Kristen had just stepped into the apartment kitchen when she froze. The faint smell of coffee mixed with the lingering cold aura of Raymond. He was already there, leaning against the counter, staring at his phone like nothing mattered.
"Morning," she said, voice flat. She wanted it to sound casual, but her throat tightened.
He didn't look up. "Morning," he muttered. "Coffee?"
She rolled her eyes. "You mean, 'I made coffee for myself because I know you'll drink mine and ruin it'?"
A smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes stayed sharp. "Maybe. Careful, I might just do that."
Kristen crossed her arms, heels clicking on the tile. Every sound felt louder in this apartment where she was now forced to live with her enemy. Every glance, every movement, every stupid breath he took reminded her that she wasn't free yet.
"Are you always this annoying in the mornings?" she asked, sitting at the table and picking at a corner of the bread bag.
Raymond's phone dinged. He glanced at it, unreadable. "Depends on who's asking."
Her fingers tightened around the bag. "If you're trying to charm me, it's not working."
There was a pause. One of those long, loaded pauses that made her skin crawl. "I'm not trying to charm you." His voice dropped, almost a growl. "You're just… impossible."
Kristen snorted. "Thank you? I've been working hard to achieve that."
He finally looked up, and she noticed it — the faint shadow behind his eyes, the way his jaw clenched as if he wanted to bite down on his own frustration. For a second, she wondered if he hated her, or if it was something else. Something he wasn't ready to admit.
"You know," she said, softer now, daring to test the waters, "this whole 'living under one roof while hating each other' thing isn't going to be easy."
He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he poured himself coffee and took a slow sip. "Easy isn't really our thing, is it?"
Kristen laughed—sharp, short, but honest. "Apparently not. Lucky me."
For the first time since the divorce papers had been laid out on the table, the apartment felt… less like a prison. Less. Only slightly, but enough to remind her that even enemies could have moments like this.
And for reasons she didn't want to admit, that tiny crack in his armor made her pulse race more than she wanted it to.