Chapter 145: Do You Feel Like My Secret Lover Now?

The morning light spills through the heavy curtains in soft golden streams, painting the room in warm, gentle colors.

I shift slightly, a soft smile spreading across my lips before I even open my eyes.

Slowly, lazily, I blink awake. The room glows around me—shimmering gold in the warm sunlight, peaceful and quiet. Last night with Angel comes back in fragments.

The laughter. The talking. The way his eyes finally stopped being sad.

It was good. It was peaceful.

My mind feels different this morning.

Fresh. Light. Rested.

The chaos of yesterday, the rumors, the anger, the exhaustion—it all feels far away now, like a storm that’s finally passed.

I stretch, my arms reaching above my head, my back arching slightly. My eyes close again as my body luxuriates in the simple, beautiful pleasure of waking up slowly, of having nowhere to rush, of being allowed to just be.

I sit up, still smiling, still half-lost in that warm, sleepy haze. The words come out soft and private, meant only for me, a little morning ritual I’ve carried from one life to another.

“Good morning, Neon…”

A voice comes from beside me. Close. Much too close.

“Who’s Neon?”

I flinch.

The voice is familiar. Too familiar. It slides into my peaceful morning like a blade through silk.

My eyes fly open. I turn my head.

My heart stops.

Moon is lying on the bed next to me.

He’s propped on one elbow, his head resting on his hand, those impossible blue eyes fixed on me with that stare I’ve come to know too well—unblinking, unwavering, like I’m the only thing in the world worth looking at.

His blue hair is slightly mussed, falling across his forehead in a way that should look ridiculous but somehow doesn’t.

He looks comfortable. Relaxed. Like he belongs here.

My peaceful morning shatters into a thousand pieces, each one sharp and glittering and utterly ruined.

“What are you doing here?!”

The words come out too loud, too sharp, cracking the quiet of the room.

He blinks. Innocently. Too innocently.

Those blue eyes widen just slightly, a picture of wounded confusion that I don’t believe for a single second.

“Waiting for you to wake up.”

My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

Waiting? For me?

“How long have you been here?”

The question comes out strangled.

He tilts his head, considering, as if he’s calculating something trivial like the weather.

“Maybe two hours?”

I stare at him.

Two hours. He’s been in my room, on my bed, watching me sleep for two hours. While I was dreaming peacefully, unaware, vulnerable—he was there.

Just… watching.

“Moon.”

My voice is flat. Hollow with disbelief. “Don’t you have any shame? Who does something like this?”

A slow smirk curves his lips. It’s infuriating. It’s beautiful. It’s so perfectly, completely him.

“Moon Arden does this.”

I press my fingers to my temple, rubbing slow circles.

This man is going to ruin my life.

He moves closer.

Before I can react, before I can scramble away, before I can even process what’s happening—his head drops onto my lap.

He settles there like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like my lap was designed for this exact purpose. Like he has every right to be there.

I look down at him, my face a mask of pure, unfiltered shock.

“What are you doing? Move aside, you lunatic!”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even twitch. His body is warm and heavy against my legs, utterly relaxed, utterly unbothered by my protests.

Instead, he raises one eyebrow, those blue eyes looking up at me with an expression that’s impossible to read.

“Who’s Neon?” he asks quietly.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

The question hangs in the air between us.

I stare at him. My heart, already racing from the shock of finding him here, stutters in my chest.

Neon.

The name from another life. The name I whispered to myself in the quiet of the morning, thinking I was alone.

Thinking I was safe.

“None of your business.”

My voice comes out sharper than I intended, a blade to hide the tremor underneath.

“Get out of my room.”

“No.”

The single word is calm. Certain. Absolute.

I open my mouth to argue, to scream, to do something—

“Did you forget about our little deal?”

I stop.

The words land in my chest like stones in still water. Ripples spread outward.

The deal. The rumors. Angel.

“Check the social media,” he says, still lounging on my lap like he owns the place, like my entire body isn’t rigid with tension beneath him.

I glare at him.

“First, move aside. I can’t move like this.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, settling deeper into my lap.

“Don’t be dramatic. Just check.”

I sigh. It’s long and frustrated and defeated, a sound that carries every ounce of exhaustion I feel dealing with him.

I reach for my phone on the bedside table. The screen glows as I unlock it, my thumb scrolling automatically to social media. My movements are mechanical, detached—I just want this over with.

The first post stops me cold.

Moon Arden reveals his lover.

My eyes widen.

I scroll. Read. Absorb.

MOON ARDEN— POST:

I have a boyfriend. He doesn’t like social media, so I’m keeping him private. Respect that. Angel is a good friend—innocent, sweet, and completely innocent in all of this. Stop throwing hate at him. The rumors are fake. He’s just a friend.

The words blur slightly as I read them again. And again.

He did it. He actually did it.

I scroll further. There’s another post—a photo of a bracelet. A familiar bracelet.

The one I made for him at the Love Fun Shop. The colorful beads. The question mark. The hours we spent in that ridiculous, pastel-colored place, fighting over beads like children.

The caption reads: My love and me.

My face changes. I can feel it happening—the confusion, the surprise, the something else I can’t name flickering across my features.

I scroll through the comments. My thumb moves automatically, barely conscious.

“I’m so happy for Moon!”

“Who’s the lucky person?!”

“Why is he hiding his partner?”

“Angel seems so sweet. I was wrong about him. I’m sorry.”

“I’m so curious about Moon’s lover. He must be amazing.”

“Look at that bracelet! It’s so cute! His partner made it for him!”

“Finally, our superstar is taken!”

I turn the phone screen off. The glow dies. I toss it aside, watching it land on the blanket with a soft thud.

The rumors are gone. Erased. Replaced by this—this carefully crafted story of a secret lover, a hidden romance, a partner who doesn’t want the spotlight.

In their place, there’s only curiosity. Only warmth. Only acceptance.

Angel is safe.

I look down at him. At this impossible, infuriating, unpredictable man resting on my lap like a cat in a sunbeam. A playful smile still dances on his lips, but there’s something else in his eyes now. Something waiting.

“You see?” he murmurs. His voice is soft, satisfied. “I kept my promise. Now it’s your turn.”

My voice comes out cold. Flat.

“Why did you post the bracelet I made for you?”

His smile widens. His eyes narrow, glittering with something I can’t quite name—amusement, maybe. Or challenge. Or something deeper, something that makes my stomach tighten.

“What’s the problem?”

He pauses, letting the words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication.

“Or…” Another pause, deliberate, teasing.

“Do you feel like my secret lover now?”

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