Chapter 68: Borrowed Warmth

Angel and I sit in the back of the car, a silence between us that isn’t heavy, but filled with a quiet, shared warmth. I’m looking out the window, watching the cold night blur past—streetlights streaking into golden lines, the city a tapestry of shadow and distant, glowing windows.

But my mind isn’t here. It’s trapped in yesterday.

Yesterday was Mr. David’s surgery.

I wanted to go. I should have been there. But the memory of that night—the kiss, the tears, his cold words, forget it—stole all my courage. I couldn’t face him.

I sent a text, simple and careful: ’How is Mr. David?’

No reply.

Maybe he’s angry. Maybe he’s just… busy, drowning in hospital routines and fear.

Maybe he’s just overwhelmed.

I couldn’t stand the uncertainty, so I did the cowardly, CEO thing: I secretly contacted the head surgeon, Dr. Eric. A discreet inquiry, a generous donation to the cardiac ward ’in appreciation of their excellent care.’

The doctor’s reply was professional, reassuring: ’The procedure was a success. Mr. Hart is stable and recovering well.’

The news was a relief so profound it left me shaky, but it was a hollow victory. I got the update through a back channel, not from him.

I wish things could just go back to how they were before. Before my stupid, greedy heart ruined everything. Before the kiss, before the misunderstanding, when it was just easy companionship and shared worries. Now, there’s this vast, awkward silence between Deniz and me, and I’m terrified of it.

I stare out the window, unblinking, lost in the ghost of a smile he used to give me.

“Zyren?”

“Are you okay?”

Angel’s voice, soft and clear, pulls me back from the edge of my thoughts. I blink, turning to him, and force a soft smile onto my face.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

He studies me for a long moment, his golden eyes searching mine as if he could find the truth written beneath the surface. Then, wordlessly, he looks away, giving me the space he senses I need.

I keep looking at his profile, so serene in the passing streetlights. An idea sparks, a desperate need to do something, to chase away the lingering gloom with something sweet and simple.

“Angel,” I say, my voice a little brighter.

“Do you want to go to a bakery?”

He looks back at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“A bakery…?”

I nod, enthusiasm feeling both foreign and necessary.

“Yes. For cake. We should buy a cake.”

A soft, genuine smile touches his lips. He nods.

I turn to the driver. “Stop at Sweet Bakery.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

I lean back in the seat and close my eyes, but it’s a mistake.

The moment I do, the memories rush in, vivid and painful.

Buying a cake with Deniz. Him carefully examining each flavor, his serious expression breaking into a laugh when I suggested the most outrageous one. Bickering playfully over frosting like we were kids. The way he’d smiled when we finally chose one, a real, unguarded smile just for me.

God.

I’m trying so hard. Throwing myself into work, into Angel’s future, into scheming against Zyke and Moon Arden. I’m filling every second, building a new world brick by brick.

But no matter what I do, or who I’m with, the quiet truth hums beneath it all, a constant, lonely frequency:

I miss him.

So much it feels like a physical sickness.

Angel and I step into the sweet, warm embrace of the bakery. The air is thick with the scent of sugar, butter, and baking bread—a sensory cocoon that momentarily pushes the cold night and my darker thoughts away. Colorful, impossibly perfect pastries gleam under soft lights.

Angel’s eyes widen, taking it all in, a childlike wonder softening his features.

The shopkeeper greets us with a warm smile.

“Good evening, sirs. Which flavor are you looking for?”

I glance at Angel, who is still silently marveling at the galaxy of desserts. I look back at the shopkeeper.

“We’d like to look around first.”

He nods, giving us space.

We walk slowly along the glass displays. I look at the rainbow of options—velvet red velvet, dark chocolate ganache, sunny lemon drizzle.

“Angel, which one do you want?”

He looks at me, a flicker of genuine helplessness in his golden eyes.

“I’m… confused.”

I blink, then a soft, genuine laugh escapes me. The sound feels foreign but good.

“Don’t be confused. We’ll just buy one of everything.”

His eyes widen in alarm. “No!”

“Kidding,” I assure him, my smile lingering. I lean forward, tapping a finger against my chin thoughtfully.

“What about pineapple? Do you like pineapple?”

He leans in beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he peers at the cakes. After a moment, he points a slender finger. “Hmm… what about if we try this one?” It’s a beautiful, pale green cake studded with chopped pistachios.

I nod. “Looks delicious.”

A soft smile touches his lips.

“Yes.”

I turn to call the shopkeeper, but a loud, cheerful voice cuts through the quiet hum of the bakery. I turn.

A little boy, no more than four, is holding his grandmother’s hand, bouncing on his toes and pointing excitedly at a cake with rainbow sprinkles.

“Gamma, dat one! P’ease!”

Angel looks at the child, and a smile so tender it makes my heart ache spreads across his face.

“The baby is so cute,” he murmurs.

I nod. “Yes.” An impulsive, silly idea pops into my head. I look at Angel, a mischievous glint in my eye. “Do you want to squeeze his cheeks?”

Angel looks at me, eyes wide with disbelief. “How could we…?”

I don’t answer. I just take his hand. “Let’s go.” I gently pull him toward the little boy and his grandmother.

Angel whispers, “Zyren… how do we…?”

“Don’t worry,” I whisper back.

We stop in front of them. I offer the elderly woman a respectful, slight bow.

“Good evening.”

Angel follows my lead, bowing his head politely.

I look down at the little boy, who has now hidden halfway behind his grandmother’s legs, peeking out with big, curious eyes.

“Granny,” I say, my voice warm and open. “Would it be alright if we said hello to your grandson? He’s very charming.”

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