Falling for the Disgraced Heir

The icy wind slapped Julia's cheeks as she stomped her way up the narrow staircase of her old apartment building. Her shoulders ached from a twelve-hour shift at the café, her manager's scolding still echoing in her ears. She fumbled for her keys, muttering under her breath.

"Life, if you're listening, can you give me one night of peace?"

As if on cue, a low groan drifted from the shadows at the landing. Julia froze, her grip on her bag tightening. A tall figure slumped against the wall, half-sprawled on the dirty floor. The dim flickering light revealed a familiar face-disheveled, pale, lips trembling.

"Brandon?" Her voice cracked.

The last time she'd seen him, he was arrogantly tossing hundred-dollar bills at the café like they meant nothing. Now, the once-glorious heir of Carter Enterprises looked like a wreck. His shirt hung loose, his hair a chaotic mess, and his eyes fluttered half-shut as if he were losing a battle with consciousness.

Julia's first instinct was to walk right past him. This man had ruined her day once already.

But as she reached her door, another low groan escaped his lips. His hand twitched, reaching toward nothing.

Her heart wavered.

Damn it. If he freezes to death outside my apartment, I'll be the one cleaning up the mess.

With a frustrated growl, Julia stomped back, hooked her arms under his shoulders, and dragged his heavy body toward her apartment.

"You owe me big time, you spoiled brat," she muttered, half-struggling, half-cursing as she shoved him through her door and dropped him unceremoniously onto the couch.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the thin curtains. Julia stretched, wincing at the soreness in her arms from hauling him in last night. She padded into the living room-and nearly tripped over herself.

Brandon sat on her couch, alive and very much awake, scrolling through his phone like he owned the place.

"Oh good, you're awake," he said lazily, not even glancing at her. "Where's breakfast?"

Julia's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

He finally looked up, brows arched. "You dragged me in. I assumed you'd at least have the decency to serve your guest a meal."

Her lips twitched. She grabbed the nearest thing in the cupboard-a pack of instant noodles-and tossed it onto his lap.

"There's your breakfast. Hot water's in the kettle. You can read the instructions, right, Mr. Heir?"

Brandon blinked at the plastic package, then back at her, incredulous. "You expect me to cook this...this peasant food myself?"

"Congratulations, you're catching on." Julia folded her arms.

Brandon stared at the packet like it was alien technology. Slowly, he tore it open, spilling half the seasoning packet across the counter. Julia winced as he poked at the kettle, lifting the lid with his bare hand.

"Hot!" He yelped, shaking his fingers.

Julia snorted. "You've never boiled water before, have you?"

"I have chefs for that," he shot back defensively.

He dumped the dry noodles into a mug, then poured hot water halfway before realizing he'd forgotten the rest of the seasoning. He tried to sprinkle it in, only for most of it to stick to the rim. The smell of half-cooked noodles filled the air.

Julia couldn't help it-she laughed. Hard.

"You-pfft-you really don't know how to make instant noodles? This is basic survival 101!"

Brandon scowled, cheeks reddening as he tried to slurp a soggy strand. "It tastes like cardboard."

"That's because you messed it up." She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Consider it karma."

Her laughter died quickly when she spotted the unopened bills stacked on her tiny dining table. Utility notices. Rent reminders. She shoved them under a magazine before Brandon could see, but the weight pressed on her chest.

She worked double shifts, cut meals, and still couldn't scrape enough together. Pride kept her from borrowing money, but pride didn't pay landlords.

She forced her voice steady. "Eat your noodles and get out. I have work."

Brandon tilted his head, studying her with an expression that made her skin prickle-like he could see right through the armor she wore.

Just when Julia thought she'd finally put him in his place, a heavy knock rattled her front door.

"Miss Julia! Rent's due today. No more extensions!"

Her stomach dropped. Rent. Of course.

She forced a smile as she cracked the door open. "Mr. Lee, I-I just need a few more days-"

"No more excuses," the landlord snapped. "By tomorrow, or you're out. I've been patient, but patience doesn't pay bills."

The door slammed shut, leaving Julia pale and trembling. She clutched her doorknob, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Behind her, Brandon leaned against the couch, arms crossed, his messy hair catching the light. His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

"So. You're broke."

Julia's head snapped toward him. "Shut up," she hissed, shoving her bangs out of her face. "It's none of your business."

But Brandon took a step closer, lowering his voice like he was making an offer she couldn't refuse.

"What if I make it my business? I'll pay your rent."

Julia froze.

He smirked. "In exchange, let me stay here. Just temporarily. Until things...settle down."

Her pulse spiked. Living under the same roof with this arrogant heir?

"Are you insane?" she snapped.

"Probably," he said smoothly. "But I've got nowhere else to go. And you, sweetheart, can't afford to kick me out."

Julia's fists clenched. She wanted to throw him right back into the hallway. But deep down, she knew he was right.

Her rent, his money. Her pride, his audacity.

Enemies under one roof.

The game had just begun.