Exciting Reasons to Hate

Noora’s breath came in sharp, uneven waves as she pressed her back against the cold washroom wall. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest… too fast, too loud, like it was trying to beat its way out.

What just happened?

She thought she was the one in control.

She thought HE would be the one shaken.

But that moment... sitting on his lap, feeling him against her, hearing the way his voice dropped… that thing…

“Be a good girl and finish making my coffee.”

Her ears burned at the memory.

And now, she couldn’t get it out of her head.

His smirk haunted her.

“Good girl??” She spat, “DREAM ON, LUCIANO RICHARDSON!!!” 

She splashed cold water on her face, tried to steady her breathing, but nothing helped. The moment she stepped back into the hallway, it felt like walking into an entirely new battlefield.

The office was in chaos. Workers scrambled with toolboxes and furniture. Electric drills buzzed. Two men rolled in glass panels. A sleek, modern structure was being erected right outside Luciano’s office.

“What the hell is going on?” Noora asked, frowning. She limped toward the commotion, her heel clicking noisily.

Someone muttered, “New installation... boss’s order.”

She stepped closer. Her desk which was tucked in the outer corner was being dismantled.

In its place?

A brand-new desk.

Right outside the new glass room.

The room that had no curtains. No privacy. No escape.

“What is this?” she demanded, whirling toward the devil himself as he strode in casually, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened like a king surveying his kingdom.

Luciano didn’t miss a beat.

“Your new workspace,” he said, voice cool as iced whiskey. “Close proximity for... better supervision. Am I not generous?”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

She laughed bitterly—once, short, sharp.

“You must be fucking kidding me, right?”

Her hands flew to her hips, her chest rising and falling as if she were trying to breathe through rage itself.

Luciano just leaned against the newly installed glass wall, arms folded, one brow cocked. “No, darling. I don’t joke when I’m dead serious.”

He smirked. “You wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you? What better way than to keep you in plain view? Every second. Every move.”

“Luciano Richardson!” Noora snapped, taking a step toward him. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but fury. “You hate me! You hate me to the core! You can’t even stand the sound of my voice or the sight of me—so why the hell are you doing this?!”

Luciano’s smile didn’t falter.

But his eyes glinted with something darker. Deeper.

He stepped forward, closing the distance, until the air between them thinned into something dangerous.

“Because every time you walk into a room... I forget why I’m supposed to hate you. Instead, I find more exciting reasons to hate you more.”

He leaned down, whisper brushing against her ear:

“And that, sweetheart... is a problem I want right in front of me.”

She swallows hard. Her heart pounds. Her body betrays her.

“You’re sick,” she whispered.

And Luciano just smirked and murmured, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Noora’s breath hitched, lips parted, heart racing, mind scrambling to hold onto any shred of logic—

And then—

CLACK.

The office walls were broken down to let people in wide and straight, yet the office door was pushed opened with a smooth, deliberate push like a severe case of OCD and pretentiousness at the same time. 

“Not even one full day,” came a smooth, drawling voice, rich with mischief.

 “And your new assistant’s already breathing life into the cold, dead halls of Richardson Corp.”

Noora jolted upright like she’d touched fire, practically leaping away from Luciano as if his body was molten lava.

But Luciano?

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even pretend to be caught off guard.

He stayed exactly where he was, arms relaxed against the glass wall, one brow lifting lazily as if he’d invited the interruption just to make it more interesting.

Icarus Vassiliki. Again. Dressed in all black with a teasing smirk and an aura that screamed chaotic good looks meets scandalous intentions.

He stepped inside leisurely, eyes sparkling as he took in their flushed faces, the barely restrained tension, and that telltale space between them that screamed ‘we were just way too close before you interrupted’.

“And here I thought I was late to the drama,” Icarus grinned. “Turns out I walked in right when the tea was piping hot.”

His gaze swept the office, freshly broken walls, new glass installed, sunlight spilling in golden warmth across Luciano’s once-cold space.

He let out a low whistle.

“Huh… look at that.”

“Sunlight in Richardson’s lair. Warmth, even.”

He smirked, hands in his pockets, eyes dancing.

“This what people call ‘spring thawing the frostbitten heart of winter’, ain’t it, Paul?”

Luciano’s jaw twitched.

“Hope I’m not interrupting…” He arched a brow, gaze flicking between the two of them like he just walked into his favorite soap opera.

“Though I must say, if this is what I missed in just one day, I might never leave again.” He walked to the chair, sitting there as if he owned it, “New York is indeed fresh and fun. Everyday a new drama.”