The morning sun crept through the thin curtains of Apartment 4B, casting golden stripes across the floorboards. For Janine Emmy, the light should have been a symbol of warmth, calm, and a perfect summer day ahead. Instead, it was a harbinger of chaos.
She groaned, curling tighter under the blankets. The faint smell of sea air mixed with something distinctly… cereal. Her eyes snapped open.
There he was. Vincent Pladi.
Barefoot, stretched lazily across the balcony railing, a bowl of cereal dangling in one hand, the other scrolling through his phone. His messy hair glinted in the sunlight, and the smirk that had haunted her yesterday was back, brighter, smugger, and somehow more infuriating.
Janine leapt from the bed, hair a tangled halo around her face. "Are you kidding me?" she shrieked.
Vincent glanced up lazily, eyes gleaming. "Mornin', sunshine. Breakfast on the balcony. Care to join?"
"I care about nothing!" Janine barked, marching toward the door, only to trip on a stray sandal he'd left in the hallway. She cursed under her breath, gripping the doorframe for balance. "You can't live like this! This is an apartment, not some… some—"
"—beach bachelor pad?" he suggested smoothly. "And yet, here you are."
She glared. "And here you are. On my balcony. Eating cereal like you own the place."
"I kinda do," he said, tilting his head with a grin. "Technically, my booking came first. But hey, I'm a fair guy. We can negotiate."
Janine's hands curled into fists. "Negotiate? There's nothing to negotiate. Rules. I make the rules. You follow them."
Vincent chuckled, flipping a cereal loop into the air and catching it between his teeth. "Rules. Right. Because life is just so predictable, isn't it?"
Her lips trembled between rage and disbelief. "I cannot do this. Twelve weeks trapped in this apartment with you. I… I—"
"You'll survive," he said casually. "I promise. Might even be… entertaining."
Janine inhaled sharply. Entertaining. He thinks this is entertaining. "Entertaining isn't my goal! I wanted peace, quiet, and—"
"And control," he finished, smirking.
"Yes!" she shouted, throwing her hands up. "Control. Rules. Structure. I like my summer tidy, calm, organized. And you—you're—"
"Chaos incarnate," he supplied, with mock solemnity. "You read my mind. Impressive."
Her ears burned. She clenched her fists at her sides, trying to stop herself from throwing something—anything—at him. But before she could act, the doorbell rang.
Vincent raised a brow. "Ah, the universe sends reinforcements."
Janine frowned. "I don't… oh no." She marched to the door, flinging it open, and found the building manager holding a clipboard, grinning like a cat who'd caught a mouse.
"Morning!" he chirped. "Just here to check the apartment for the summer rental inspection. Hope I'm not interrupting anything… dramatic?"
Janine's jaw dropped. "I… um…"
Vincent leaned in behind her, whispering, "See? Told you. Entertaining."
The manager stepped inside, oblivious to the tension crackling between the two. He began his routine inspection, rattling doors, testing taps, and making casual notes while Vincent lounged on the couch, offering commentary that made Janine's blood boil.
"And this," Vincent said, gesturing at her carefully stacked books, "is how not to stack books. Gravity always wins."
Janine whirled. "Excuse me?"
"You'll thank me when the tower collapses less spectacularly."
"I stacked them perfectly!" she snapped, but the manager chuckled and jotted down something about "cohabitation challenges."
By the time the inspection ended, Janine was ready to strangle someone. The manager departed with a cheerful wave, leaving the apartment in chaos: her boxes slightly disturbed, Vincent sprawled across her couch, and a few stray cereal loops on the floor"
She slammed the door. "Rules. We're having a rules meeting. Now."
Vincent yawned, stretching dramatically. "Rules? Already? I barely had breakfast."
"I don't care. House rules. Chore schedules. Bathroom timings. Noise limits. Everything. Sit. Take notes. We start now."
Vincent's smirk widened. "Oh, this is going to be fun. I'll need a bigger notebook."
They sat across from each other at the tiny kitchen table, a pile of pens and paper between them. Janine, armed with precision and determination, began outlining her vision for apartment harmony.
"You wake up by eight. No loud music before nine. Bathroom schedule: I get 6–7 a.m., you 7–8 a.m. Floors must be clean every third day. Dishes immediately. Laundry done weekly. No guests after nine."
Vincent's grin widened. "Ah… wow. That's… a lot. But I see the logic. Sort of. Maybe we can… bend a few rules? Just slightly?"
"Bend?!" Janine's voice cracked like glass. "Rules are not bending! Rules are law!"
"Law… huh?" He leaned back, tilting his chair precariously. "And if I… break the law?"
"You will pay consequences! Cleaning detail. No TV for a day. Beach banishment!"
Vincent clapped slowly. "Beach banishment? That's… harsh. I was really looking forward to enjoying the sand, the waves, the freedom…"
"I don't care about your freedom!" she snapped. "I care about sanity!"
The argument escalated. Voices raised. Cereal bowls rattled. A rogue bag of sand from yesterday's beach adventure spilled across the floor. Vincent froze, stared at it, then shrugged. "Well… that's… inevitable."
Janine stared at him like he'd grown another head. "I am living with a lunatic."
"And you," he said with deadly calm, "are a control freak."
The tension was electric. Neither moved, neither blinked. And yet, beneath it all, a strange sense of… entertainment.
Later that morning, they attempted to carry beach chairs and umbrellas down to the shore. Chaos followed immediately. Vincent, as usual, ignored the instructions, twirling the umbrella in a way that almost hit a passerby.
"Vincent! Stop that! You're going to ruin everything!" Janine yelled, lunging for the umbrella.
"I'm making it fun!" he countered.
The beachgoers gave them odd stares as they struggled to carry two chairs and an umbrella. In a spectacular twist of fate, the umbrella collapsed, knocking over Janine's perfectly packed cooler. Smoothies, sandwiches, and sunscreen exploded across the sand.
Janine screamed. Vincent doubled over laughing. "See? Fun!"
"I hate you," she said, wiping sand from her hair.
"You love me," he teased, as she threw a fistful of sand at him
By the time they set up their spot, they were a mess: sticky, sandy, sweaty. Vincent was still smirking; Janine was scowling. Yet, they had survived. Together. Sort of.
No sooner had they claimed a stretch of sand than the local kids appeared, shrieking and running wildly, sending sand flying into both of them. Janine shrieked. Vincent laughed. A stray beach ball hit a sunbather nearby, prompting a scolding from a local café owner.
"Apologies," Vincent said smoothly. "We're… new."
Janine groaned. "I am going to lose my mind."
But even amidst the chaos, a small thought crept in: Vincent handled the disaster with ease. Calm, adaptable, and oddly… competent.
Back in the apartment, Janine sank into the couch, exhausted. She glanced at Vincent, who was sprawled across the balcony, feet dangling, scrolling through his phone. The ocean glimmered beyond, the sun dipping toward the horizon.
He's infuriating. Chaotic. Impossible.
And yet… he's not entirely useless.
Vincent caught her gaze and smirked. "Thinking about me already?"
Janine turned sharply. "I am not!"
But inside, she couldn't deny a flicker of intrigue. Twelve weeks. Twelve weeks of sand, sun, and Vincent Pladi.
And somehow… it was going to be a summer she would never forget.