𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | ✓

27

Black.

Even after flicking the lights on, that's all I see.

Until now, I had only seen black interiors on Pinterest or Instagram. But Wright's apartment is blacker than most of those too.

While my flat is on the extreme end of pastel and neutral colors, every spot in this house is black.

The walls are matte black, and the floor is pitch dark marbles with white streaks in them. We walk further in; the place is still chilly, making me shiver. The onyx-colored sofas are on the right side, their back facing us. A TV hangs from the wall on the far end, above a built-in electric fireplace.

On our left is the kitchen with black cabinets and even its island, along with the stools, are black.

But what takes my breath away, behind his small dinner table, with four chairs around it, is the view. A wall of his condo is glass, and it's like we can not only see Manhattan but entire New York.

He shuts the door as I gasp, "Wow." And walk towards the window. "The view," I mumble.

"Is great," he finishes for me as he stands beside me, a soft smile gracing his features. Wright inhales sharply and drives his hand through his hair. "Make yourself at home." He walks to the kitchen island and places his keys on it.

I survey the place and comparing it to the mess his office desk always is, here is spotless. Maybe his girlfriend keeps an eye on it... but as I observe more closely, there's not a single feminine touch.

My legs are still stiff and I can barely feel my feet, and my sneakers squeak as I wobble to the sofas. My fingers are icy and I rub my hands, hoping the friction would bring some warmth, but I halt as my eyes land on the only item with color. An abstract painting so vibrant, bursting with vivid colors, gives life to this dull place. From lilac to pink, orange, and yellow, they blend and part. The circular motions of the paintbrush are enough to have anyone stare at it for hours without getting tired.

I inch towards it. Based on old habits, I scan the canvas for a signature and find one written at the bottom left. SaVVri. I tilt my head in confusion. Never heard of that artist.

"Are you cold?" Wright's voice startles me, and I spin on my heels, coming face to face with him.

"No, I'm good." I offer a small smile.

His brows furrow and he crosses the distance. "You sure? You still look really pale." Without waiting for my response, he presses the back of his hand to my forehead, and his eyebrows knit together. He shoots me a glare. "You're freezing."

"I'm fine," I insist and retreat a step, getting out of his reach and his overwhelming cologne scent.

He studies me before taking off his glasses. Wright surveys the area, his gaze pausing on the fireplace and then jumping back on me. "Your clothes are still wet, your hair is damp too. I'll turn on the fire, but until the place warms up, take a hot shower so you won't get sick."

I gape at him for a full second as he strides past me. "No." I cross my arms.

He kneels in front of the fireplace and throws a glance over his shoulder in my way. "You'll catch a cold, and on Friday when you come to my office, you'll get me sick too and I don't want that. Instead of being so stubborn, for once just listen to me." With an irritated huff, he returns to what he's doing.

I stay rooted to my spot. "You do realize how absurd your reasoning is, right?"

He pushes himself to his feet. Small blue flames glow behind the panel. "Now is not the time for arguing."