The elevator doors opened directly into his penthouse, silent and private, just the way he preferred it. No noise. No interruptions. No variables.
Predictable.
Perfect.
Elias stepped inside, already loosening his tie with one hand, his movements precise even in something so casual. The knot slipped free smoothly, the fabric sliding against his collar as he walked further in.
His jacket followed, draped neatly over his arm before being placed exactly where it belonged.
Order.
Everything returned to its place.
His gaze remained forward, unfocused for a second as his mind ran through the day—meetings, numbers, adjustments—
Then—
something crunched.
Elias stopped.
Slowly.
His head tilted just slightly.
That—
was not part of his system.
Another crunch.
Clearer this time.
From the living room.
Elias didn't move immediately.
Because there were only two possibilities.
One—someone had broken into his home.
Two—
His jaw tightened.
No.
He stepped forward.
Silent.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
And then—
he saw her.
Catherine Vale.
Lying on his couch.
Comfortably.
One leg stretched out, the other bent slightly, her head resting against one of his perfectly arranged cushions—now very much not arranged.
A bag of chips rested in her lap.
Open.
Half gone.
And she was watching his television.
His.
Television.
"…What," Elias said.
It wasn't a question.
It wasn't a sentence.
It was… a reaction.
Catherine didn't even look at him at first.
She reached into the bag, grabbed another chip, and ate it slowly.
Crunch.
Then—
without urgency—
she turned her head.
"Oh," she said lightly. "You're back."
Silence.
Elias stared at her.
Unmoving.
Processing.
Rejecting.
"Turn that off."
"Mm?" she glanced at the screen, then back at him. "Why? It's getting interesting."
"It's my house."
"And I'm watching it," she said simply.
Elias blinked once.
Slow.
Controlled.
Like his brain needed a second to catch up to reality.
"You're on my couch."
"Yes."
"You're eating—" he looked at the bag, his expression tightening slightly, "—whatever that is."
"Chips," she said helpfully.
"I know what they are."
"Good," she smiled. "That saves time."
Elias exhaled slowly.
Measured.
"You broke into my home."
"No."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I walked in."
"That's breaking in."
"It didn't feel like breaking," she shrugged.
"That's not how that works."
"That's exactly how it worked."
Silence.
Elias stepped closer.
His gaze dropped briefly to the couch.
Crumbs.
Crumbs.
On his couch.
"…You're getting crumbs on it."
Catherine followed his gaze.
Then looked back at him.
Then—
deliberately—
she took another chip.
Crunch.
A small piece fell.
Right onto the couch.
She didn't pick it up.
Instead—
she smiled.
"…Oops."
Elias went very still.
"You did that on purpose."
"Of course I did."
"Why?"
She tilted her head slightly, her red hair shifting over her shoulder.
"To see that look."
"What look."
"That one," she pointed lightly at his face.
Elias didn't react.
But his jaw tightened.
"Get up."
"No."
"Get. Up."
"I'm comfortable."
"That's not relevant."
"It is to me."
Elias stared at her.
Long.
Unmoving.
Then—
he reached forward.
Took the remote from the table beside her.
And turned the TV off.
Silence filled the room instantly.
Catherine blinked.
Then looked at the screen.
Then at him.
"…Rude."
"This isn't a lounge."
"You keep saying that," she said, sitting up slightly. "But you have a couch."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"The point," Elias said, his voice dropping colder, "is that you don't belong here."
Catherine studied him for a second.
Then—
she leaned forward.
Elbows on her knees.
Looking up at him.
Close.
Too close.
"You don't like me here."
"No."
"Or you don't like that I can be here?"
Silence.
That—
landed.
Elias's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're not staying."
"I already am."
"You're leaving."
"I'm not."
Elias ran a hand slowly along his jaw.
Reset.
Control.
"Explain," he said.
"Explain what?"
"How you got in."
She smiled.
"No."
Elias's expression darkened.
"That wasn't a request."
"I know."
"And?"
"And I still said no."
Silence.
Then—
Catherine leaned back again.
Relaxed.
Reaching into the chip bag again like this conversation didn't matter.
Crunch.
Elias watched her.
Every movement.
Every detail.
"You're enjoying this."
"Yes."
"Why."
She glanced at him, amused.
"Because you're trying very hard not to lose control."
"I'm not trying."
"Mm," she smiled. "That's cute."
Elias went still again.
"You're testing limits you don't understand."
"And you're pretending you still have them," she replied smoothly.
That—
again.
Elias stepped closer.
Now standing directly in front of her.
"You walk into my office."
"Yes."
"You walk into my home."
"Yes."
"You ignore everything I say."
"Yes."
"And you expect me to just accept that?"
Catherine looked up at him.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Then—
softly—
"No."
A pause.
Then she added:
"I expect you to adapt."
Silence.
Heavy.
Elias held her gaze.
Unmoving.
Unshaken.
But something—
shifted.
"You're not normal," he said.
She smiled.
"I've been called worse."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I didn't take it as one."
Another chip.
Crunch.
Elias looked at the bag.
Then at her.
Then—
without warning—
he took it from her hand.
Catherine blinked.
"…Hey."
Elias looked at the bag.
Then placed it on the table.
Out of her reach.
"No."
She stared at him.
Then—
slowly—
she smiled.
"Oh."
Elias's eyes narrowed.
"What."
"That's new."
"What is."
"You interacting," she said lightly.
"I'm removing a problem."
"No," she shook her head slightly. "You're reacting."
Silence.
Elias didn't respond.
Because—
that was dangerously close to true.
Catherine leaned back again, completely unfazed.
Then looked at him again.
Soft.
Playful.
"Relax, Elias."
"I don't relax."
"I know," she said. "That's why I'm here."
His gaze sharpened instantly.
"Explain that."
She smiled.
"No."
Silence.
Then—
she shifted slightly on the couch.
Making herself even more comfortable.
In his space.
On his couch.
Looking at him—
like she wasn't going anywhere.
"You should sit," she added casually.
"I'm not sitting."
"You look tense."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
She tilted her head.
Then patted the couch beside her.
"Come on."
Elias didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even blink.
And Catherine—
laughed softly.
Because for the first time—
Elias Voss wasn't in control of the room.
And they both knew it.