Chapter 101: Is There Someone In Your Life?”

The breakfast place is the kind of silent that only absurd amounts of money can buy.

Of course Moon Arden booked the entire cafe.

The usual morning chatter, the clink of china, the buzz of conversation—all gone, erased by his whim. We are alone in a sea of empty, white-clothed tables.

I slump in my chair, a storm cloud of anger and frustration. Moon sits across from me, the picture of relaxed arrogance—arms crossed, leaning back, his gaze a physical weight on my skin.

He hasn’t looked away since the elevator. Since this morning.

I turn my head, pretending to admire the serene, silent snowfall beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.

But I feel it.

His stare. It’s a laser pointed at the side of my face, waiting, burning.

I can’t stand it. I glance back, meeting his eyes with an angry, exasperated sigh before looking away again.

He sees me.

I am the only thing that exists in his world right now, and he seems to revel in it.

A smirk touches his lips.

“Can’t you just act normal?” he asks, his voice a smooth taunt.

My head whips toward him, fury blazing in my eyes.

“Look who’s talking!”

He smiles, an expression of pure, weaponized innocence.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Really?” The word is a sharp crack.

“You dragged me here by force. Is that normal?”

He looks away, a picture of casual indifference. “I just wanted to eat breakfast with my cousin. Is that so weird?”

I stare, dumbfounded.

Unbelievable.

He’s narrating it like he politely asked, ’Zyren, please have breakfast with me,’ and I happily agreed.

Did the last hour just… not exist to him?

The cage of the elevator, his body pressing me against the wall, his whisper hot on my skin?

Is he pretending, or has he genuinely convinced himself this is just a friendly outing?

He’s utterly, completely unbelievable. He ruined my perfect Deniz-day, and now he’s playing the harmless, misunderstood relative.

Before I can unleash my next torrent of outrage, the waiters descend. With flawless, silent efficiency, they place an extravagant breakfast between us.

Towering stacks of golden-brown pancakes, dripping with syrup and dusted with powdered sugar.

They look absurdly, deliciously perfect.

My stomach, traitorously, gives a small growl.

“Let’s eat,” Moon says.

I cross my arms tightly over my chest and look away, the very image of a petulant child.

“Nope. I already ate breakfast. You eat. Quickly. So we can go.”

His playful mask drops. The smile fades, replaced by a flat, assessing stare.

A sharp smirk of satisfaction curls inside me.

Good. Let him taste the stubbornness he shows everyone else.

I can be more stubborn than Moon Arden.

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat?” he asks, his voice devoid of its earlier teasing.

Without looking at him, I snap, “Yes.”

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he stands up. I watch, confused, as he drags his heavy chair across the polished floor with a screech that violates the quiet.

He places it right beside mine and sits down, our shoulders almost touching.

My eyes widen.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re being stubborn,” he states, as if diagnosing a simple problem. He picks up his fork, spears a perfect, syrup-drenched piece of pancake, and holds it up between us.

“So I’m going to feed you.”

I stare at him, my mind blank with shock.

This man has lost his mind.

His entire, obsessive attention should be on Angel, the main character, the shining star of this universe.

Instead, it’s locked on me like I’m the protagonist. But I’m the villain. I’m supposed to be the hated one in the background!

He lifts the fork closer to my lips.

“Eat.”

A frantic internal voice screams: Neon, if you want to get rid of him, just eat. Quickly.

Then you can go back to the office. Back to Deniz.

It’s the only logic that works.

I snatch the fork from his hand, our fingers brushing.

“I can eat by myself,” I mutter, my cheeks flushing.

I take a bite. The pancakes are, admittedly, divine—fluffy, sweet, buttery.

Another hurried bite, my mission clear: consume and escape.

I eat quickly, mechanically, fueled by the single-minded goal of ending this.

Moon doesn’t eat. He just watches me, his gaze a tangible caress following every movement of my jaw.

I swallow, glaring at him with my mouth still half-full.

“Aren’t you eating?”

He smiles, a soft, strange laugh escaping him.

“You are still a child.”

I blink. Confused.

“What?”

“On your lips,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

“Honey.”

My cheeks flame. I fumble for the linen napkin, but I’m not fast enough.

Moon’s hand moves. He cups my face, his fingers pressing into my cheeks, holding me still.

I freeze, my eyes flying wide.

His thumb brushes slowly, deliberately, across my lower lip.

He wipes away the sticky sweetness with a careful, intimate stroke. His eyes are locked on mine, dark and unreadable.

Then, he pulls his thumb back and brings it to his own mouth.

His tongue flicks out, tasting the honey.

“Delicious,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble.

Heat erupts, traveling from my neck up to my hairline. My face burns a deep, mortified scarlet.

I wrench my gaze away, breaking the terrifying eye contact, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Why… why is he acting like we’re some kind of… sweet couple?

After the breakfast that felt more like a siege, we sit in the car. Silence, thick and charged, fills the space.

My eyes are fixed on the blur of the city passing the window, but I don’t see it.

All I feel is the ghost of his thumb on my lower lip. A phantom warmth.

A lingering softness that has nothing to do with honey. My cheeks are still burning, a stubborn, tell-tale heat I can’t seem to cool.

Moon drives with a calm, effortless control that’s unnerving. He has orchestrated every second of this morning.

Then, his voice slices through the quiet. “Zyren.”

I blink, pulled from the treacherous memory. I look at him.

His eyes are still on the road.

“Is there someone in your life?”

The question is casual. Deceptively so. I blink again, my guard slamming up.

“Why are you asking?”

He finally flicks a glance my way, a quick, assessing cut of blue.

“Can’t I know if my cousin is taken or not?”

He says it lightly, but the words feel weighted. A hunter checking for footprints.

I look away, back to the safety of the passing streets. My voice is low, a murmur meant more for myself than for him, laced with a pointed, weary truth.

“If you didn’t interrupt again and again… maybe I already would be.”

It’s the closest I’ve come to admitting Deniz exists. A fragile, pointed confession wrapped in irritation.

He hears it. The car feels suddenly smaller.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel.

Just slightly.

“What did you say?”

I straighten, erasing the vulnerability, my tone flattening into a wall.

“Nothing.”

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