Page 1 of Grumpy Orc CEO

CHAPTER 1

Lucy

Ipull up to my new apartment complex, my car loaded with boxes. Taking a deep breath, excitement bubbles in my chest. The building stands tall, its brick facade worn but charming. It’s a far cry from the sleek, modern condo I shared with my ex.

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter, stepping out of the car. My feet crunch on the gravel as I make my way to the trunk.

The front door of the building creaks open, and an elderly woman shuffles out. She’s wrapped in a shawl, her white hair pinned up neatly. “You must be the new tenant,” she says, her voice warm.

“That’s me,” I reply, flashing a smile. “Lucy Bennett.”

She nods, eyes twinkling. “I’m Mrs. Hargrove. Welcome to Pinecrest Apartments.”

“Thanks,” I say, lifting a box from the trunk. It’s heavier than I anticipated, and I stagger a bit.

Mrs. Hargrove steps forward, surprisingly spry for her age. “Need a hand?”

“Oh, no! I’ve got it,” I insist, though my arms scream otherwise.

She chuckles softly. “Suit yourself. But if you need anything, just holler.” With that, she heads back inside.

I balance the box on my hip and head toward the entrance. The lobby is quaint—mismatched furniture and faded wallpaper give it a homey feel. It’s not what I’m used to, but maybe that’s a good thing.

Reaching my door on the second floor, I fumble for my keys while trying not to drop the box. “Come on…” Finally managing to unlock it, I push it open with my shoulder and step inside.

The apartment is small but cozy—hardwood floors, tall windows letting in plenty of light. It feels like a fresh start.

Setting down the box with a huff, I look around and let out a sigh of relief. “Alright, Lucy,” I say to myself. “Time to make this place home.”

The apartment smells like fresh paint and possibility. I open the first box and pull out a framed photo of my family. It’s my favorite picture, taken last Christmas. We’re all laughing, probably at one of Dad’s terrible jokes. I hang it on the wall by the kitchen, right where I can see it every day. It feels like bringing a piece of home with me.

Next, I unpack my books, lining them up on the shelves by genre and size. They’ve always been my escape, my friends when I needed them most. As I place each one, it feels like laying bricks for a new foundation.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I skipped breakfast. I find a granola bar in my purse and munch on it while unpacking more boxes. The mundane act of sorting through my things feels therapeutic, like each item is a small step towards reclaiming my independence.

I pull out a vase from another box, wrapping paper crinkling under my fingers. It was a gift from when I moved into my last place. It goes on the windowsill in the living room, catching the light just right.

The next box is full of clothes. I carry them to the bedroom and start hanging them up in the closet. Each dress, each pair of jeans feels like another piece of me finding its place again.

I stumble upon an old journal in one of the boxes, its leather cover worn and familiar. Flipping through its pages brings back memories—some sweet, some bittersweet—but all part of who I am today.

As I put the journal on my nightstand, I notice how bare the room looks without decorations. That’ll change soon enough. For now, it's about making sure everything has its spot.

Returning to the living room, I set up some candles on the coffee table and plug in a string of fairy lights along the wall. They add a warm glow to the space, making it feel cozier.

I stand back and take it all in—the books on their shelves, family photos smiling down at me. This apartment is starting to feel less like an empty shell and more like a sanctuary.

As night falls, I find myself surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. The glow from the fairy lights casts soft shadows on the walls, creating a cozy ambiance in my new living room. I sit on the couch, feeling a pang of loneliness creep in. It’s my first night alone in this apartment, and while I’ve been looking forward to this fresh start, the quiet is more overwhelming than I anticipated.

I shake off the feeling and decide that I need to celebrate this milestone. “Alright, Lucy,” I mutter to myself, standing up with purpose. “Let’s make this a proper first night.”

I head to the kitchen and rummage through one of the boxes labeled “Fragile.” My fingers close around the stem of a wine glass, and I pull it out carefully, and with it, a bottle of red wine. Perfect.

Popping the cork with a satisfying ‘thwap,’ I pour myself a generous glass. The rich aroma of the wine fills my senses, and I can’t help but smile. This is exactly what I need.

Glass in hand, I move to the living room and search through another box for my laptop. Settling back on the couch, I open it up and browse through my streaming service for something to watch. After scrolling through countless options, I settle on an old favorite—a romantic comedy that always manages to lift my spirits.

As the movie starts, I take a sip of wine and let myself sink into the cushions. The characters on screen banter back and forth, their chemistry infectious. For a moment, my own worries fade into the background.

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