My body freezes. The soft smile on my face shatters, vanishing completely.
Shock, cold and sharp, douses the warm, morning-after glow.
What... is HE doing here?
Moon Arden sits on the plush couch as if he owns it, his posture the picture of relaxed indolence. His sharp blue eyes trace over from head to toe—taking in the ssy silver hair, the soft sleep pants, the lack of my usual armor.
I stare back, silent for a beat, then force my legs to move. I walk over and sit opposite him, the low table between us like a fragile barrier.
I paint a soft smile on my face.
"Dear cousin. What a great surprise, seeing you so early in the morning."
He sets his coffee cup down on the saucer with a quiet clink. His gaze doesn’t waver; it bores straight into mine.
He’s the most difficult character in this whole novel to read—a chaleon. One second a playful, spoiled star, the next... this. A predator watching its prey with unnerving focus.
I run a hand through my disheveled hair, a nervous gesture I can’t quite suppress.
He leans back, completely at ease. "Zyren," he says, his voice a smooth drawl.
"Can’t I co to visit my cousin at his house?"
My smile stays fixed. "Of course you can. I’m just... curious about the timing. It’s quite early."
"I’m bored," he announces, as if it’s a royal decree. He looks away, out the grand window, a picture of elegant petulance.
"I want to hang out. See the city." He crosses his arms, then turns his head back to , his expression one of pure, spoiled expectation.
"Take out."
I stare at him, shock montarily stripping away my composure.
Take him out? ?
"Take you out...?" The words are dumb with surprise.
He looks at , and the sunlight streaming through the window catches his blue hair, turning it into a halo of impossible, different shades.
"You’re the one who made stay in this country for your damn perfu shoot. Now I’m bored here. So take responsibility."
I blink, the innocence in the gesture feeling utterly fake.
He’s not asking. He’s commanding .
"Okay," I say slowly, looking down to break the intensity of his stare.
"Tell where you want to go."
He waves a dismissive hand.
"Just take to a good place. A perfect place."
I nod, still processing.
"Okay. Then we’ll go. But... today is your shoot—"
He cuts off, his voice smooth as silk and just as cold.
"I canceled it."
My head snaps up. "Canceled?"
He ets my gaze, his own utterly unapologetic.
"Today, I have no mood to bear your innocent Oga friend who doesn’t even know how to give a proper pose or hold a facial expression."
The harshness of the words hits like a physical slap. My eyes widen.
How can he say that about Angel?
The protectiveness from yesterday flares hot and instant in my chest.
Before my anger can find its voice, he’s standing up.
"Let’s go."
"Wait, I’m still in my—"
He’s in front of in two strides. "Then go get ready. Quickly. I’m bored like hell."
His hand shoots out, wrapping around my wrist. His grip isn’t painful, but it’s firm. Unyielding.
I flinch at the sudden contact, the warmth of his skin against mine a shock.
"Moon, we—"
He pulls, forcing to stand. We’re suddenly too close. The clean, expensive scent of amber wood wraps around , his pheromones a tangible pressure in the air.
I try to pull my wrist back, to step away and create space, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he tugs closer.
My heart kicks into a frantic rhythm.
Then he does sothing that stops my breath entirely. He leans in, his head dipping beside my own. He inhales, deeply, near the curve of my neck.
My entire body goes rigid.
What the hell is he—
"Zyren," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration so close to my skin it makes shiver.
"Why does your whole body sll like your friend?"
He pulls back just enough to look at , his blue eyes holding a predatory curiosity.
"Like Oga Angel’s sweet strawberries?"
I freeze.
Completely.
Trapped in the cage of his grip and the dizzying, nonsensical question that hangs in the air, thick and unsettling as his scent.
I wrench my wrist free with a sharp, forceful tug and stumble back a step, putting precious distance between us.
"What nonsense are you talking about?" My voice cos out sharper than I intended, frayed at the edges.
He doesn’t answer. Just stares at , that unnerving blue gaze holding mine, a silent challenge and a question I don’t understand.
I look away first, a frustrated heat crawling up my neck.
God, he’s acting like we’re a couple and I cheated on him.
The absurdity is maddening.
Before he can say another word to deepen the weirdness, the living room door swings open.
Angel steps in.
I look at him, a rush of relief and sothing else—guilt?—flooding . He’s changed, looking fresh and soft in simple, clean clothes.
"Zyren," he says quietly, his eyes taking in the scene—, flushed and disheveled in sleepwear, Moon Arden standing too close, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on.
"I’m ready..."
Moon’s gaze shifts to Angel. It’s a slow, deliberate appraisal, curious but detached, like a scientist observing an interesting but ultimately unimportant specin.
He looks at him for a few seconds, then, with a smooth, dismissive flick of his attention, looks right back at .
He just ignored him.
I stare at him, utterly baffled. I can’t understand this man.
I look from Moon’s unreadable face back to Angel’s confused one, feeling like a trapped rabbit between two forces I can’t comprehend.
"So," Moon says, his voice a lazy drawl that brooks no argunt.
"We’re going. Go get ready. Quickly."
I look at Angel, desperate to soften the blow, to include him, to sohow fix this weird script that’s falling apart.
"Angel," I say, forcing a lighter tone, "do you want to join us? We’re going to—"
"Alone."
Moon’s voice slices through mine, smooth as a blade and just as final. He doesn’t even look at Angel as he says it.
I stare at Moon, genuine shock etching my features.
What the hell does he want from ?
And more importantly... He’s ignoring the main character. Treating him like a side character, an afterthought.
What the absolute hell is going on in this damn novel?
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