Chapter 71: Is Angel… Trying To Kiss Me?

Angel is still walking, his hand a steady, cool anchor in mine. I follow lazily, in silence, letting him pull me through the maze of the mansion.

My eyes drift over the walls, the high ceilings, the darkened portraits.

Since I opened my eyes in this body, I’ve barely seen this place. Just Zyren’s room, the office, the main halls.

I never imagined a mansion this cold could hold secrets like this.

He stops at an old, heavy-looking door and pushes it open. It groans softly. Inside, it’s not a room—it’s a cavern. Dark, smelling of old paper and forgotten years.

A library…?

“Angel,” I murmur, “what is this place?”

“The mansion’s old library,” he says, his voice a soft echo in the vast dark.

“This side isn’t used anymore.”

My eyes try to adjust, scanning the towering, shadowy shelves. Angel lights a single candle, the flame dancing in his hand, and picks up a small brass holder.

“Let’s go.”

We walk deeper, past continents of silent books. Finally, he stops before a massive, floor-to-ceiling glass wall.

Or is it… a roof? He turns to me, his face beautiful and strange in the flickering candlelight.

“Do you remember?” he asks.

I look around. It’s just dark, ancient beauty.

“No,” I answer honestly, blinking.

“Why?”

He just smiles. Then, before I can ask more, he leans forward and blows out the candle.

Darkness. Then—

“Angel, what are you—?”

My words die. My eyes widen.

The world transforms.

Moonlight, pure and liquid silver, pours through the enormous glass ceiling above us. It cascades down, drenching us, the forgotten furniture, the dusty floors, in a breathtaking, ethereal glow.

It’s like standing inside a diamond. I can only stare, breath caught in my throat.

God. I never knew a place like this existed here.

“How is it?” Angel’s voice is soft beside me.

“It’s… beautiful,” I whisper, the word utterly inadequate.

He’s quiet for a moment, his own face tilted up to the celestial light.

“When you were little,” he begins, his voice distant with memory, “one day, you suddenly vanished. The whole mansion was in an uproar. Every servant searched everywhere. They thought you’d been kidnapped.”

A faint, fond smile touches his lips. “But I was the one who found you. After so many hours, so much fear… I finally found you. Right here. In this exact spot.”

I stare at him. He’s not looking at me; he’s watching the moon, lost in the past.

“You were sleeping. Peacefully, right here in the moonlight. Your pale skin was glowing. Your silver hair was spilled around your tiny face… you looked so adorable. I’d been so worried, so tired. But when I saw you there, safe and dreaming… all of it just melted away.”

I can’t look away from him.

He remembers every single moment. Every fragile piece of a childhood that wasn’t even mine.

Angel finally looks at me. “Zyren, when you woke up and I asked you why you were sleeping here… do you know what you said?”

A soft smile finds my lips. “What?”

His eyes crinkle. “You pouted. Dramatically. And you blinked those big, innocent eyes up at me and said, ’Angel, I was playing here. I don’t remember when I fell asleep.’”

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound full of pure, old affection.

“I laughed so hard. Your innocence was… everything.”

I stare at him, not blinking, caught in the ghost of a laughter that belonged to another boy.

He laughs again, remembering, then blinks and looks at me.

“What is it?”

I smile softly. “I was just thinking… why weren’t you angry with me that time?”

“Why would I be angry?”

“Because I made you worry. I made you tired.”

He stares at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reaches out. His hands come up and gently, so gently, squeeze my cheeks. I flinch, eyes widening at the sudden, tender contact.

He smiles, a warm, sun-breaking-through-clouds kind of smile. “How could I ever be angry? You were so adorable when you were little.”

The warmth from his hands seems to seep straight into my chest, melting the cold, hollow numbness that had settled there. I smile back, soft and real.

His hands are still on my face. “What about now?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper in the moonlit silence.

“What do you mean?”

“Now. How do I look now?”

Angel’s gaze holds mine. I watch, fascinated, as a delicate blush begins to bloom across his own cheeks. He tries to pull his hands back, but I catch his wrists, holding him gently.

“Tell me,” I urge, my smile turning a little shameless.

He looks away, his blush deepening. “You’re… still adorable. And cute.”

I can’t help it. I grin. “That’s not fair.”

He glances back, confused, shy.

I free his hands, laughing softly. “Just kidding. I was hoping you’d call me handsome.”

He blinks, looking adorably flustered.

I turn and walk a few steps, sinking down to sit on a moon-dusted rug. “Let’s just sit here for a while,” I say, looking up at the magnificent glass sky.

“It’s really… relaxing.”

And for the first time all night, I actually mean it.

Angel and I sit in the pooling moonlight, a silence between us that isn’t empty, but full. Full of silver light, of dust motes dancing like tiny stars, of the ghost of a little boy’s laughter.

I look at him. His profile is turned up toward the glass roof, but I can see the delicate flush still painting his cheeks, warmer than the moon’s cool glow.

“Angel,” I say softly.

“What are you thinking?”

He turns his head, his golden eyes meeting mine.

“I’m just…..”

He looks down, his fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the dusty floor.

“I’m just… nervous. For tomorrow.”

His voice is a small, vulnerable thing in the vast, quiet space.

“I’m afraid of the cameras. Of all those people looking.”

I smile, a soft, sure curve of my lips. I reach out, my hands coming up to cradle his face, turning him gently back to me. His skin is warm under my palms.

“Don’t be afraid,” I murmur, my voice low and steady, meant only for him in our secret, moonlit world.

“You can do this. And whenever you feel nervous, or lost, or like the lights are too bright…” I lean in a little closer, ensuring our eyes are locked, that he sees nothing but my certainty.

“Just look at me.”

I hold his gaze, letting my own steadiness flow into him through the connection.

“Like this,” I breathe, my voice a hushed promise.

He stares into my eyes, his own wide, trusting, and full of a fear that has nothing to do with cameras anymore.

My voice drops to a whisper, meant only for him.

“Angel, you don’t need to be scared of anyone. I’m always here to take care of you.”

He stares, his breath hitching softly. Then—, slowly, his hand comes up.

His fingers wrap around my wrist, not to pull my hand away, but to hold it there, against his cheek.

His touch is tentative, warm.

Our faces are so close I can feel the soft puff of his breath.

He leans closer.

My eyes widen.

His lips are a breath away from mine—a hair’s breadth, a trembling possibility hanging in the moon-dusted air.

Before they can touch, I pull back. Just an inch.

A reflex of pure, dizzying shock.

Angel freezes. He looks at me, his expression shattering into hesitation, into sudden, horrible uncertainty.

He looks down instantly, his whole face flooding with a deep, mortified crimson.

My heart is a wild, frantic drum against my ribs, so loud I’m sure he can hear it in the silence.

Is Angel… trying to kiss me?

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