19 | ☕Boundaries? Atlas Doesnt Know Them ☕
Anya had had enough.
After yesterday's insane conversation, she had resolved to set some real, clear boundaries.
She'd thought it through—no more letting Atlas push her around.
She wasn't his puppet. She wasn't his property.
She wasn't even his employee when she wasn't on the clock.
She needed space, and this time, she was going to enforce it.
She even made a list.
A reasonable list, she thought. A very reasonable list.
1.Atlas cannot buy things just to control where she works.
2.Atlas cannot act like he owns her.
3.Atlas cannot demand her time when she's off the clock, just because he feels like it.
4.Atlas cannot interrupt her personal space with random texts or calls that aren't related to work.
5.Atlas cannot expect her to drop everything for him, just because he's "important."
6.Atlas cannot guilt-trip her into—
Ding-dong.
Anya froze mid-sentence, blinking at the door like it had just spoken to her.
The sound of the doorbell echoed through her small apartment, and for a moment, she just sat there—silent, still.
The air felt heavy, thick with something she couldn't quite place.
It was late—way too late for anyone to be knocking at her door.
She hadn't expected company. Hell, she wasn't even sure who would visit her at this hour.
She glanced at the clock on her phone: 11:47 PM. A time when most people were winding down, not deciding to pop in for a visit.
Anya opened the door cautiously, her breath held in anticipation, as though the very act of pulling it open might release a flood of chaos.
She had been expecting something, though she hadn't known exactly what.
The weight of the moment hung in the air, thick with tension.
Her fingers trembled slightly around the handle as she steeled herself for whatever was on the other side.
Her heart raced, pounding against her chest as if it, too, was uncertain of what awaited her.
The silence stretched on, deafening in its stillness.
And there he was.
Atlas Valtieri.
Standing at her doorstep. His usual cool, unreadable expression painted across his face, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
It was as if he had strolled right out of her thoughts and into her apartment—no announcement, no invitation. Nothing.
Anya just stared, her mind racing as her mouth worked to form words, but nothing came out.
Her brain struggled to make sense of what was happening, her thoughts tangling in confusion and disbelief.
She blinked, trying to grasp the surrealness of the situation, but all she could do was stand there, frozen in place.
She wasn't sure what she expected—some grand explanation or apology, maybe, or even some dramatic gesture to justify his sudden, unexplained appearance on her doorstep.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of internal chaos, she managed to break the silence.
"WHAT."
The single word seemed to hang in the air, a mix of frustration, confusion, and the lingering remnants of shock.
She could feel her pulse pounding in her temples as she waited for a response, but Atlas simply stood there, unmoved by her outburst.
He didn't look the least bit flustered, or even surprised.
If anything, he seemed... almost bored, as though her reaction was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, easily brushed aside.
With a casual tilt of his head, he lifted his hands in a gesture that was almost... dismissive. The corner of his mouth quirked, but it wasn't quite a smile. "You didn't show up to work today."
Anya's eyebrow shot up, incredulous. Her lips parted, her mind racing to process the absurdity of the situation. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream. "IT'S MY DAY OFF," she screamed, her expression conveying the disbelief that her words couldn't capture.
Atlas merely glanced at her with that infuriating, calm detachment. "I know," he replied, as if he were commenting on the weather or discussing the most mundane thing in the world. "I didn't like it."
Anya let out a frustrated groan, dragging a hand down her face as if she could somehow rub away the absurdity of the situation. The heat of irritation bloomed in her chest, and she tried to take a deep breath, but it did little to calm the storm inside.
"...Atlas," she muttered, her voice low and strained, like she was trying to restrain herself from saying something much worse.
He tilted his head slightly, his expression still unreadable, and for a moment, she couldn't decide if he was playing some sort of game with her or if he genuinely didn't understand the chaos he was causing.
Her patience was teetering on the edge, slipping through her fingers like sand in an hourglass that was running out of time.
She blinked rapidly, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but it was getting harder to hold on.
"You can't just show up at my apartment!"
she finally blurted, her voice louder than she intended, echoing in the stillness of the hallway.
She could feel her pulse in her throat, the adrenaline rushing in response to the strangeness of the moment.
Atlas blinked at her, his expression an innocent mask of confusion, as if her outburst hadn't even fazed him. "Why not?"
"WHY NOT?!" Her hands start to shake as she held the door open, the weight of it somehow adding to the frustration building inside her.
She took another deep breath, but this time it did little to cool the fire of irritation roaring in her chest.
"Because it's WEIRD!" she snapped, her words coming out in a rush.
The simplicity of his answer only made her more exasperated.
She took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Atlas," she said slowly, as though explaining something to a very slow child, "You. Are. My. BOSS."
She emphasized each word, trying to make him understand the gravity of the situation, but there was a chance he wasn't even hearing her.
"Food?" she said slowly, her voice dripping with disbelief. "You're bringing me food after saying... that?" She gestured vaguely at him, her hand waving in the air as if to encompass everything absurd about this moment. "Are you kidding me?"
Atlas shrugged, completely nonchalant, as if declaring his intentions and bringing a meal were the most natural things in the world."It's Chinese," he signed, like that was supposed to explain everything.
Anya blinked. "Oh, well, in that case—make me yours, right now." She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, watching him with a mix of sarcasm and genuine confusion. "What's next? Are you going to serenade me with a love song while I eat fried rice?"
Atlas looked at her, still completely unbothered, and then, with a serious nod, he signed, "I could do that, but only if you promise to share the spring rolls."
Anya's head fell back with a groan. "I don't know whether to slap you or ask for the soy sauce. Can you just... make sense for five seconds, please?"
He simply held the bag up higher, as though that was the solution to everything. "You'll figure it out. After all, food solves everything."
Her chest tightened, a knot of anxiety and frustration twisting inside her, but before she could even process the tornado of emotions swirling within her, she was already fighting the urge to either laugh hysterically or just burst into tears.
Honestly, she wasn't sure which option would make her feel less insane at that moment.
She stood there for a second, weighing her options like a contestant on a bizarre game show.
Option one: slam the door in his face, give some half-hearted excuse about needing "space," and maybe—just maybe—regain some shred of control over her completely chaotic life.
Option two: accept that Atlas was completely insane and just... roll with it.
As she mentally ran through the pros and cons of each option, the second choice, unfortunately, felt like her only option.
Because no matter how many boundaries she set, no matter how many times she tried to pull away from the gravitational force that was Atlas Valtieri, he just...
kept showing up. Like a cosmic force of nature.
And let's face it, Atlas didn't believe in boundaries. Not when it came to her, at least.
Anya took a long, exasperated breath. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks—there was no escaping this man.
The walls she built to protect herself? Nothing more than a decoration to him.
So, with the kind of heavy sigh that could only be classified as "utter defeat," she stepped aside and gave him a look that could probably scorch a lesser man.
"Come in," she muttered under her breath, her voice thick with resignation. She didn't even bother trying to make it sound pleasant. This wasn't an invitation. It was more of a surrender.
Atlas, clearly satisfied with himself, stepped in without a second thought.
The door clicked shut behind him, and he was already making himself at home, striding across the living room like he owned the place.
It wasn't a confident walk; it was the walk—like he'd strolled into a place he'd visited a thousand times, as though the furniture had somehow rearranged itself just for him.
The audacity of it was enough to make Anya's blood boil and, strangely, also leave her a little breathless.
Anya, still trying to gather her scattered wits, reluctantly followed him toward the kitchen.
She could hear him rummaging around in the bag behind her, the soft rustling of paper and plastic punctuated by his utterly unbothered hums.
The weight of the situation was beginning to hit her in full force.
Her apartment, which had always felt cosy and intimate, suddenly felt smaller with him in it.
More... crowded, like the walls were closing in, not with tension, but with the immensity of his presence.
He was, after all, Atlas Valtieri. And nothing seemed too big for him. Least of all, her apartment.
As he casually set the bag of food down on the table, she noticed the way he was moving—methodical, focused—like he'd done this a thousand times.
Pulling out containers and setting them down with precision, arranging everything just so, as though he were preparing for an elegant dinner date.
A dinner date that she hadn't exactly agreed to.
But he wasn't asking for permission. Not that he ever did.
And honestly? The longer she watched him arrange the food, the more she realized that wasn't going to change.
Atlas didn't just show up to her doorstep to share a meal.
He showed up because he wanted her—whether she was ready for that or not.
The thought was both unnerving and strangely comforting.
There was something about the way he acted, so sure of himself, so certain of his place in her life, that left her no choice but to accept that he wasn't going anywhere.
No matter how much she wanted to resist, no matter how many walls she built, he was right there, shattering them without a second thought.