Morning light creeps through the curtains, soft and pale, painting the ceiling in shades of pearl. My eyelids flutter, then open.
I blink slowly, staring at the familiar patterns above, my mind rising from the depths of sleep in lazy spirals.
Then I register the weight. The warmth. The slow, steady breath against my hair.
I turn my head. My eyes widen.
Moon is beside . Asleep. His face is relaxed, peaceful—the sharp arrogance smoothed away, leaving sothing almost innocent. His blue lashes fan against his cheeks.
One arm is draped across my waist, heavy and possessive, pulling into the curve of his body.
And his scent. That deep, enveloping amber wood. It saturates the air, clings to the sheets, wraps around like a second skin. It’s stronger than yesterday.
Thicker.
As if it’s been seeping into all night.
When did he co in?
I locked the door. I know I locked the door.
I checked it twice before I finally, fitfully, fell asleep.
But here he is. A stubborn force of nature that no deadbolt can contain.
I press my palm against my face, dragging it down over my eyes.
I’m so tired. He’s more stubborn than .
How is that possible?
Okay. Okay. Before he wakes up and traps you again—move. Slip away.
Like a secret agent.
I hold my breath. My fingers find his hand, curled against my hip. With infinite, agonizing care, I lift his wrist. A milliter at a ti.
His fingers loosen. I slide his arm away from my waist and lay it gently on the mattress.
He shifts. Mumbles sothing unintelligible. I freeze, my heart a tiny, frantic hamr against my ribs.
His breathing evens out again.
Exhale.
I sit up slowly, moving like I’m made of glass. My feet find the floor, the cold seeping through the soles of my feet. I grab a pillow and carefully, reverently, tuck it against his chest. He latches onto it imdiately, pulling it close.
Good.
I slide my feet into my slippers and stand. My steps are silent, practiced. I glide to the balcony doors and ease them open, one inch at a ti, holding my breath against the telltale click.
Cold air hits my face like a blessing.
I step out and close the door behind , soft as a sigh. The world opens up before : the sky a pale, washed blue, the sun a shy coin of gold.
The snow has stopped falling. It lies in a pristine blanket over the mansion gardens, softening every edge, muffling every sound.
But it’s lting. I can see it—tiny, glittering rivulets tracing paths through the white, dripping from the petals of the winter jasmine. The flowers bow under their frozen crowns, delicate and defiant.
My eyes catch on them. And I’m transported.
The night. The snow. Deniz’s face, upturned, tear-tracked, beautiful.
The jasmine in my hand. The words I spoke into the frozen air. I love you.
Warmth blooms in my chest, a small, stubborn fla against the cold.
I can still feel it. That mont.
That promise.
A soft smile curves my lips.
Then, warmth at my back. Arms sliding around my waist. A solid chest pressing against my spine.
I don’t flinch. I know these hands. This scent.
This impossible, infuriating presence.
"Moon." His na is a sigh of exasperation.
He rests his chin on my shoulder, his breath a warm ghost against my ear. "Aren’t you cold?" His voice is low, roughened with sleep.
"You shouldn’t co out here in just your pajamas."
My hands find his, curled around my waist. I loosen his grip and turn to face him, bringing us chest to chest, face to face. His blue hair is a wild, ssy halo, catching the pale morning light.
His eyes are still heavy-lidded, soft with the remnants of sleep.
"Last night," I say, my voice steady, "I locked the door. How did you get in?"
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans forward, his hands bracing on the railing on either side of .
Caging .
Again.
"The pretty servant lady," he murmurs, his lips curving into a slow, unrepentant smile, "gave the spare key to your room."
My eyes widen.
Betrayed by my own staff.
"She—"
"What did you think?" He tilts his head, the morning light catching the blue of his eyes.
"That you could hide from ? After you were so rude to last night?"
He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Kicking out. Slamming the door in my face. How heartless."
I shove against his chest. Hard. He doesn’t move.
His smile widens.
"Do you really think you can push ?"
"Let go," I snap.
"I’m cold."
"First," he says, his tone maddeningly calm, "apologize. For what you did last night."
I look away. I can’t think about last night.
The dream. The bathtub. His mouth on mine.
I force the mory down, bury it deep.
I et his gaze again, my voice ice.
"I didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the one who invaded my privacy without permission. You deserved what you got."
His eyes don’t leave mine. "So you’re not going to apologize."
My cheeks are burning—from the cold, from the anger, from the impossible proximity of him.
"No," I bite out. "I’m no—"
*Ahh... CHOOOO! *
My eyes fly wide. My cheeks, already flushed, erupt in a fresh inferno of humiliation.
Moon freezes. His gaze drops to my face, to the evidence of my body’s betrayal. Then his expression shifts—the cool intensity lting into sothing else entirely.
He laughs.
Not a chuckle. Not a smirk. A full, genuine, helpless laugh that shakes his shoulders and crinkles the corners of his eyes.
His hands slip from the railing as he doubles over slightly, gasping.
I stare at him, my anger crystallizing into pure, murderous mortification.
"You—you look so cute," he wheezes between laughs.
"SHUT UP! " I shove his chest again, and this ti, he stumbles back a step, still laughing.
I whirl around and march back into the room, my face a beacon of furious red.
His footsteps follow, his laughter trailing behind him like an annoying, persistent ghost.
"Hey," he calls, his voice still bubbling with amusent.
"Can you sneeze again? Just once more? I want to see—"
I keep walking, ignoring him, ignoring everything. But his laughter, bright and warm, chases all the way to the closet.
This pathetic, impossible, infuriating Alpha.
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