you keep staring at me like that, people will think I stole your wallet!”
That was the first thought that shot through my mind the moment I saw him. Standing there, in crisp, impeccably tailored clothes, his posture unnervingly straight, the kind of man who seemed to command the air around him without even trying. And there he was—my new driver. Well, technically, he wasn’t just my driver; my father insisted that Ethan Novak, a man reputed to be disciplined, intelligent, and, according to some sources, annoyingly infuriating, be hired to manage not just the family cars but all of my movements for the foreseeable future.
I scowled. I had a reputation to uphold. The Al-Hariths didn’t just hire people; we employed perfection, and perfection didn’t glare at you like he did.
“Good morning,” I said, trying for a sarcastic cheeriness I rarely deployed at six-thirty in the morning.
He didn’t respond immediately, which only made me more suspicious. Instead, he gave me a long, measured stare—analyzing me, no doubt judging my choice of outfit, my posture, and possibly my very soul.
“Excuse me?” I demanded. “Are you planning to speak, or is this just a staring contest?”
Finally, he spoke. His voice was deep, calm, and precise. “I am observing your walking pattern. You could trip on the driveway stones.”
I blinked. Then I laughed, but not out of amusement—more out of disbelief. “You’re serious?” I asked. “Because I was so worried about tripping this morning. Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
He didn’t smile. Of course, he didn’t. Smiling was clearly below him—or maybe he just hadn’t learned that the world doesn’t revolve around driveway safety assessments. “Tripping is a risk factor,” he said simply.
“Oh, I see,” I said, stepping closer, letting my heels click sharply against the marble. “And are you going to provide a risk assessment for the rest of my day as well? Or just mornings?”
He tilted his head slightly, which—if I’m being honest—was a little unnerving. It was the kind of small gesture that made you think he knew something about you that you didn’t even know yourself. I tried to ignore it.
“I assure you,” he said, voice level, “I’m here to ensure your safety. And punctuality. And general well-being. In that order.”
I nearly choked on my own sarcasm. “My well-being? You’re my driver, not my therapist.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the car door with a careful, measured movement that looked almost ritualistic. Watching him, I couldn’t stop noticing details—how clean his shoes were, the precision of his uniform, the faint scent of something expensive but subtle that clung to him.
I huffed. “I guess I’ll have to survive under your careful supervision, won’t I?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
There it was. One word. One infuriatingly simple word that somehow made me want to roll my eyes and punch him at the same time.
I leaned against the car, crossing my arms. “You know,” I said, “if you keep staring at me like that, people might think I stole your wallet.”
He paused. I thought he might smirk. But no—he just regarded me as though I’d said something mildly amusing but ultimately irrelevant. “I wasn’t staring,” he said finally. “I was assessing whether you were capable of navigating this driveway without incident.”
“I am capable,” I said, irritation flaring. “Unlike some drivers I’ve met.”
He raised an eyebrow—just slightly, just enough—and I felt a small twinge in my chest that I immediately tried to ignore. That one raised eyebrow was outrageous, infuriating, and somehow, impossible to stop noticing.
At that exact moment, my father appeared, his towering frame and commanding presence cutting across the driveway. “Layla,” he said, in that tone reserved for moments when a lecture was inevitable. “Mr. Novak has been instructed to oversee your transportation and schedule. You are to cooperate fully.”
“Yes, Father,” I replied, voice measured and sweet, though internally I was plotting sarcastic ways to test my new driver.
Ethan gave a faint nod, acknowledging my father but not looking particularly impressed by the ceremony. That annoyed me further. Who did this man think he was, unfazed by the presence of a high-ranking Al-Harith?
As my father walked away, presumably satisfied that the morning chaos was under control, I turned my attention back to Ethan. “So,” I said, twirling a strand of hair around my finger, “are we going to have a proper introduction, or is this the silent treatment all day?”
He glanced at me briefly, cool and calculating. “I don’t require introductions to perform my duties.”
I suppressed a laugh. Oh, this is going to be fun. “Good to know,” I said, stepping toward the car. “I look forward to your strict supervision all day. Heaven forbid I breathe wrong or trip over the gravel.”
Ethan opened the passenger door with that same meticulous precision. “I’ll ensure neither occurs.”
We drove in silence for a few moments, but it was the kind of silence that crackled. Sparks, irritation, and curiosity mingled in a way that made it impossible for me to look anywhere but at him. I caught him glancing at me from the rearview mirror—not in a threatening way, but in a manner that suggested he was taking mental notes. And that, I realized, was even worse.
“Do you always take your job this seriously?” I asked, leaning casually against the seat.
“Yes,” he said.
“I see,” I muttered. “I am officially terrified.”
And so it began. The staring contests, the sarcastic quips, the sharp glances that lingered too long, and the inexplicable feeling that my world had just become… infinitely more complicated.
By the time we reached the mansion, I realized something terrifying. Despite the icy demeanor, despite the irritation he caused me, despite every sarcastic thought I had prepared… I was curious. Curious about this man who was supposed to make my life orderly but was, in fact, already turning it upside down.
And if that wasn’t the start of disaster, I didn’t know what was.
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