is a London's business district. It has a high concentration of offices, banks, financial institutions. Day in and day out it generates monopoly and runs rampant with Queen Elizabeth's face. No surprise that Dimitri chooses this area to live in.

Dimitri kindly texted me the address, granted me all the access codes to his penthouse. Apparently all I had to do was say my name and the concierge would let me in.

Not to anyone's surprise, London's sky rumbles with the weight, blastering down rain. Grey, slick, wet. I struggle parking my car, picking up my belongings and running as I usher myself in for shelter. Dimitri lives in a swanky, newly built flat situated with a view of river thames. The floor lobby is fine white marble, shiny and squeak against my heels.

A luxurious chandelier hangs above an opulent white table that has large hydrangeas in a tall vase, the perfect shade of dark light purple to sew everything in place Embroidered silk sofas surrounding a large, flat-screen television. The twin lifts that lead up to the flats.

The desk was made of amber-colored wood and a white granite top. There are men in dark blue blazers standing behind as I gawk at the interior of the place. I'm trailing water onto the flooring.

The tall man with slicked back hair sympathetically smiles at me, judging my wet state. "Ma'am?"

"Uh- Hi, I'm Isabella R–"

"Oh Miss Romero, I'm sorry I didn't recognise you. I've been given strict instructions from Mr Asterio to help you settle in. Your belongings have already moved up to the penthouse and I'm certain that Mrs Barton has arranged everything for you. Twenty-six boxes, three suitcases and uh- I'm pretty sure there were two giant picture frames."

He's flickering through some paperwork continuing to give me rundown and I'm left starstuck. Wow this is overwhelming. I expected him to be a pretentious snob but he's a total sweetheart.

He moves around the desk, throwing an order to his colleagues and continues to walk me towards the elevators. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Adam, I'm a member of the concierge team for South Wharf. If you ever need anything, you contact me." He presses a button and the lift doors part open.

We both step in and Adam's chatting away lightly as we arrive to the top floor. The minute the doors open, I'm blown away. He lives on the top floor - a penthouse no less. It's pure bachelor pad-esque; brown, grey, black and white. All muted colours, giant plasma tv, big bed, stunning view of Canary Wharf's skyscrapers in the back as rain sets in.

"Welcome home, Miss Romero," he waves me off as I step out in the foyer. The elevator pings again, door closing and I'm left alone admiring the interior.

A woman pops her head around the bend of the door, making me jump in my tracks. She laughs at my sudden gesture, slowly walking towards me. "Sorry dear, didn't mean to startle you. I'm Mrs Barton. I'm Mr Asterio's housekeeper." We awkwardly shake hands - which is more of a hold because my hands are tied up with the box I'm holding.

Mrs Barton's appearance was frail, gentle expression but her smile was radiant and stunning. Her dark blonde hair neatly combed back into a bun. She's decorated in a navy shirt and black trousers. I like her instantly and I'm warming up to her as we idly stand and chat.

"Wow. You're prettier up close, so much prettier than Jardins."

My lips tug, "Jardins?" I inquire, the name not clicking instantly.

"Oh, Jelena Jardins. You know that supermodel, Mr Asterio's ex-girlfriend. She was a diva, always concerned about her best angle and refused to stand in this lighting. Apparently it made her look fat but hell I couldn't see it." Mrs Barton makes a face, grimacing at the memory. Only having met her for two minutes and I can tell she's the chatty type. I giggle at the comment she throws.

"Oh I'm so sorry dear, let me arrange that box you're holding,"

I turn my torso away, holding the box, raising my hand underneath to stop her. "I've got it, just stationery from work," I offer her a polite smile and she retracts her hand away.

"Let me show you to your bedroom then and you can start unpacking," She begins walking down a large hallway, the colours muted and white. Abstract picture frames hung up on the cream walls. I trail behind her, making a mental plan.

"Mr Asterio's bedroom is down the hall, second door. The door next to that is his office." She props a door handle open, the lights flicker on and to my surprise everything's already been arranged. The room is large, king size bed, white duvets. Full length mirror, dressing table, adjoining room adjusted into a walk-in wardrobe. Dark cream shutters to block out the rainy view of London.

"Mr Asterio should be home in an hour. He's finishing early today for you," I mutter a thank you, propping the box onto my bed. "All your belongings are already here and if you need anything before I leave, just give me a shout." She turns her torso before turning swiftly back. "Oh do you mind if I see the ring?"

"No, not at all," I hold my hand out and she grasps it, tilting it slightly to see the diamond sparkle underneath the light.

"Beautiful. A beautiful ring for a beautiful girl," She gives me a gentle smile and then she's disappeared down the hall. I'm left with my loneliness, new 'house' and items for company. I spend the next half an hour showering and washing away the pain of today. I needed all the strength I could get and as the water slips down the drain, my thoughts begin to rub more salt on the bruising that is the quitting of my job.

I prance about, hair plotting droplets on the white carpet and lotion the length of my body before changing into a dark slip that's shorter than expected.

With my hair drying, I begin sorting my box of stationery and photographs of school before tucking it underneath the bed for safe keeping. I didn't need the painful reminder. Mrs Barton leaves fifteen minutes later and the boredom settles in so I go exploring around the penthouse.

I trail past Dimitri's bedroom and the curiosity gets the better of me. I recall him telling me his wardrobe is filled with black and I just wanted a peek. My hand presses down on the handle and to my surprise his room isn't locked. Well shit, I'm clearly walking into the dragon's den. The lights flicker on.

The man is either a neat-freak or Mrs Barton is giving me that illusion. Grey furniture, black bed sheets and duvet and exactly as he stated: black clothes in his walk-in closet. The room is fragrant with his cologne and it's hypnotic. An amalgamation of blackcurrant and sandalwood. Even hours after he's gone, it lingers in the air.

Then my eyes trail to his large bed. I wonder if he sleeps on his back or stomach, arms spread. Does he have a preference for sides or does he take the middle. I'm being creepy and this is not okay and before my thoughts can get the better of me, I stumble out, scolding myself.