He extends a hand toward me.
I glance at it, unimpressed. "Next time you invite a woman over, make sure she knows the right flat number."
Then I turned on my heel, stepping back into my apartment and slamming the door in his face.
I lean against the door for a moment, inhaling deeply.
I don’t like him.
He looks like trouble—the kind of man who enjoys stirring up chaos and watching people scramble. A nuisance. A womanizer.
All you need to do is just to ignore him. You rarely have time for yourself, after all.
Sighing, I head back to my sofa, Grey’s Anatomy. Nothing can make me lose my peace, not even a womanizer that leaves next door.
Newton’s POV
I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the door that just got slammed in my face.
Well, that was… interesting."
My new neighbour has attitude.
I chuckle as I turn back to my own apartment. "Is that the kind of welcome I get for moving in?" I mutter to myself. "Damn, she didn’t even shake my hand."
I step inside and close the door behind me.
And there, sprawled across my couch, is Rita. The girl I ordered from the hook up app this evening.
She has completely made herself comfortable, legs crossed, sipping straight from the bottle of champagne she brought. She glances at me with a smirk. "That was awkward."
I huff. "You don’t say."
"She’s your neighbour?" She asked.
"Something like that. A very grumpy neighbour." The girl I ordered laughed.
But something about her intrigued me.
She’s not like the usual women I deal with—eager to please, quick to flirt. No, she looked at me like I was nothing more than an inconvenience. The way she folded her arms, the way she rolled her eyes—she didn’t care who I was.
And for some reason, that made me very curious.
"You coming to sit, or are you just going to stand there?" Rita calls out, tapping the empty space beside her.
I exhale and shake off my thoughts. Right. I have better things to do tonight than to wonder about my neighbour.
After all, I have a long day ahead tomorrow. New job, new city, new everything. I deserve a night of fun before the real work begins tomorrow.
I smirk and walk toward Rita. "Now, let's see what you have," I said, looking at the woman as she came over to me.
