Chapter 85: [BRATTY]

Eli shoved hard against Caelen’s chest. His palms smacked against the solid wall of muscle beneath the dark coat—it was like trying to shove a pillar.

Caelen barely moved, only the faintest shift backward, but it was enough to carve out space between them.

Eli’s breath came ragged, his yellow eyes burning up at him, sharp, unflinching.

Caelen, infuriatingly, remained steady. His face was unreadable, carved in calm, his posture loose as if Eli’s outburst didn’t rattle him in the slightest.

That maddening composure only stoked the fire in Eli’s chest.

Caelen parted his lips, ready to speak—

“No. Don’t even start.”

The words ripped out of Eli before Caelen could utter a single syllable, his voice raw with frustration. His pulse hammered so violently in his ears it drowned out the silence of the office.

“I was a fan, Caelen.” His voice cracked, heat scalding his throat. “A fan. Do you get that? I admired you, I respected you, I thought you were untouchable. But you’re acting like I’ve been secretly in love with you this whole time—and newsflash, I’m not.”

For the first time, something shifted in Caelen’s gaze—narrowing, faint, like the smallest twitch of surprise.

But still, he stayed silent, letting Eli burn, letting the fire consume itself.

“I can admire you without worshiping you,” Eli pressed on, his chest heaving, words pouring out like knives. “I can think you’re strong, talented, even…”

His jaw tightened, the word bitter and heavy on his tongue, “…handsome—without expecting anything back. You don’t get to stand there and assume I’m hoping you’ll fall for me. That’s not admiration. That’s arrogance.”

The weight of his words lingered, the air taut like a bowstring drawn too far.

Caelen finally spoke, voice low, smooth, but edged with something Eli couldn’t name. “…Elione—”

“Don’t.” Eli’s hand flung up between them, sharp and decisive, like a blade cutting the moment in half.

His glare seared into Caelen, his voice trembling with anger. “Don’t say anything. You’ve already made it clear what you think, and guess what? I don’t care. I just complimented you—you’re the one calling me sweetheart, you’re the one crowding me, leaning in like—like that. Don’t turn this around on me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Heavy.

Caelen’s expression remained controlled, but beneath the calm, his molten gaze flickered—something unreadable sparking and dying in its depths.

Interest? Irritation? Amusement?

Eli didn’t care. He refused to care.

His chest heaved. His throat burned. He had to get out before he said something worse.

Eli turned sharply on his heel, boots biting into the marble floor as he stomped toward the door. Every step was harsh, deliberate, his fists clenched tight at his sides to keep them from trembling.

When he reached the handle, his heart still thundered so hard it nearly drowned the world out. He gripped the metal, fingers trembling—not with fear, but with fury.

Slowly, he turned his head, glare slicing across the room, cutting into Caelen like a blade.

“For the record…” Eli’s voice came sharp, bratty, final. “…you’re handsome. But not my type of handsome.”

The words detonated in the silence.

And before Caelen could so much as breathe a reply, Eli yanked the door open and stormed out, each stomp echoing down the hall like war drums.

Ding.

The system’s chime flickered in his vision, glowing a violent red at the corner of his eye.

’Oh, bite me,’ Eli seethed, refusing to even glance at the prompt.

Ding.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. Whatever punishment the system wanted to throw at him, it could wait. He was done—too furious, too humiliated, too finished with Caelen’s cocky arrogance to care.

His only thought now was escape.

Escape and silence.

’I’m going home. I’m going to take a nice, long, relaxing bath in my beautiful bathroom, and my shitty situation can choke for all I care.’

And with that, Eli kept walking—leaving the association, the system, and Caelen behind.

▒▓ ▀▄█ ⚠ ▄█▀ ▓▒

“Now that…” Caelen murmured under his breath, his molten eyes still fixed on the closed door Eli had stormed through. S

lowly, deliberately, he raised his hands—and clapped. Once. Twice. A soft, mocking applause in the silence of the office. “…that seemed more like the bratty Elione I’ve read about.”

The sound of his palms meeting echoed faintly in the high-ceilinged room, and the corner of his mouth tugged into something between amusement and satisfaction.

He couldn’t help it.

Truthfully, Caelen had been testing him from the start—poking, pressing, leaning in too close—not out of cruelty, but curiosity.

He’d wanted to see it.

The real side of Elione. The brat beneath the polished exterior. The part that didn’t bow, didn’t flatter, didn’t hide.

And now he had.

Why?

Because Caelen loathed façades. He despised masks, the kind people wore to keep their true selves tucked away, neat and acceptable.

He wanted the unvarnished version—the raw edges, the flaws, the temper. It was the only way he ever truly felt like he understood someone.

And yet… he himself lived behind a mask.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He was nothing if not a hypocrite.

But perhaps that was why he enjoyed stripping others bare of theirs.

And Eli—Elione—had just thrown his mask aside in spectacular fashion.

That bratty bite, the sharp words, the stomp of his boots as he left—it had been more honest than any polite bow or shaky compliment. Refreshing.

A low chuckle slipped from Caelen’s throat, his gaze narrowing faintly at the memory. “And the fact that he said all that while his face was as red as a tomato…”

The sound of his own laughter was quiet, fleeting, but real.

Shaking his head, he slipped a hand into his coat, pulling out his phone. With a casual flick of his thumb, he dialed a number. The line barely rang once before the other end picked up.

“What is it now?” Zacharias’s voice snapped through the speaker, sharp and impatient as ever.

“Have you made the invitation for Elione Noa Ahn to join the guild?” Caelen asked smoothly, stepping out of Midas Ryu’s office and into the polished corridor beyond. His boots clicked against the marble floor as he moved, unhurried, deliberate.

“I was making it until you called.” Zacharias’s irritation was palpable, his growl low.

“My, guildmaster,” Caelen teased lightly, lips curving into a smirk. “You seem to be very moody today.”

“Cut the crap, Caelen. Just get back here and take a look at this before I kick your ass.”

Caelen’s laugh was quiet, unshaken by the empty threat. “On it,” he replied simply, before ending the call with a tap.

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he walked down the corridor with the same ease he always carried. His thoughts, however, remained lingering—not on Zacharias, not even on Midas.

But on Elione Noa Ahn.

’Now I wonder how he’ll react to the invitation.’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep