Chapter 52: I’ve Ruined Everything.

The cold shower lasts until my skin is numb and my thoughts are scrubbed raw. I step out, the plush bathrobe swallowing me in warmth the water stole. The room is a tomb of silence. I towel my hair roughly, the friction a small punishment.

Maybe Angel is already gone.

The thought tightens something in my chest. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have run like that. What must he be thinking about me?

I step farther into the room. The air still carries the faint scent of strawberries—Angel’s scent. A deep sigh slips from my lips. My body feels light now, no longer burning, no longer out of control.

Then my gaze shifts to the bed.

Angel is there.

Sleeping.

Peaceful.

He didn’t leave.

Angel is asleep on the edge of my bed, one arm dangling, the other curled near his face. He must have sat down to wait and been pulled under by exhaustion. His cheeks are flushed with sleep, his golden lashes a delicate fringe against his skin. In sleep, all his careful guard is down. He looks heartbreakingly fragile.

I move closer, a ghost in my own room. Gently, so gently, I pry the packet of pills from his slack fingers and set them on the nightstand.

My chest constricts. He stayed.

He must be exhausted—after an entire day of work, after taking care of me. My eyes linger on him longer than I intend to.

Before I can stop myself, my fingers lift and trace his cheek, barely touching.

Warm.

Soft.

His breathing is steady, calm. Trusting.

He can’t sleep like that, half on the bed. Before reason can catch up, I’m bending down. One arm slides under his knees, the other supports his back. I lift him. He’s light, a bundle of worn-out warmth.

In his sleep, he shifts, nuzzling his face into the soft fabric of my robe with a soft, sleepy sound, as if he’s found a haven.

A wave of tenderness, so profound it steals my breath, crashes over me.

I settle him properly in the center of the vast bed, arranging the pillows. But as I try to pull away, his fingers, still lost in sleep, clutch stubbornly at the belt of my robe. He holds on with a child’s desperate, dreaming grip.

A slow, helpless smile touches my lips. He’s older, but right now… he’s just a tired child.

With infinite care, I work his fingers loose one by one until I’m free. I straighten, pulling the heavy duvet up and tucking it around him, a shield against the world. His breathing deepens, steady and rhythmic, the most peaceful sound I’ve heard all night.

For a long moment, I don’t move. I just watch him sleep. The lines of worry are gone. He is, for now, safe and at rest.

Neon, I tell myself, the thought a hard, clear line in the dark. It’s better if you keep a distance.

The truth is as cold and bracing as the shower. I worked so hard, used every ounce of cunning and vulnerability, just to win a sliver of his trust. To get him to see me as a person, not a master. To hear him say my name.

I can’t risk shattering that. Not because of my own pathetic, Alpha lack of control. His pheromones aren’t just pleasant; they’re dangerously, potently effective on me.

I have to control myself. I have to avoid that kind of closeness.

For his sake. Because the thought of seeing fear or disappointment replace the quiet trust in his golden eyes is a pain far worse than any fever.

Finally, I step back. I take the pills he brought for me, swallow them down with a sip of water, the glass making no sound as I set it down.

Rest well— my dear Angel, I think, the words a silent vow in the hushed room.

His chest rises and falls in that gentle, living rhythm.

I turn and walk to the large couch. A warm, aching smile stays on my lips. I’ll sleep here.

I sink onto the cushions, stretching my weary body. Lying back, I stare up at the intricate, faraway ceiling.

When I first opened my eyes in this novel, I thought I could handle everything.

I knew the plot.

I knew the characters.

I knew how the story was supposed to go.

I thought knowledge was a compass. I thought it meant I was prepared.

But now—

I’m not so sure anymore.

I’m just deeply, utterly lost.

A dry, humorless laugh almost escapes me.

Now I’m terrified of what happens next.

Morning light, sharp and insistent, slices through the gap in the heavy curtains and paints a stripe of gold across my face. I stretch on the couch, a long, lazy unfurling of limbs that still feel strangely light, unburdened.

I rub my eyes and murmur, “Good morning, Neon… Zyren.”

My body feels light. Rested. Another day begins.

Another day in the skin of another.

I sit up, the plush cushions sighing beneath me. My gaze travels across the sun-drenched room, over the glittering chandelier, and lands on the bed.

Angel.

He’s still asleep, a peaceful island in the sea of rumpled silk. The morning sun catches the gold in his hair, turning it into a soft, luminous halo against the pillow. He looks… beautiful. Untouched.

Let him sleep, I think, a warm fondness spreading through my chest. He deserves to wake on his own, for once.

A small smile tugs at my lips. I stand and pad quietly over to the bedside. His hair is a mess, golden strands straying across his temple and over his closed eyes. Acting on a tender impulse, I bend down. Slowly, so slowly, I reach out to gently brush the stray locks back from his face.

My fingertips barely graze his skin.

He stirs. A soft, sleepy murmur escapes him, and he shifts, turning slightly toward my touch.

The sudden movement startles me. I try to straighten up too quickly, my bare foot slipping on the polished floor. Balance deserts me.

I pitch forward.

Time fractures into vivid, horrifying snapshots—the widening of my own eyes, the flutter of his lashes as my shadow falls over him.

I don’t land on the bed.

I land on him.

My hands shoot out to brace myself at the last second, planting on either side of his shoulders, caging him in. But our faces… our faces are suddenly, intimately close. My silver hair falls forward, creating a curtain that blocks out the morning sun, leaving only the shocked, sleep-soft gold of his eyes staring up into mine, wide awake now, brimming with sudden, breathless shock.

Our noses almost brush. I can feel the soft, startled puff of his breath against my lips. The scent of strawberries and sleep surrounds us, thick and sweet.

The peaceful morning shatters.

Our eyes lock. In his—dazed, beautiful confusion, the last fragments of dreams colliding violently with the reality of my weight above him. My heat. My closeness.

Oh…

I’ve ruined everything.

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