The Next Door Reveal

The coffee spills first.

Not all over the floor. Just a sharp splash against the lid, hot enough to sting my thumb and snap me fully awake. I hiss, juggling the cup, my bag sliding off my shoulder, my keycard slipping between my fingers like it hates me. Great. Perfect ending to a perfect twenty-four hours.

I’m still shaking. From yesterday. From Leo. From the way my whole life decided to flip me off in a single meeting room.

I push the lobby door open with my shoulder and step into the hallway, already digging for my keys, already halfway into my head. I’m replaying his voice. Calm. Polite. Corporate. Like he didn’t know my favorite cereal or the scar on my knee or the way I cry when I’m angry. Like we didn’t once share a mattress on a floor and talk about building things together.

Then I walk straight into a chest.

A solid one.

Warm. Familiar in the worst way.

My coffee jolts. My heart straight up forgets how to beat.

“Oh—” I start, then stop.

Because the chest is attached to Leo Westcott.

He’s standing there like he belongs. One hand on a phone, the other holding a keycard. Dressed too clean for a hallway. Dark coat. Sharp jaw. Same stupid face that used to undo me and apparently still can, because my lungs seize up like I’ve been punched.

For a second, neither of us moves.

The hallway feels too narrow. The lights buzz. My ears ring. I swear the walls lean in, like they want to hear this.

My brain scrambles for logic. This building is big. Rich people live everywhere. This is a coincidence. It has to be.

But my body doesn’t believe that. My body is already panicking.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt.

Nice, Skye. Very cool. Very composed.

His eyes flick down to the coffee cup trembling in my hand. Then back to my face. Slow. Intentional. Like he’s taking inventory. Like he has time.

“Good morning to you too,” he says.

The sound of his voice does something awful to me. It’s the same. Deeper maybe. Smoothed out by money and power and years of not needing to ask permission. It slides under my skin before I can stop it.

I step back. Or try to. My heel catches, and I wobble. He reaches out without thinking, fingers brushing my wrist.

Electric. Annoying. Way too much.

I yank my hand away.

“Don’t,” I snap. “Just don’t.”

His mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not yet.

“Relax,” he says. “I’m not here to fire you again.”

My stomach drops.

So he knows exactly how insane this looks. Which means this is not random. Which means—

“You followed me?” I ask.

He lifts a brow. “Wow. You really think that highly of yourself?”

I hate that it stings. I hate that he still knows how to poke at me with one sentence.

“I think you’re enjoying this,” I say. “Which is worse.”

He exhales through his nose, like he’s amused despite himself. Then he steps aside and taps the door beside mine.

Apartment 4B.

My apartment.

No. Not my apartment. The one next to it.

My blood goes cold.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper.

He swipes his keycard. The lock beeps. Green light. Confirmation. Real. Solid. Not a hallucination brought on by caffeine and trauma.

I laugh once. It comes out thin and cracked. “You bought the company. You fired me. And now you live next door?”

“I moved in last week,” he says. “Before the acquisition finalized.”

Before yesterday.

Before he looked me in the eye and told me my role was no longer necessary.

My head starts to pound.

“So you knew,” I say. “You knew where I lived.”

“I knew where you lived,” he repeats carefully. “Yes.”

My grip tightens on the coffee. I can feel it sloshing. My hands are shaking again.

“And you still did it,” I say. “You still walked into that meeting and acted like I was just another line item.”

His jaw tightens. There it is. A crack. Small, but real.

“This isn’t the hallway for this conversation,” he says.

“Oh, I think it is,” I shoot back. “You don’t get to control the setting too.”

A door opens down the hall. Someone’s footsteps echo. I don’t care. Let them hear. Let the walls listen.

Leo steps closer, lowering his voice anyway. “Skye. I didn’t buy your company to hurt you.”

I bark out a laugh. “That’s funny. Because that’s exactly what happened.”

Silence stretches. Heavy. Messy.

For a split second, something else flickers across his face. Regret, maybe. Or frustration. Or something he’s trained himself not to show.

Then it’s gone.

“Looks like we’re neighbors now,” he says casually, lips curving into that infuriating half-smirk.

There it is. The line. The one that lands like a punch.

I stare at him, really stare. The man who once slept on my couch because he missed the bus. The boy who used to trace patterns on my back when he couldn’t sleep. Now a billionaire with a penthouse key and a talent for ruining my life in new and creative ways.

“This is a nightmare,” I say.

“If it helps,” he replies, “I didn’t plan it this way.”

I scoff. “You don’t plan a lot of things, Leo. You just let them happen and deal with the damage later.”

His eyes darken. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “That’s exactly what I think.”

Another pause. Charged. Dangerous.

My door feels like it’s miles away. Safety is right there, and still I can’t move. Neither can he. We’re stuck in this weird gravity between past and present, anger and something uglier underneath.

I hate that part most.

I hate that my body remembers him. The way his presence fills space. The way the air feels thicker when he’s close. I hate that even now, even after everything, there’s this pull. Not sweet. Not romantic. Just raw tension, sharp enough to cut.

He notices. Of course he does.

His gaze drops again. Lingers this time. On my mouth. On the way I’m breathing too fast.

I see the moment he realizes it’s mutual.

“That’s not fair,” I mutter, more to myself than him.

“What isn’t?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. “Nothing. Everything.”

I finally manage to unlock my door, my fingers clumsy. The click sounds too loud. Final.

Before I step inside, I turn back to him.

“Work stays at work,” I say. “Home stays out of it. We are not doing whatever this is.”

His smile is slow. Knowing. Way too confident.

“We’ll see,” he says.

I slam the door in his face.

The quiet inside my apartment is deafening. I lean against the door, heart racing, coffee forgotten on the floor. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

A new email notification.

Sender: Westcott Holdings HR.

Subject line: Mandatory Change of Company Name – Effective Immediately.

I close my eyes.

So this is how it’s going to be.

Next door. Everywhere.

And something tells me Leo Westcott is just getting started.