Week 2 of living in the penthouse, and Althea had had enough.
Not of Max, at least not entirely. More of the slow, creeping sensation that she was starting to... exist here. Settle in. Relax.
That was the dangerous part. She couldn't afford to relax.
So, on a bright morning framed by floor-to-ceiling windows and suspiciously well-behaved clouds, Althea made a list. She scribbled it on a sheet of Max's overpriced stationery, cream with a subtle "MV" possibly Maximilian Velasco monogram in gold foil that probably cost more than her old school lunch budget for a week.
HOUSE RULES, she wrote at the top. Underlined it twice.
1. No entering each other's rooms without knocking.
2. No cooking for the other person unless explicitly asked.
3. No unsolicited emotional advice.
4. Only Lilith is my emotional support.
5. No pretending this is anything more than a temporary arrangement.
6. No falling in love. (Yes, this includes you, Max.)
She folded it neatly and taped it to the fridge with a cat magnet shaped like a judge's gavel. Lilith, sitting on her high perch, blinked as if approving the ruling.
"Are you serious?" Max's voice drifted in from behind her, amused.
Althea didn't turn around. "Completely."
He stepped into the kitchen, holding a spoon and a half-eaten yogurt. "You know number six is dramatic, right?"
"Dramatic is putting glitter in your bath bombs."
"That was for a relaxing spa day," Max said defensively.
Althea finally turned to face him. "You did it alone."
He grinned. "Self-love."
She pointed to the list. "This is self-preservation."
Max read the rules again, raising an eyebrow. "You really think I'm going to fall in love with you?"
"I think you're the kind of guy who likes the idea of being in love. There's a difference. And well... the k-dramas." He leaned against the counter, expression unreadable. "You watch way too many."
Althea turned away and opened the cabinet labeled Tea Things, which was stocked like an actual apothecary. Max, it seemed, took herbal infusions very seriously.
They spent the morning mostly apart. Max holed himself up in the study with something vaguely business-y; Althea curled up on the couch with her phone scrolling mindlessly. Her eyes drifted toward the hallway more often than she'd admit.
By afternoon, she found Rule #2 broken.
Max had cooked. Correction: Max had tried to cook.
The kitchen looked like a food processor had declared war on its family. Flour dusted the floor like snow; a whisk was inexplicably stuck to the ceiling.
Althea stood at the threshold in disbelief. "What the hell happened here?" Max, wearing an apron that read Whisk Taker, looked up sheepishly. "I was trying to make crepes."
"Crepes?"
"For lunch."
She stared.
"I Googled it. Gordon Ramsay made it look easy."
"Gordon Ramsay also yells at people for breathing wrong."
"I burned the first two," he admitted. "Lilith ate the third."
Lilith licked her paw with unmistakable disdain.
Althea pinched Max's arm lightly. "Ow"
"You broke Rule #2."
"Technically, you didn't explicitly ask me not to crepe."
"That's not how logic works."
He handed her a plate with one semi-passable, slightly lopsided crepe. It smelled... decent.
She took a bite. It was edible. Max watched her like a Labrador awaiting judgment.
She sighed. "It's not bad."
His face lit up. Like she'd given him an A on a test he hadn't studied for. Later that evening, Althea found him in the living room, fiddling with the sound system.
"Movie night?" he offered.
"I don't do rom-coms," she said.
"In this case you're in one." He clicked through the options. "You watch horror?"
"Only if I have someone to cower behind."
He rolled her eyes but sat down on the opposite end of the couch. A blanket separated them like a demilitarized zone. Fifteen minutes into the film, Althea predictably yelped and buried her face in a pillow. Max sipped her tea with an unimpressed look. "You're pathetic."
"Emotionally stable," she corrected from behind the pillow. "I just have a healthy fear of vengeful spirits."
A pause. Then, softly, "You're not really scared of ghosts, are you?"
Althea peeked up. "Only the metaphorical ones." Max didn't reply. But he didn't get up and leave either.
The next morning, Rule #1 was broken.
Max knocked, then opened her door before she answered. Althea turned in her desk chair, one eyebrow raised.
"Technically, I knocked."
"That's not how knocking works."
"Just wanted to ask if you want anything from the bakery down the street."
"Get out."
He grinned. "On it."
Rule #3? Broken the same afternoon.
She'd been pacing the kitchen, stress radiating from every limb, when Max casually suggested, "You might feel better if you called Alaya, you no-friend loner."
Althea froze. "Max."
"I'm just saying—"
"No." Her voice was sharp.
Max held up his hands in surrender. "Got it." He left her alone.
That night, Rule #4 nearly started a war. Lilith, traitorous beast that she was, curled up in Althea's lap during movie night. Max glared.
"She doesn't answer to you," he hissed.
"She chose love," Althea said smugly.
"She chose warmth."
"I provide both."
"Don't test me."
"Understood."
She gently placed Lilith between them, like neutral ground.
Rule #5 and #6; well. Those were trickier.
One week in, the list on the fridge was half faded. The judge-cat magnet drooped slightly. Max walked in one morning to find it gone.
Replaced with a new list: REVISED HOUSE RULES
1. Knock louder.
2. If you cook, clean.
3. Lilith is a free agent.
4. Don't fall in love.
Max stared at the list for a long time. Althea appeared behind him, sipping tea.
"New rules?" he asked. She shrugged. "Just updates."
He turned to her, slowly. "And number four instead of six?" She raised a brow. "Still dramatic?" He smiled. "Still fair."
She sipped again. "Good."
Maybe, just maybe, this home wasn't so bad after all.
End of Chapter 27.