FALLING FOR THE COLD BILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR

Chapter 1

Vivian

The arrival hall smelled like burnt coffee and expensive perfume. Twenty hours on a plane had left my body aching, but twenty years on runways had already drained my soul. Korea was behind me—its cameras, headlines, and the word I had come to hate most: too old. Ahead lay Avron. A city that didn’t know my name. A city that didn’t care about my past.

I slipped through the crowd unnoticed. No camera flashes. No whispers. No one was staring at me as though my face was both their obsession and their entertainment. For once, I was invisible. And it felt… liberating.

“Ivie!”

I turned at the sound of my nickname. Fallon stood by the curb, waving like a man who owned the entire airport. Casual in jeans and a white tee, he still looked every inch the TV host he used to be—handsome, charming, effortless. Yvonne had done well for herself.

He pulled me into a hug, his cologne warm and familiar. “You flew twenty hours and still look flawless. Unreal.”

I snorted. “Flattery won’t hide how badly I need a nap.”

“Rest first, food later then,” he said, tossing my suitcases into the trunk.

As he drove, I leaned against the window, staring at the skyline as it unfolded in front of me. Avron. The land of fashion and dreams. The place I had chosen to rebuild my life.

Once, I thought I had it all. A legendary mother who molded me into her image, a glittering career that started before I was even old enough to choose, a boyfriend who matched me in looks and status. But it all unraveled—my mother’s sudden death, his very public betrayal, and the humiliation that followed. Somewhere between champagne towers crashing and headlines mocking, I realized the life I had been chasing wasn’t mine. It had always been hers.

Now, it was finally mine to claim. And I was going to build something new—my own fashion brand. My own future.

Fallon’s ringtone snapped me out of my thoughts. He answered quickly, his easy smile fading into a businesslike tone. “Yeah, I’ll be there in ten.” He ended the call and shot me an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, Ivie. A client moved her appointment forward. You’ll have to check in alone. Everything’s set up though, I promise.”

“That’s fine,” I said, though my chest tightened a little. He and Yvonne had already done more for me than anyone else in years.

We pulled up to a gleaming skyscraper, its glass reflecting the late afternoon sun like a shard of silver. I craned my neck to take in all sixty floors. Sleek. Intimidating. Nothing like the noisy, overstuffed house my mother had ruled in Seoul.

“Your place is on the fifty-ninth floor,” Fallon said as he handed me a set of keys. “Dinner at seven?”

I smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Inside, the lobby was all marble and brass, polished until it glowed. Behind the counter stood a man in a nutcracker-style red uniform. His nametag read Deuce.

“Welcome to Vance Residences,” he said, his eyes flicking over me in that assessing way people did when they weren’t sure if you belonged. “How may I help you?”

“I’m Vivian Kim, new resident. Here’s my key.”

Recognition sparked in his eyes, his smile tightening. “Ah, Mr. Fallon’s client. Welcome.”

Client. Not resident. His tone made it sound like I was borrowing space, not owning it. I forced a polite smile, even as irritation prickled under my skin.

I was about to step toward the elevator when a force slammed into my side. My luggage toppled from my hand and crashed onto the marble floor. The wheels clattered against the tile.

“Hey!” I snapped, spinning around.

The elevator doors were already sliding shut, but not before I caught a glimpse: broad shoulders filling a tailored jacket, purposeful strides, a presence that seemed to swallow the air around him. No pause. No glance back. No apology.

My pulse spiked with irritation. Who walked like that? As if the entire world should move out of their way.

“Seriously?!” I hissed, crouching to right my bag. “Couldn’t even apologize?”

Deuce raised his brows but kept his tone even. “That was probably Mr. Evans.”

“Mr. Evans?” I dusted off my bag, glaring at the closed elevator. “Well, Mr. Evans is very rude.”

Deuce said nothing, but the faint twitch of his mouth suggested he didn’t disagree.

I dragged my suitcase toward the next elevator, pressing the button harder than necessary. My arms trembled, though not just from jet lag. From anger. From exhaustion. From the weight of everything I had left behind and everything I was still too scared to face.

Still, as the doors opened, a strange thrill stirred in my chest. I was here. In Avron. No paparazzi. No headlines. No ex-boyfriend waiting to compare me to the next shiny thing. Just me, my best friend a few blocks away, and a dream I wasn’t going to bury this time.

But as the elevator carried me upward, one thought refused to leave me.

Broad shoulders. Mr. Evans.