Chapter 4 Four

Aadee didn’t move. He just stood there in the doorway, towering over me, his broad shoulders blocking out the light from the hallway. His jaw was clenched so tightly that a tiny muscle in his cheek was twitching violently.

“I don't need a babysitter,” he growled, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low pitch. “Get out of my face.”

“I can't do that,” I said. My heart was pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I forced my legs to stay frozen to the spot. I looked up, matching his icy glare. “I signed a legal contract with your family’s agency. I am officially on the clock, and I need this job.”

“I don't care what you signed,” he sneered, taking a menacing step forward. He was so massive I had to tilt my head back just to keep eye contact. “I am twenty-one years old. I am the captain of the university hockey team. I don't need a little teen girl tracking my schedule and watching me breathe.”

“I am not a teen girl. I am twenty years old!” I snapped right back. The fear inside me suddenly evaporated, replaced by the hot, familiar spark of anger. After surviving twenty years of the triplets, I wasn't about to let a grumpy athlete intimidate me. “And I am not a little girl. My name is Princess Rodriguez. I am your new manager. Call it whatever you want to protect your fragile ego, but your parents are paying me $3,000 a month to make sure you don't ruin your life, and I am not losing that money!”

Aadee let out a short, harsh laugh. It was a completely mocking sound. “You think you can manage me? You think you can handle this? Good luck, Princess short.”

“You…”

He abruptly stepped aside, leaving the front door wide open. He didn't offer to help me with my bag. He just turned his back on me and walked into the living room. “Come in then. But don't expect me to make a single second of this easy for you.”

I took a deep breath, gripped the handle of my battered suitcase, and rolled it across the threshold into the penthouse. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I took a good look around.

The apartment was absolutely massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that showed a breathtaking view of the city campus. It was luxurious, but right now, it looked like a total disaster zone.

There were empty energy drink cans scattered across the sleek marble kitchen island. A pair of heavy, smelly hockey pads were dumped right on the hardwood floor near the couch.

In the kitchen, a mountain of unwashed dishes and protein shaker bottles was practically overflowing from the sink.

Aadee walked over to the kitchen island, leaning his lower back against it. He crossed his massive arms over his chest, his grey hoodie stretching tight against his shoulders. His stone face was completely unreadable, but his dark eyes followed my every move.

“Let's get something straight,” Aadee said coldly, establishing his territory. “Rule number one: Don't touch my stuff. Rule number two: Don't talk to me unless it's an emergency. And rule number three: Stay out of my way.”

I didn't say a word. I calmly walked over to the marble counter, unclipped my pen from my clipboard, and opened my blank notebook. I slowly wrote down Rule 1, Rule 2, Rule 3 in neat, precise handwriting.

Aadee watched my pen move, his eyebrows knitting together in a dark frown. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Writing down your rules,” I said cheerfully, capping my pen with a loud click. I looked up, meeting his icy gaze with a sweet, fake smile. “So I can completely ignore them.”

“What?” he growled.

“Rule number one for me,” I said, tapping my clipboard against my palm. “According to the official schedule your agency gave me, you have a mandatory team practice in exactly two hours. And looking at this kitchen, you haven't eaten a single real meal today. Kitchen duty starts right now.”

Aadee’s expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “You are incredibly annoying.”

“I've been told that by experts,” I smiled, completely unfazed as I set my suitcase by the door and marched toward the messy kitchen. “Now go get ready for practice, Captain. I have a schedule to run.”

—Minutes Hours—

“Why is that suitcase still by my door?” Aadee asked, his deep voice cutting sharply through the sound of running water.

I stopped scrubbing a protein shaker and looked over my shoulder. He was leaning heavily against the hallway archway, dressed in his dark team sweatpants, a heavy duffel bag slung over his massive shoulder. He was staring at my battered bag like it was a personal insult.

“Because I am moving in,” I said plainly, turning back to the sink to rinse the bottle.

“Like hell you are,” he snapped, his heavy footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor as he marched into the kitchen. “The contract said manager. It didn't say roommate.”

“Actually, it did,” I countered, turning off the faucet. I wiped my hands on a towel and picked up my clipboard, pointing to a highlighted paragraph. “Section four, clause two. 'The manager must reside at the downtown penthouse apartment from Monday to Friday to ensure absolute compliance with nutrition, sleep schedules, and early morning training sessions.' I have a dorm room on campus, but I am only there on weekends which costs me 70% off. For the next five days a week, Captain, you are stuck with me.”

Aadee snatched the paper from my hands, his eyes scanning the lines. His jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter. “My parents are out of their minds.”

“Probably. But the money is already in my student account, which means I belong here,” I said, snatching the clipboard back. “Now, look at this.”

I slid a glass bowl across the marble counter. Inside was a neatly chopped mix of grilled chicken, sweet potatoes, and green vegetables.

Aadee didn't even look at it. He pushed the bowl away with one finger. “I don't eat that garbage.”

“It's not garbage, it's your designated pre-practice meal,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Your coach sent this exact meal plan to the agency. You have been surviving on caffeine and greasy takeout, Adnan Satoff. Eat it.”

“No.” He reached past me, grabbing a massive black mug filled with steaming, pitch-black coffee. “This is my breakfast.”

“You are twenty-one years old, not a rebellious toddler,” I groaned, stepping directly in front of the refrigerator to block his path.

“Drink that coffee on an empty stomach and you'll have a crash on the ice in ninety minutes. If you faint, your dad will blame the agency, and I will lose my dorm funding. Eat the chicken.”

Suddenly, the space between us vanished. Aadee didn't back down. Instead, he stepped fully into my space, trapping me between his massive, towering frame and the cold metal of the refrigerator.

He set his coffee mug down on the counter with a loud clatter, never breaking eye contact.

The size of him was overwhelming. He loomed over me, his chest practically brushing against my shoulders, blocking out the light of the entire kitchen. He leaned down slightly, his face just inches from mine. I could smell the faint scent of winter air, mint, and expensive cologne on him.

The silence in the room instantly stretched, becoming thick, heavy, and dizzying. My breath caught in my throat. My heart hammered so violently against my ribs I was terrified he could hear it.

“Move, Princess,” he warned. His voice had dropped into a low, raspy rumble that vibrated right through my chest. His dark, icy eyes dropped to my lips for a split second before snapping back to my eyes. The tension was so high, so sudden, it felt like a shockwave between us.

My knees felt weak, but I forced myself to stand tall, refusing to let him see how much his proximity was completely messing with my head. I looked right back into his beautiful, infuriating eyes.

“Eat the chicken, Captain,” I whispered back, my voice breathless but steady.

We stood there, frozen in time. Neither of us blinked. His gaze searched my face, intense and burning, stripping away the stone-faced mask he always wore. For a second, I thought he was going to lean closer. I thought he was going to do something crazy.

Finally, Aadee let out a sharp, ragged breath. He closed his eyes for a brief second, shaking his head as he stepped back, giving me room to breathe again.

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