Moving In

Montserrat arrived at Aaron's estate with Carson and a few staff members from her family home, people she had long grown accustomed to having around.

"Just Aaron lives here," Carson said as he helped bring down her luggage. "Good thing we brought our own staff along."

Montserrat looked around. The property, from the circular driveway to the manicured gardens, was eerily empty.

"At least if he had any manners, he should be here to welcome me. It's rare to find any gentlemanly men these days," Montserrat murmured with obvious disapproval.

"I'm right here, boss," Carson grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

She rolled her eyes at him before proceeding to press the doorbell.

She did so twice, and still there was no response at all from the other end.

As she lifted her hand to do it the third time, the door opened.

Rebecca stood at the front door, her hair loose, wearing a shirt much larger than her size — certainly Aaron's, she figured — with nothing underneath, not even a pair of shorts. The oversized fabric clung lightly against her from the morning chill.

A mug of coffee sat firmly in her hand, still hot. Montserrat could see the steam rising from it.

Montserrat recognized her instantly from the restaurant two days ago and from the dating rumors splashed across every entertainment headline.

"Hi, good morning," Rebecca said politely, a warm smile stamped across her face. "You must be Montserrat."

Montserrat regarded her silently, her expression unreadable. Not a flicker of surprise, jealousy, or irritation crossed her face.

"And you must be the girlfriend."

Rebecca's smile faltered ever so slightly before quickly returning. The air between them became noticeably heavier.

Aaron arrived, cutting the tension in half as he slipped an arm around Rebecca from behind before hugging her, acting as though nothing was out of place.

"Rebecca's staying," he said.

Montserrat simply replied, "Good for her. You already told me she would."

Aaron pressed a kiss against Rebecca's cheek before searching Montserrat's face for a reaction. His own expression faltered when he found the same hard, rock-like expression he'd seen two days earlier. It irritated him so much that his jaw tightened.

"My staff will help move my things into the house. I would appreciate it if you made way for them to come in," she said politely, as Aaron and Rebecca quickly stepped aside.

"Thank you. You nearly had that."

"I should give you a house tour... if you would like," Aaron said lazily, already sounding bored with the idea.

"I actually don't want—"

"That over there beside the library is my office. I barely use it, but since you're a workaholic yourself, you can make do with it."

Montserrat followed the direction of his hand as he continued.

"And that's my gym. I use it every morning and evening. If you go upstairs to your left, we have the guest suites. You can pick one of the rooms there and have your staff clean it up. Thank God you brought them along."

"You didn't have my room cleaned?" Montserrat asked, raising a brow.

"My room is under renovation, so I've been crashing in the main guest suite. Bed, wardrobe, everything. I didn't have time to clear it out before you came."

He kissed Rebecca once again.

"Come, let's finish what we started."

Montserrat watched as he led Rebecca toward the staircase, pausing every few steps to steal another kiss from her.

"Mr. Martinez," Montserrat interrupted calmly. "What happens in your bedroom is of absolutely no concern to me. As long as you stay out of mine, we're not going to have a problem."

Aaron's lips lifted into a smile. "If you could listen, I was trying to tell you that most of my clothes and personal belongings are still in that wardrobe. I'm sure you can manage around them for a day or two... or your staff could. Whichever suits you best." He said with a careless shrug before disappearing upstairs with Rebecca.

Montserrat let out a long, exhausted breath.

"Three years..." she mouthed. "Three years."

"You can survive three years."

The words became a silent mantra as she watched the bedroom door upstairs close behind them.

The door slammed shut as Aaron locked it from the inside.

"She doesn't seem jealous to have me around," Rebecca remarked, looping her arms around his neck.

"Why would she be jealous? It's an arranged marriage, and she's kind of stoic. Very emotionally reserved."

"And your total type," Rebecca teased with a knowing smile.

"Even if she is, I don't have eyes on her. But what I do have my eyes on..." He slipped an arm beneath Rebecca's knees, lifting her effortlessly before setting her gently on the bed. "...is you."

"She is your type to a tee."

"And also someone I'm being forced to be with, so can we not do this?" Aaron said, the amusement fading from his face.

Rebecca pushed herself off the bed, avoiding the kiss Aaron tried to steal.

"It doesn't feel good, you know, seeing the man you love get married to another woman," Rebecca admitted quietly, her voice cracking.

"It's my father."

"I know that. I know you have responsibilities to take care of, Aaron, but it's kind of hard. Making me live with you while having her around won't solve the problem. It's still going to feel just the same," she said, hugging herself. "I'm a woman with feelings."

"Rebecca..."

"I saw how the two of you were with the press yesterday. It kind of gave me enough emotion to cry for my relationship," she confessed, lowering her eyes.

"This is just a business agreement. I have no intention of loving her, and neither does she. After three years, we both call it off," Aaron said, trying to reassure her.

"Then I get together with you, and the public will say I came between a beautiful couple and caused the breakup," Rebecca said bitterly.

He walked over to her, taking both her hands in his until she looked directly into his eyes.

"You are thinking too deeply about this situation," he said softly.

"Because it is that deep, Aaron!"

---

Late in the night, Montserrat slipped out of her new room.

The house was silent, too silent. Her throat was dry from the dust of unpacking and she couldn't sleep.

She padded barefoot down the stairs, heading for the kitchen, when she noticed it — the home office light was on.

She slowed. Curiosity made her step closer.

Through the half-open door, she saw him.

Aaron was at the desk, his suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his elbows, head buried in a mountain of financial files. His hair was a mess, like he had run his hands through it too many times. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat untouched beside a cold cup of coffee.

He was working. Actually working. Hard.

She had expected him to be out partying, or upstairs with Rebecca. But here he was at 1:17 AM, frowning at spreadsheets, a calculator in hand, muttering numbers under his breath.

He called her a workaholic, but look who was working late at night.

For a second, she was impressed. He wasn't exactly how she had pictured him.

She didn't announce herself. She continued to the kitchen, opening cabinets quietly until she found what she needed — the coffee machine. Her staff hadn't unpacked the tea she brought yet.

Just as she found a pod and reached for it, another hand reached for it at the exact same time.

Warm fingers brushed hers.

She froze.

There was a moment of silence. Heavy, sudden.

The kitchen light was dim, only the glow from the office spilling in. They were standing too close.

Aaron finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough from exhaustion.

"Rule Six."

She blinked twice, recovering. "You touched me."

"You sure?" he asked, a tired smirk tugging at his lips despite himself.

They both stared down at their hands on the coffee machine. His hand still lightly over hers. Neither of them pulling away.

"Rule Six," He repeated.

"I'm aware,"

Neither refusing to break contact.