Bound by Honor

Chapter 7: A Rocky Start

The apartment felt foreign to Leandro. It wasn’t that it was bad, necessarily—far from it. It was sleek, modern, with gleaming hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that let in a flood of natural light, and a breathtaking view of the city skyline. It should’ve been perfect.

But it wasn’t his. None of it was.

He had agreed to the “separate lives” arrangement, but in practice, it wasn’t so simple. The apartment felt too quiet, too still, and everything felt meticulously curated—down to the perfectly placed throw pillows on the couch. It wasn’t a space for living; it was a showroom. And Leandro was anything but a showroom kind of guy.

With a muttered curse, he grabbed a paintbrush and dipped it into a jar of thick black acrylic. The canvas in front of him was nothing but a blank, empty space—a perfect metaphor for the mess he was living in.

The art studio was a disaster waiting to happen, and Leandro couldn’t care less. He had moved into what was supposed to be a spare room, transforming it into an explosion of color and chaos. Canvas after canvas leaned against the walls, and tubes of paint were scattered across the floor. The air smelled of oils and turpentine, and the half-finished pieces ranged from vibrant splashes of color to eerie, abstract landscapes.

The room was alive. It felt like a corner of the world that had somehow remained his in the midst of all the rules and restrictions.

But as he stood back to examine his latest work, he heard the unmistakable click of heels in the hallway.

“Leandro,” her voice called out, and Leandro could almost hear the tension threading through her words.

He sighed, setting his brush down. Here we go.

---

Athena’s gaze immediately landed on the disaster of a room. Paint splatters on the walls. Open paint cans. A canvas draped haphazardly across an easel, half-finished, like something a child would have left in a fit of creativity.

She stopped in the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Really, Mr. Devereux?” she asked, the words coming out sharper than she intended. “This is what you consider ‘living space’?”

Leandro didn’t even look up from his canvas. He was wearing a paint-splattered shirt that had once been white, now a patchwork of colors. His hair was wild, as usual, his eyes fixed on his work as if she didn’t even exist.

“Couldn’t find a better place for it,” he said, his voice so casual it only made her more irritable.

“You could’ve at least kept it contained,” Athena snapped, stepping into the room and glancing around in disbelief. “There’s paint all over the floor—everywhere—and you’re just going to leave it like this?”

Leandro finally looked up, his lips curling into a half-amused, half-defiant smirk. “Well, it’s my space, isn’t it?” He leaned back, arms folded, studying her as if she were the one out of place. “Or did you think you could control everything around here too,  Mrs. Devereux?”

Athena felt the irritation bubbling up in her chest. “I don’t care about the mess itself,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “I care about the complete lack of respect for the place we’re supposed to share. Do you even see this place as a home, Leandro?”

His gaze softened, a flicker of something unexpected passing through his eyes. “It’s more than a home, Athena,” he said, leaning closer, the challenge in his voice growing more serious. “This room—this mess, whatever you want to call it—is my home. This is where I make sense of everything else. I can’t just turn that off because someone’s decided I need to fit into their neat little world.”

Athena blinked at him, surprised by the rawness in his words. Maybe he’s not just a reckless artist after all. Maybe he’s more...

She shook her head, dismissing the thought before it could take root. “I never asked you to ‘fit in,’ Leandro. I asked you to respect this space, this apartment, as something we’re supposed to share. You can’t just take over every room.”

---

Leandro crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, the tension between them buzzing in the air like static. God, she’s irritating.

Her eyes were blazing, her posture rigid, like she was waiting for him to back down, to make the right, responsible decision. As if he could.

He could feel his own defenses start to rise. She has no idea what it’s like, he thought, to be boxed in by all these perfect little rules. To have everything around you suffocating you, making you feel like a puppet in someone else’s play.

But there was something else there, too—a shift in the way he felt about her. Not irritation, exactly. More like... admiration, or maybe a little bit of envy. Her mind was so sharp, so meticulous, while he was all chaos and mess, struggling to even finish a single thing.

“Do you ever relax, Athena?” he asked, his voice softening just a bit.

Athena froze at the question. She turned her head to meet his gaze, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Relax?”

“Yeah. Relax.” Leandro moved toward the center of the room, gesturing to the clutter with a sweep of his hand. “You’re so rigid—everything has to be in its place, every minute has to be accounted for, every choice calculated. When do you ever stop and just be?”

Athena’s breath hitched, a sudden flicker of vulnerability passing over her face before she quickly masked it. “I don’t have the luxury of just ‘being,’ Leandro,” she said, her voice colder now. “I have responsibilities. I have a career. I have... obligations. I can’t afford to waste time like you do.”

Leandro laughed, but it was dry, almost bitter. “Right. You think this is wasting time?” He gestured to the unfinished paintings, the splatters of color, the unkempt piles of brushes and paints. “I’d say you’re the one wasting time, Athena. Wasting your life pretending everything has to be so damn perfect, so controlled. You’re so focused on managing everything that you’ve forgotten how to actually live it.”

Athena flinched, the words stinging more than she cared to admit. But before she could respond, Leandro was already moving past her, casually throwing himself down onto the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Well, guess what, Athena?” he said, his tone quieter now, but still with a bite. “Maybe I’ll just start doing things my way. No schedules, no timelines—just living. You might want to take a page out of my book.”

---

Athena stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, the sting of Leandro’s words gnawing at her. He was right in a way. She had spent her life trying to control every aspect of it, every decision, every moment. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken a breath and just existed.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She couldn’t afford to let go. Not now. Not with everything on the line.

She turned and left the room, trying to ignore the turmoil rising inside her. Why does everything with him have to be so complicated?

---

Leandro watched Athena retreat into the hallway, the sharp click of her heels fading into the distance. He felt a twist in his chest—something strange and uncomfortable. Why did I feel like I’d just crossed a line I wasn’t ready to cross?

She’s just... trying to hold everything together, he thought. And I’m the one who keeps throwing a wrench into the works.

But despite his frustration, despite their constant bickering, there was a part of him—something he wasn’t willing to admit—that liked this about Athena. The way she challenged him. The way she pushed him to see the world differently.

This isn’t what I signed up for, he told himself, but deep down, he knew. Maybe it’s exactly what I need.

---

The apartment, still tangled in the aftermath of their clash, hummed with the undercurrent of tension. They were two people fighting their own battles, each unable to bend to the other’s world, and yet, they were bound by something neither of them could deny: a simmering chemistry, an unspoken connection that neither could shake off.