I walk beside Angel through the grand foyer, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. His silence is a weight beside , heavy and unreadable. He hasn’t spoken since breakfast.
Not a word.
My stomach growls—a quiet, pathetic sound. Breakfast was a torture session, not a al.
How could I eat properly with Moon’s blue gaze boring into the entire ti? Every bite I tried to take, his eyes were there.
Watching.
Waiting. Judging.
I don’t know what his problem is.
I don’t know why he won’t just leave alone.
The servants bow as we approach the car. One opens the door with a practiced, graceful motion. I pause, turning to Angel.
His face is pale, but there’s a flush high on his cheeks. He’s been quiet all morning.
Too quiet.
Is he still angry?
About the days I ignored him?
About the crying?
"Angel," I say softly. "Are you okay?"
He looks at , a smile flickering across his lips. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
"Yes. I’m fine."
I reach up, my fingers brushing his cheek. The touch is light, tentative. His smile fades just a fraction, his eyes widening at the contact.
"You don’t look well," I murmur, searching his face. "Are you sure you’re okay to do the shoot today? We can reschedule."
A pause. Then, slowly, his smile returns. Warr this ti. More real. He nods.
"Yes. I’m sure."
I smile back, relieved. "Then let’s go."
He slides into the car, and I follow, settling beside him. The servant closes the door with a soft, respectful click. The engine hums to life.
Then the door opens again.
I flinch, twisting in my seat. Moon leans down, filling the doorway, his silhouette blocking the morning light. His blue eyes find mine imdiately.
"You’re going without ?" His voice is flat. Accusatory.
Angel looks between us, confusion flickering in his golden eyes.
My own eyes widen.
"Why—where’s your car?"
"Too lazy to drive."
"Where’s your driver?"
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks at the space beside .
"Move."
I sputter. "Hey—no. You can’t just—"
He doesn’t wait. He slides in beside , settling into the leather seat as if it’s always been his. As if he belongs there. He pulls the door shut with a decisive thunk and leans back, closing his eyes.
"You’re giving a ride to your friend," he says, the word dripping with sothing I can’t na, "but saying no to your cousin. Isn’t that unfair?"
I stare at him, my fists clenching in my lap. The frustration is a living thing, coiling in my chest.
He’s impossible. Absolutely, utterly—
He opens one eye, peering at . Then, before I can react, his head drops. It lands on my shoulder, heavy and warm.
I jerk, my whole body going rigid.
"Moon!"
Angel’s eyes go wide. He stares at us, at the way Moon is draped against like a cat claiming a sunbeam, at my frozen, trapped posture.
Moon doesn’t move. His voice floats up, calm and unconcerned.
"Zyren. I’m a patient. Show so manners."
I press my free hand to my temple, rubbing slow circles against the oncoming headache.
This trouble-maker. This impossible, infuriating trouble-maker.
Angel’s gaze is still locked on us. On . On Moon, clinging to like a beloved wife. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are wide, shocked, drinking in every detail.
I look down at my lap. I can’t move. Moon’s grip is too tight, his weight too solid.
On one side, Angel’s silent, staring. On the other, Moon’s warm, possessive presence.
I am trapped. Utterly, completely trapped.
How did my life beco this?
The car glides to a stop in front of Kael Holdings. The morning sun glints off the glass facade, a cold, indifferent light. The guards move with practiced efficiency, opening the doors.
Moon finally lifts his head from my shoulder. He stretches, a lazy, unbothered motion, as if the last twenty minutes of silent warfare never happened.
"Let’s go," he announces, stepping out.
I can’t move. My body is frozen, a statue of coiled frustration and lingering heat from where his head rested against .
Then, the spell breaks. I lurch out of the car, desperate for air, for space, for alone.
I don’t look back. Not at Angel.
Not at Moon. I just walk.
My steps are quick, sharp, eating up the marble floor. The familiar greetings of employees wash over like aningless noise. I don’t acknowledge them.
My face is a mask, unreadable, carved from the sa stone as the building around .
Just keep walking. Just get to your office. Just—
The elevator. I stop in front of it, jabbing the call button with more force than necessary. The tal is cool under my fingertip. I wait, my jaw tight, my thoughts a tangled ss of blue eyes and red-rimd golden ones and a stubborn, impossible weight on my shoulder.
Ding.
The doors slide open with a soft, hydraulic whisper.
I step forward.
And I freeze.
Deniz stands in the elevator. Just him. Alone. His dark eyes, soft and warm and ho, lock onto mine. The world stops.
The frustration, the confusion, the impossible weight of the morning—it all drains away, replaced by a single, overwhelming pulse of need.
My body moves before my mind catches up. I surge forward, closing the distance between us in one desperate step.
My arms lock around him, pulling him into a hug so tight it might bruise.
He doesn’t react at first. A heartbeat of frozen surprise. Then, slowly, his arms rise. They wrap around , gentle but sure, pulling closer.
His scent—that clean, fresh red rose—floods my senses, a balm on every raw nerve.
It calms like a drug, and I’m addicted.
I never want to let go.
The elevator doors slide shut behind , sealing us in a soft, private cage. The hum of the machinery is the only sound.
And in this small, suspended space, with his arms around and his scent in my lungs, there is no Moon.
No Angel.
No impossible questions.
Just him. Just .
Just heaven.
User Comments
0 comments from readers