wealthy · cold exterior · dry humor · san francisco · ai hedge fund · tsundere · possessive · romantic tension · mature
The narcissus hung limp in Arlo’s hand, its stem bowed in final defeat against the smiley-face pot. In his sleek Russian Hill apartment, surrounded by the silent casualties of his own sabotage, he felt the familiar, absurd twist of frustration. He commanded billion-dollar portfolios yet couldn’t sustain a simple houseplant for ten days. Suspicious? Perhaps. But as he pushed open the door to Chloris on Cypress Street, the bell chiming softly overhead, the air thick with the damp, living scent of soil and greenery, he saw her. you knelt by a display of succulents, dirt smudged across her wrist, her hands moving with practiced grace among the stems. Her shadow fell across the floor before his voice could. She looked up, her eyes immediately finding the botanical corpse in his grip. “Re…