Chapter 63: Good Match

I sit in the back of the car, eyes fixed on the world blurring past the window. Another cool morning, another day beginning for the city’s anonymous thousands. The familiar streets slide by, but today feels different.

Angel sits beside me, a silent storm of nerves. I glance at him. He’s pale, his posture rigid, as if he’s being driven to a battlefield, not a photoshoot.

His hands are clenched in his lap, fingers twisting the fabric of his trousers—an old, telltale habit.

Slowly, I reach over and cover one of his hands with mine. His skin is cold.

“Angel,” I say softly. “Why are your hands so cold?”

He doesn’t look at me. “I’m fine.” He tries to subtly pull his hand free, but I don’t let go.

“Angel,” I say, a little firmer. “Look at me.”

He slowly lifts his gaze. His golden eyes are wide with a deer-in-headlights panic.

I smile, pouring all the reassurance I can into it. “Are you nervous?”

He blinks, then gives a small, helpless nod. “Zyren, please… I’m not perfect for this.” The words are a breathless rush of fear.

I lift my free hand and press a gentle finger to his lips. “Shh. You are perfect. You just need a little confidence.”

I give his cold hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’m right here with you. Always.”

His voice is a soft, trembling whisper. “I don’t know how to do this. Modeling… I can’t even…”

“Angel.” I cut him off, my voice smooth and calm. He stops, looking at me, his cheeks flushed with nervous heat.

“Take a deep breath.”

He nods, obeying instinctively, drawing in a slow, shaky breath.

“Now,” I continue, holding his gaze. “Believe in yourself. And believe in me. You can do this.”

He nods again, slowly, because he truly has no other option. The car glides to a smooth stop in front of the monolithic Kael Holdings tower. The guard springs forward to open the door.

I step out, adjusting my coat with practiced ease. Angel follows, his movements hesitant, scared. He stares up at the building, its glass and steel façade gleaming arrogantly in the morning sun, a temple of cold power and success.

I look at him, my smile soft and encouraging. “Let’s go inside.”

He looks from the intimidating structure back to me, then gives a stiff nod. I offer my hand, palm up, an unspoken invitation.

He looks at my hand, then back at my face. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he places his cool hand in mine. I fold my fingers around his, a secure anchor, and we walk through the towering glass doors together.

Inside, the morning ritual unfolds—staff bowing, murmuring respectful greetings. But today, the rhythm is broken. Every head turns. Every pair of eyes widens in naked shock.

Of course. I expected this. They’re not just seeing me. They’re seeing him—a breathtaking, rare Omega walking beside the heir. And they’re seeing our joined hands.

Angel’s gaze stays fixed on the floor, his nervousness spiking under the weight of a hundred stares. I lean closer, my voice for his ears only.

“Angel.”

He looks up at me.

I smile. “Do you like Kael Holdings?”

He glances around, taking in the sea of curious, whispering faces, the bows that feel different today.

“It’s… good,” he murmurs.

We keep walking, the whispers a soft hum around us. “Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods, his voice small. “Yes. I’m fine.”

I glance at him, a teasing glint in my eye. “What about this reaction? On your face?”

He blinks, looking away, his flush deepening. “No, I’m just… people here… they’re thinking we’re… a couple.”

I look at him, a slow, teasing smile spreading across my lips. “I think,” I say, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, “that’s not such a bad idea.”

His head snaps up, golden eyes wide with a fresh wave of shock.

I chuckle softly, giving his hand another gentle squeeze.

“Just kidding. I like seeing you flustered.”

He looks down again, but I don’t miss the way his fingers curl just a little tighter around mine, holding on as we navigate the gauntlet of stares, stepping together into his new, uncharted future.

The meeting room is a tomb of quiet tension. I sit calmly at the head of the table, but my focus is entirely on Angel beside me. He’s a beautiful, frozen statue, eyes fixed on the polished wood in front of him.

The project manager, a man named Mike, can’t seem to look away from him. His gaze is… hungry. Avid. It’s the look of a businessman seeing a potential windfall, but it feels too personal, too covetous as it lingers on Angel’s bowed head, his delicate profile.

I clear my throat, a sharp, fake sound that cracks the silence.

Mike jumps, his eyes snapping to me with a nervous, too-quick smile. “Sir…?”

I stare at him, letting my displeasure simmer just beneath the surface. “This is Angel,” I say, my voice cool and deliberate. “My close friend. And from now on, he is our primary model for the ’Best Feeling’ perfume campaign.”

Mike’s smile turns professional, oily. He looks back at Angel. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Angel.”

Angel doesn’t look up. He gives the barest, most reluctant nod imaginable.

Mike turns back to me, his expression shifting to one of careful concern. “Sir, he’s… truly beautiful. A perfect face. But…” He lets the word hang.

I narrow my eyes. “But?”

He glances down, feigning hesitation, then meets my gaze with a show of professional duty. “Sir, for a launch of this magnitude… we need a famous face. An established name.”

His eyes flick to Angel again, dismissive. “And with all respect, I don’t believe Mr. Angel has any modeling experience.”

Angel seems to shrink further into his chair. I keep my gaze locked on Mike.

“You’re right,” I say, my voice flat. “He hasn’t. But I know he’s perfect for it. And he can do it.”

Mike spreads his hands, the picture of reasonable doubt.

“I don’t doubt his potential, sir! But the market… we need a successful ambassador. Someone who brings their own audience.”

I lean forward slowly, planting my elbows on the table. The movement is subtle, but it shifts the energy in the room entirely. My voice drops, low and final.

“Mr. Mike. There’s been a change to the project concept.”

He blinks, confused. “A change, sir?”

I nod once, slow and deliberate. “Yes. I don’t want a single model campaign anymore. I want a couple’s photoshoot for ’Best Feeling.’ A story. A connection.”

“A… couple’s photoshoot?” he echoes, his brain visibly whirring.

“Yes. Our second model will be Moon Arden.”

Mike’s eyes blow wide. All pretense of professional concern evaporates, replaced by pure, unadulterated excitement.

“Sir! We’re going to work with Mr. Moon Arden? That’s… that’s perfect!”

He’s practically vibrating, already seeing the headlines, the prestige. His gaze swings back to Angel, now with a new, calculating glee.

“This beauty paired with Moon Arden… it’s a perfect match! The contrast, the visual poetry—”

“Mr. Mike.” My voice cuts through his gushing like a blade. I stare at him, dead serious, my expression allowing no misinterpretation.

His smile freezes, then wilts. “I… I’m sorry, sir. I meant… Mr. Angel is, of course, a fitting partner for such a star.”

I don’t acknowledge his backtracking. My eyes drift back to Angel, who is still studying the tabletop as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

I know they’re a good match.

Better than Mike could ever dream.

Because in the story I remember, in the pages of this world’s destiny, they are meant for each other.

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