Neighbors

Elena—POV

"Mr. Ford," I said as he stepped out of the elevator, holding his suitcase and key. He gazed at me, surprised, but maintained his arrogant demeanour. I stepped aside to let him pass.

"Are you staying in the penthouse next to me?" I asked.

"Hmmm," he replied.

"Cool, then we'll be neighbours. And I wanted to thank you for saving my life," I said with a smile. He nodded and walked away without saying anything, leaving me frustrated by his cold arrogance.

As soon as I stepped out of the building, the media swarmed around me like vultures and paparazzi, taking pictures and thrusting microphones at me. My security team made a path for me to get into my car.

I tried not to think about the rumours that my ex-fiancé, Jake, was spreading to ruin my career. But as soon as I got to my office, Janice told me the producers were waiting for me.

"Ms. Hayes, right on time," Producer Christian said with a smile.

"I take my work and time seriously," I replied, taking my seat.

"We know that, but the rumours are troubling us. We're not interested in knowing who the victim is. Your name and skills are what we invest in. Your reputation is a risk for other producers investing in this movie," Christian said with no sympathy.

"So, you're here to give me a verdict, not to listen to my side," I said sarcastically. Christian sighed and handed me the termination letter, letting me know they were hiring someone else. Tears filled my eyes; I had worked hard to get this contract.

I won't give up, even if Christian took this opportunity from me. I have to approach other producers. Janice brought me coffee and checked my phone with anxiety. I was waiting for breaking news about Jake and me, but Jake had made me look like a devil and portrayed himself as an angel.

After meeting some producers, I returned home feeling sad. People around the producers' office gave me hateful glares. I made a drink to soothe my heartache and body ache from illness.

Then, a notification chimed, and I opened it to see a rejection email from the producers. The reason for the rejection was not about my performance but the rumours that had spread around. I wanted to smash my phone in anger, but I controlled myself. Instead, I accidentally shattered a glass, and a piece pierced my skin.

"Fuck," I muttered as I removed the glass from my palm. Then the doorbell rang. The maids were away, so I looked at the cam screen to see the cold-hearted neighbour. I opened the door, and his eyes went to my hand, where I had put a towel to stop the bleeding.

"Where is the medical kit?" he asked authoritatively. As he stepped into my apartment, I directed him to the cabinet. He took my other hand, gently leading me to the sofa, and I sat down as he gestured to me. He tended my wound with care, and though his face was emotionless, his actions showed he cared.

"Why are you always my saviour?" I growled, hissing with pain from the ointment he had applied. It had stopped the bleeding, but its effects had left a burning sensation on my skin. He didn't answer, and I glared at him. But then, I found myself staring at him closely. He wore track pants and a sweatshirt, yet he still looked hot.

"Why are you ignoring me? Everyone thinks I abused my ex-fiancé. Do you have the same impression from these baseless rumours?" I asked him. He didn't look at me as he organized the medical kit. His silence gave me the answer.

"Can you just leave my apartment?" I added, feeling dejected. He glanced at me for seconds, then stared at my wound. He got up from the couch and reached for the exit, and I glanced at my wounds in bandages.

"I don't believe in these rumours," his deep voice answered before the door shut behind him.

"Wait, why did he come to my apartment?" I mumbled to myself.