CHAPTER 1
## SAMANTHA'S POV
Chicago at dusk was a city forged from gold and shadows, but standing in front of Skyline Media's sleek glass facade, the shadows felt heavier. I clenched the strap of my laptop bag, a familiar anchor, as the wind off the lake whipped my hair into a frenzy, carrying the distant wail of a siren – a stark reminder that I was no longer in my quiet hometown.
My phone buzzed with a final text from my mom: "Good luck, honey! Call us when you're settled." I smiled, tucking the phone away, my eyes fixed on the glowing "ON AIR" sign visible through the lobby windows. This internship was my shot, the culmination of years of late nights and endless applications. I'd spent every cent of my savings just to get here, and the thought sent a thrill through me – mixed with a healthy dose of terror.
The lobby was a hive of controlled chaos. People in sharp blazers sprinted toward elevators, phones pressed to their ears, their voices rising above the din. The low hum of television monitors broadcasted breaking news from every corner, casting an eerie glow on the bustling crowd. I felt a weird prickle dance across the back of my neck. I spun around, scanning the sea of faces, but there was nothing, just the blur of commuters and the flickering light of a news ticker.
Get it together, Sam, I whispered, adjusting my blazer. It's just big-city nerves. I took a deep breath and approached the reception desk, my heart hammering a staccato rhythm against my ribs. "Hi, I'm Samantha. I'm the new intern for the investigative department?"
A few minutes later, I was being led through a maze of desks, the hum of the office growing louder, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and nervous energy hanging in the air. We stopped in front of a glass-walled office, and my guide nodded encouragingly. That's when I saw her – Emily. She was exactly as I'd imagined: sharp-wit, radiating authority, and currently juggling two phones with the ease of a seasoned pro. When she saw me, she didn't just offer a polite nod; she greeted me with a warm, knowing smile that made the room feel ten degrees steadier.
"Welcome aboard, Samantha," she said, her voice cutting through the office noise. "We're thrilled to have you. I hope you're ready for a whirlwind, because in this city, the news doesn't just break – it shatters."
With a notebook in hand and a heart full of dreams, I set out to make my mark, eager to learn the ins and outs of the journalism world. Little did I know, this internship would not only teach me the ropes of journalism but also lead me down a path filled with unexpected love, friendships, fierce rivalries, and the pursuit of truth in a world where facts often blurred with fiction.
I thanked my guide as they led me back toward the elevators. The adrenaline from seeing the newsroom was fading fast, replaced by a hollow ache in my stomach and a rising panic in my chest.
It was late afternoon, and I still didn't have a place to put my suitcases. Skyline had promised me a subsidized apartment in Streeterville, but in the whirlwind of being introduced to the investigative team, I hadn't even had a chance to ask Emily for the address or the keys. I was a professional journalist-in-training on the outside, but on the inside, I was just a girl with two suitcases and no home.
I pressed the 'Down' button, leaning my head against the cool metal wall. As the doors slid shut, I caught my reflection in the polished chrome. My "perfect intern" look was already crumbling. The top button of my navy blazer was hanging by a single, desperate thread.
"No, no, no," I muttered, reaching for it. Before I could grab it, the button popped, bouncing off my shoe and skittering into the corner of the elevator. "Argh! Seriously?"
I bent down, scrambling to find the tiny piece of plastic, when my phone shrieked in my pocket. I fumbled for it, seeing Lena's name flash on the screen.
"Hello?" I answered, my tone sharper than I intended as I finally pinned the button against the floor.
"Whoa, hey bestie! What's with the attitude?" Lena's voice was a burst of sunshine I wasn't ready for. The background noise on her end sounded like a busy mall.
"I'm getting ready to eat 'breakfast' at 4:00 PM, my blazer is falling apart, and I don't even know where I'm sleeping tonight, Lena," I said, the sarcasm thick in my voice as the elevator dinged and I stepped out into the lobby.
Lena laughed, a sound that usually cheered me up but now just made me hungrier. "Don't tell me you're being a drama queen just because you're hungry, Sam. Is the 'Windy City' already blowing you over?"
"It's not just food. I have to go find Emily—or someone—who can tell me where my life is supposed to be," I frowned, tucking the loose button into my pocket. I looked at the revolving doors. That prickle was back—the feeling that the city was watching me struggle. "I have to go. I'll call you when I'm actually... settled."
"Alright, alright. Gist me later! Bye!"
"Bye," I said, hanging up.
## EMILY'S POV
When Raymond announced the new intern, I felt that familiar, sharp tug in my chest. Happiness for the team, yes, but a lingering shadow for Regina. No one could truly replace her, and the silence she'd left behind still felt heavy in the newsroom. But the CV on my desk—Samantha's—promised something different. It promised fire.
I saw her before she saw me. She was standing in the lobby, looking small against the towering glass of Skyline Media, but she radiated an infectious, hungry kind of joy. It was the look of someone who wanted this more than they wanted to breathe.
I stepped into the lobby, smoothing my blazer. "Welcome aboard, Samantha! We're thrilled to have you. I hope you're ready for a whirlwind, because in this city, the news doesn't just break—it shatters."
She nodded, a shy smile fighting through her nerves. She looked overwhelmed, the weight of the city already pressing on her shoulders.
"Just take it one step at a time," I encouraged, checking my watch. The afternoon was already slipping away. "And don't hesitate to ask questions."
The rest of the day was a blur of editorial meetings and legal bickering. It wasn't until late afternoon, when I headed down to the parking garage to grab a file from my car, that I saw her again. The "joy" from this morning was gone. She was standing near the revolving doors, looking frayed, her hand hovering over a missing button on her blazer.
"Hey, Samantha!" I called out.
She jumped, spinning around with a strained smile. "Oh, hi, ma'am." She ducked her head, her eyes darting away. She looked like she was one minor inconvenience away from a meltdown.
I realized then that I'd left her hanging. Between the 2:00 PM briefing and the 4:00 PM edit, I'd forgotten the most important detail of her arrival.
"Samantha, right?" I approached her, softening my voice. "About the housing. I know we don't typically play landlord for interns, but I made an exception given your situation. Streeterville isn't cheap, and we need you focused on the news, not your rent."
She looked up then, hope flickering in her eyes.
"There's a catch, though," I added, watching her closely. "It's a shared space. You'll be living with someone else. A guy, to be precise. My nephew, actually."
Her brows knitted together, a look of pure hesitation crossing her face. "Oh. Okay, ma'am," she whispered. She muttered something under her breath—something that sounded suspiciously like a protest—but she caught herself.
"You said something?" I prompted.
"Huh? No, nothing." She blinked, startled.
"Never mind." I smiled, handing her the heavy brass key I'd been carrying in my pocket all day. "You can close early today. Go check out Apartment 3B. I hope it works out for you—and for him."
As I turned back toward the elevators, I felt a flicker of curiosity. Samantha had the drive, but Chicago had a way of chewing up people who were "overwhelmed." I just hoped Jeremy wouldn't be the one to do the chewing.
"See ya!" I called over my shoulder.
I left her standing there in the fading gold light of the lobby, clutching the key like it was a weapon she didn't know how to use.
## SAMANTHA'S POV
The twenty-minute walk to the apartment felt like a trek through an ice box. Between the biting Chicago wind and the heavy brass key burning a hole in my pocket, my anxiety was red-lining.
Sharing an apartment with a guy? It wasn't just about "space"—it was about safety, comfort, and the fact that my life was suddenly being dictated by a stranger. I'd spent my whole life curated in my own bubble, and now that bubble was being popped by an "exception" Emily had made. What if he was a slob? What if he was loud? What if he made me feel like an intruder in the only place I had to sleep?
I pushed through the front door of the building, my suitcases trailing behind me like noisy anchors.
When I reached Apartment 3B and pushed it open, the breath caught in my throat. It was stunning. Large windows stretched toward the ceiling, framing the Chicago skyline like a living painting. The walls were a soft, calming grey, and the kitchen looked like something out of a magazine—all sleek marble and stainless steel. It was the kind of place a "wish list" version of me lived in.
Then, I saw the ice.
A guy was sitting on the sofa, a mountain of legal briefs spread across the coffee table like a barricade. He didn't look up. He didn't even shift. He just sat there in the dim light of a floor lamp, his silhouette sharp and imposing.
"Hi," I said, my voice sounding smaller than I wanted it to. I cleared my throat, trying again. "Nice to meet you. I'm Sam. Short for Samantha."
He finally looked up. His eyes weren't warm; they were analytical, scanning me like I was a piece of evidence he hadn't asked for. He didn't stand. He didn't smile.
"Congratulations," he said flatly, before dropping his gaze back to his papers.
I froze, my hand still gripping the handle of my suitcase. Congratulations? Who even replies that way? It wasn't a greeting; it was a dismissal.
"Right," I muttered, the heat rising to my cheeks. I tried to push through the awkwardness—I wasn't a quitter, and I definitely wasn't going to let a grumpy roommate ruin my first night in Streeterville. "I was hoping we could get to know each other a bit since we're sharing the space. This place is really nice, by the way."
"Thanks," he mumbled, his thumb scrolling through something on his phone without a second of hesitation.
The "warm, cozy vibe" of the apartment vanished instantly. The beautiful furniture suddenly felt cold, and the large windows felt like they were exposing me to the whole city. I don't force vibes—I never have—and it was clear that Jeremy (if that was even his name, he hadn't bothered to confirm it) was a closed book.
I stood there for a second, the missing button on my blazer a stinging reminder of how messy my day had become. I wasn't just an intern anymore; I was a tenant in a house of glass and ice.
"I'll just... find my room then," I said to the back of his head.
He didn't answer.
Welcome to Chicago, Sam.
## JEREMY'S POV
The fluorescent light of the floor lamp was starting to give me a headache, but the motion in my lap—three hundred pages of a medical malpractice defense—required every ounce of my focus.
Then the front door groaned open.
I didn't need to look up to know the intrusion had arrived. I could hear the rattling wheels of overpriced suitcases and the frantic, wide-eyed energy radiating off her. My aunt Emily had cornered me into this "favor" weeks ago, claiming she had an intern who was "a rising star."
What I heard was: I'm bringing a stranger into your sanctuary to disrupt your silence.
"Hi," she said. I could feel her staring at the side of my head. "Nice to meet you. I'm Sam. Short for Samantha."
Her voice was bright. Too bright. It was the sound of someone who hadn't yet realized that Chicago was a city that chewed up optimism for breakfast. She was standing there, probably expecting a tour or a welcome basket, draped in the kind of bubbly enthusiasm that made my teeth ache.
I finally looked up. She looked exactly how I expected—polished, eager, and clearly thrilled with herself for landing a subsidized spot in Streeterville.
"Congratulations," I said flatly.
I didn't mean it as a greeting. It was a reminder. She was getting a front-row seat to a life she hadn't paid for yet, and I was the one paying the tax in lost solitude.
"Right," she muttered. I could see the confusion flickering in her eyes, followed quickly by a spark of defiance. Good. Defiance I could handle. It was the "getting to know each other" part that made me want to bolt the door.
"I was hoping we could get to know each other a bit since we're sharing the space," she tried again, her voice trailing off as she looked around the room. "This place is really nice, by the way."
"Thanks," I mumbled, dropping my eyes back to my phone.
I wasn't trying to be a villain. I just didn't have the bandwidth for "vibes" or small talk about the decor. I had a court date in forty-eight hours and a life that felt like it was held together by staples and caffeine. I needed her to be a ghost. I needed her to find her room, close the door, and stay on her side of the invisible line I'd just drawn in the air.
I heard her suitcases roll away toward the hallway, the sound of her retreat finally giving me a second of peace.
Welcome to the apartment, Samantha. Just don't expect me to roll out the red carpet.
## SAMANTHA'S POV
I closed my bedroom door, finally letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
He was infuriating. But, if I was being completely honest with myself—and I hated to admit it—my new housemate was also incredibly striking. He stood at least six feet tall, with a commanding presence that seemed to shrink the room the moment he moved. His dark hair was just a bit rough, as if he'd spent the day running his hands through it in frustration, giving him a rugged, laid-back vibe that clashed with his sharp, polished jawline.
And then there were his eyes. They were a deep-set, captivating shade of green—the kind of eyes that looked like they had a story to tell, even if he was currently using them to look right through me. He had this quiet, effortless confidence that made him stand out, even while he was being a total jerk.
Focus, Sam, I told myself, shaking my head. Handsome or not, the guy has the personality of a cactus.
I turned to my boxes, determined to ignore the silence echoing from the living room. I began unpacking, pulling out the pieces of my life I'd carried across state lines. A framed photo of my family went on the nightstand first—their smiling faces a stark contrast to the cold "congratulations" I'd just received. Then came my favorite novels, their worn spines lined up like old friends on the shelf.
Each item—my favorite mug, a few kitchen gadgets, my journals—felt like a brick I was using to build a sanctuary. This room was mine. He could have the rest of the apartment and his mountain of legal briefs, but in here, I was still the girl who believed in the "joy of the everyday."
The sound of his bedroom door slamming shut echoed through the hallway. I winced, then pushed the sound aside, smoothing out my bedding. I was here to make my mark at Skyline Media, not to win a popularity contest with a man who couldn't even manage a 'hello.'
I was going to make this work. Even if I had to navigate around the human iceberg in the living room to do it.