I sit in the passenger seat of his absurdly expensive sports car, staring out the window at the city blurring past. Daylight glints off steel and glass, but the view feels flat, aningless.
My face is a mask of bored irritation. Beside , Moon Arden drives with an infuriating calm, his eyes fixed on the road.
I don’t get it.
I really don’t get it.
What is his problem with Angel?
Weren’t they written in the stars?
Destined for a love so epic it defined the novel?
Instead, they’re avoiding each other like the plague, reacting to each other’s presence with the chilly politeness of silent enemies.
It’s all wrong.
Moon glances over at , his perfect brow arching slightly.
"Can’t you at least try to look like you’re enjoying this? You’re sitting there like I kidnapped you."
My gaze slides slowly to him, deadpan.
I agree with you, I think, the words bitter and silent in my mind.
You prideful Alpha.
My lips don’t move. I just stare at him, my silence a heavier accusation than any words.
He glances again, a flicker of sothing—amusent?—in his blue eyes.
"Why are you staring at like you want to eat ?"
I still don’t answer. I want to throw you to the dogs, I think savagely, because you were so needlessly cruel to my innocent Angel.
Finally, I take a sharp, controlled breath.
"You’re so rude," I state, turning my face back to the window.
He slams on the brakes.
The car jerks to a sudden, violent halt. I’m thrown forward against the seatbelt, shock freezing for a second.
I look at him, wide-eyed.
Moon isn’t looking at the road anymore. He’s staring straight at , his blue eyes intense and unblinking.
His hands still on the wheel, his expression unreadable
"You," he says slowly, each word deliberate, "are saying I’m rude?"
I blink, then nod, my expression the picture of calm innocence.
"Yes. You are."
He just stares.
Silently.
Unblinking.
I cross my arms over my chest like a petulant child, the gesture all the more defiant because of it.
"You talked so harshly to my friend Angel. You should apologize to him."
For a second, there’s only the sound of the idling engine. Then, Moon throws his head back and laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound. It’s sharp, incredulous.
"Look who’s talking about rude and apologies, Zyren." He shakes his head, the laughter dying into a cold smirk.
"Just... don’t let those words co out of your mouth."
He leans closer then— Just an inch, but in the confined space of the car, it feels like an invasion. His voice drops, losing its playful edge.
Low and pointed. "Angel is your friend... not mine. So don’t bring him between us."
I blink, my brain stuttering.
Between us...?
What the hell is he saying? What ’us’?
Before I can form a single syllable of protest or question, he pushes back, straightening in his seat, and smoothly pulls the car back into the flow of traffic as if the startling stop never happened.
I shift my gaze back to the window, my heart beating a confused, angry rhythm against my ribs.
Arguing with him is useless. He’s not going to listen. He speaks in riddles and acts on impulses
He’s not following any script I know.
And the most unsettling part... is that he seems to be writing a new one, with a terrifying, inexplicable focus on .
The car glides to a stop in front of a restaurant so luxurious it looks more like a modern art museum.
I glance out the window, already reaching for the door handle to escape the suffocating, confusing energy inside the car.
Moon’s hand shoots out, wrapping around my wrist before I can move an inch.
The contact is sudden, firm.
I look at him, eyes wide with shock at the touch.
"Wear this," he says, his voice leaving no room for argunt. He holds out a black face mask in his other hand.
I stare at it, then at him. "Why?"
He’s already putting on an identical one, expertly adjusting it over his perfect nose and mouth. "Don’t you rember who I am?" he asks, his blue eyes glinting with sothing between amusent and arrogance over the top of the fabric.
"Moon Arden. Superstar. The moon of this world."
I stare at him, dead serious. He’s starting this again...
With a frustrated huff, I snatch the mask from his hand and yank it over my own face, the soft material muting my scowl.
The guard outside imdiately opens the car door for us. We step out into the crisp air.
Moon starts walking without a backward glance, his posture straight and commanding. His secretary is already waiting by the entrance, bowing slightly.
"Sir, I’ve booked the entire VIP floor, as you instructed," the secretary murmurs.
Moon doesn’t even look at him, just keeps walking.
"Okay. You may go."
The secretary gives a short bow and lts away into the background.
I stare at Moon’s retreating back as I follow, my thoughts a chaotic whirl.
Wait. He’s the one who demanded I take him out. Who said ’just choose a perfect place.’ And yet, he’s already orchestrated everything—the restaurant, the privacy, the entire floor.
Before I can fully process the manipulation, he glances back over his shoulder, those blue eyes sharp even from a distance.
"Why are you walking so slow?"
I blink, pushed out of my spiraling thoughts. "You... bu—"
He doesn’t let finish. In two long strides, he’s back beside . His hand finds mine again, his fingers lacing through mine with an unnerving familiarity. He tugs, pulling forward.
"Walk fast," he orders, his voice slightly muffled by the mask but no less commanding.
"I’m starving."
"Hey—! Slow down, you—!" My protest is useless. He’s already marching forward, dragging along beside him as if I’m a reluctant accessory.
His grip is warm and unyielding. We’re walking hand-in-hand through the hushed, opulent entrance of a five-star restaurant, both masked like celebrities or criminals.
God, have rcy on , I think, a silent, desperate plea as I’m hauled along.
This feels less like showing a bored cousin the city and more like... so kind of bizarre, high-stakes date with a beautiful, unpredictable alien.
And I am utterly, terrifyingly out of my depth.
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