The Billionare Nextdoor

Racheal never trusted mornings that started out too quiet.

They usually meant trouble was warming up somewhere.

She stood at her window, toothbrush hanging from her mouth, staring at the black SUV blocking half the compound's entrance. The engine purred like it knew it didn't belong here-too sleek, too expensive, too loud for Rosewater Heights.

"Again?" she muttered, watching two men in dark suits step out like they were rehearsing for a movie no one asked them to film.

For three days straight, these men had been hovering around the empty duplex next door. No smiles. No small talk. No explanation. Just sunglasses and silence. Even the gateman avoided asking questions.

Racheal rinsed her mouth, tied her hair into a breezy puff, and grabbed her tote bag, mentally preparing for another day behind the bakery counter. She pushed open her door and stopped.

The SUV door opened, and a man stepped out.

Tall. Dark-haired. Broad-shouldered. The kind of handsome that didn't feel accidental. He moved like someone who was used to space clearing automatically for him. He didn't look at her, didn't glance around, didn't even pretend to notice the world. He simply adjusted his watch and started walking toward the house next to hers.

For someone so quiet, he carried enough presence to shift the air.

Racheal blinked.

So that's the new neighbor? Great. Just what I need,a walking ego in designer shoes.

She locked her door and stared towards the gate, praying he wouldn't say anything. She wasn't in the mood for awkward introductions or forced neighborly smiles.

But life, as usual, was mischievous.

They reached the narrow path between their houses at the same time.

He paused. Looked at her briefly. His eyes were a startling, cool gray sharp enough to read a person if he cared to, and distant enough to pretend he didn't.

"Morning," she said out of politeness.

He nodded once, barely. "Good morning."

That was it. No smile, no warmth, nothing.

Just two clipped syllables that sounded like they had been dragged out of him with force.

Racheal arched a brow. "Wow. Cheerful."

He glanced at her again, as though deciding if she was worth responding to. Apparently not because he kept walking.

She stopped in her tracks. "Okay... rude."

The man didn't turn, but one of the bodyguards glanced back, almost amused. Almost.

Racheal pushed through the gate, shaking her head.

"Rich people. They breathe different."

As she crossed the road to catch a tricycle, she couldn't shake the strange energy he carried like he was here but somewhere far away at the same time. Something about him didn't sit right, and not just the attitude. There was an edge in his expression. A distraction that looked expensive and dangerous.

Still, it wasn't her business.

He was the mysterious billionaire next door. She was the girl who minded her own life.

They would probably never speak again.

At least, that's what she told herself.

But by the time she reached the bakery, her phone buzzed a message from Tola.

Did you see your new neighbor? Be honest. Did you faint or just choke a little?

Racheal groaned.

This was going to be a long day.

She didn't know it yet, but the man with the cold eyes and guarded silence had just changed the rhythm of her life. And no matter how hard she tried to stay in her own lane, fate had already written a different plan for the both of them-one filled with friction, sparks, and the kind of trouble that didn't stay quiet.

It started harmlessly enough. A soft knock on her door later that evening, the kind of knock that sounded like someone wasn't sure if they should be knocking at all. Racheal paused mid-stir, a wooden spoon dripping stew back into the pot.

Nobody ever came to her door unannounced.

She wiped her hands on a towel and opened it,only to find one of the bodyguards from earlier standing there, stiff and uncomfortable, like he would rather be anywhere else.

"Good evening, ma," he said. "Sorry to disturb you."

Her eyebrows shot up. This had to be a joke. "Uh... okay? Is everything fine?"

"Yes, ma. Perfectly."

He cleared his throat. Twice.

"Then why are you here?" she asked, crossing her arms.

He straightened like a soldier being inspected. "Mr. Cole sent me."

Racheal blinked. "Mr. Who?"

"Mr. Cole. Your new neighbor."

Oh. The human iceberg. Wonderful.

"What does he want?"

The guard held out a small box. "He said there was... noise."

Racheal frowned. "Noise?" She glanced over her shoulder. Her house was quiet. TV off. Music off. Stew simmering. "What noise?"

"He didn't specify, ma. He just said to give you this."

She took the box reluctantly. It was surprisingly light, wrapped neatly too neatly like a corporate apology.

"And what's inside?" she asked.

The guard shrugged in a way that suggested he definitely knew but was forbidden from saying. "He also asked me to tell you that he appreciates your... understanding."

Understanding?

She hadn't understood anything since the man showed up.

Before she could ask another question, the guard nodded politely and hurried away as if staying any longer might get him fired.

Racheal closed the door and opened the box.

Inside was a pair of noise-canceling headphones. High-end ones. The kind that cost more than three months of her electricity bill.

A small note sat on top:

For the disturbance. - A.C.

Racheal's jaw dropped.

"What disturbance?" she said aloud, pacing. "I didn't hear anything. Did the air around his house vibrate wrong? Did my breathing upset him?"

She tossed the note onto the couch.

"So he can't say thank you like a normal person, but he can send headphones worth half my rent."

She didn't know whether to laugh, scream, or take the headphones back next door and dump them on his polished shoes. Preferably all three.

She was still ranting when her phone buzzed again-Tola, of course.

Update. I just googled your neighbor's car. Babe... he's RICH rich. Like the type that doesn't carry wallets. Or emotions.

Racheal stared at the message.

Rich rich.

Emotionless.

Offended by nonexistent noise.

God, she hoped she wouldn't run into him again.

Unfortunately for her, hope was useless.

Because thirty minutes later, as she stepped outside to take her trash out, she nearly collided with him.

He wasn't dressed in a suit now. Just sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt, his hair damp like he'd just showered. His presence still hit like a cold front-quiet, controlled, intense.

He stopped when he saw her. Those gray eyes swept over her, unreadable as always.

"Racheal?" he said, as if tasting the name first.

She blinked. "You know my name?"

His expression didn't change. "You're my neighbor. I make it a point to know the basics."

She crossed her arms. "Do you also make it a point to give people very expensive apology gifts when nothing actually happened?"Racheal finished unable to hide the bite in her tone .

Adrian's gaze held hers for a long, quiet second. Not sharp. Not irritated. Just... unreadable, like he was studying the edges of her words.

"If it inconvenienced you, you can return it," he said calmly.

"That's not the point," Racheal replied, hands going to her hips. "You accused me of making noise when I didn't. Then you send headphones like I should clap for the gesture."

His brows lifted slightly. "I didn't accuse you. I apologized."

His voice was low ,too calm for someone who had her blood simmering.

"That wasn't an apology. That was-" she groaned, waving her hands, "whatever billionaires do when they think throwing money solves everything."

A faint breath escaped him, so subtle she almost missed it.

Not a laugh. Not annoyance. Just a sound.

"Noted," he said.

Racheal squinted at him. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Yes."

She blinked. "You're impossible."

"And you're very loud for someone who claims not to make noise."

Her mouth fell open. "Excuse you?"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," he added, though his expression didn't soften. "Just... noticeable."

Racheal was torn between flinging her trash bag at him and asking what exactly "noticeable" meant.

Before she could decide, he shifted his weight, stepped aside, and gestured for her to pass.

"Have a good evening, Ms. Nwosu."

The polite tone was so dry it could have been dust.

Racheal marched past him, muttering under her breath. "Unbelievable. Arrogant. Ice block of a human-"

She felt more than saw him glance back.

And for a split second-just one-she swore she saw something in his eyes. Not coldness. Not superiority. Something else. Something almost... curious.

But then it was gone, shuttered behind that emotionless exterior.

She dumped her trash, returned to her house, and shut the door far more forcefully than necessary.

Later that night, Racheal lay in bed, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, but her mind wasn't on the screen.

It kept replaying every second of their interaction.

His voice.

His stare.

That strange flicker in his eyes.

"Why am I thinking about this man?" she whispered into the darkness.

Her phone buzzed again-Tola.

You still awake? Tell me everything. I feel it in my spirit that that man is trouble.

Racheal sighed, typing back:

He is. And I'm avoiding him forever.

But even as she hit send, she knew the truth:

Trouble had already found her.

And unfortunately... it lived next door.