Chapter 78: Handsome Guest

I stare at the grand, ornate ceiling, my mind a curious, tangled web.

Last night… it’s a soft, warm blur of conversation and Angel’s gentle hands patting my head until sleep pulled us both under.

And now he’s here. Still asleep. His face is a picture of perfect peace, resting softly on my chest. I glance down, not daring to move. I don’t want to shatter this fragile calm.

He must have fallen asleep right here while comforting me.

The thought makes something in my chest ache sweetly.

My eyes trace the relaxed lines of his face. His breathing is slow, even. A soft smile spreads unbidden across my lips.

Slowly, carefully, I lift a hand and brush a few stray strands of golden hair back from his temple.

He sleeps like someone who hasn’t known real rest in a long time. I won’t be the one to steal it from him.

But my own body is betraying me. The air in the room is thick. His strawberry scent—always sweet—is potent in the closeness of sleep.

And my own pheromones, the light peach blossom scent I can’t fully control, are answering, swirling and strengthening in the space between us.

Neon, calm down. Just… calm down.

I try to steady my mind, but my biology is on a different page. I take a slow, deep breath, my free hand rubbing my temple.

Get a grip.

Then, Angel moves. A soft, sleepy shift. His arms, which had been loose around me, tighten. His grip becomes firm, possessive, like he’s clinging to a cherished teddy bear in a dream.

Ahh, Angel…

The pressure is sweet, but… “I can’t breathe,” I whisper on a choked laugh.

He nuzzles his face deeper into my chest, a soft, contented sigh escaping him. Heat erupts up my neck, flooding my face.

My heart kicks into a frantic, galloping rhythm.

Should I wake him?

But I look at his face again—utterly peaceful, lips slightly parted, long lashes resting on his cheeks—and I can’t do it. I can’t be the one to break this spell.

I shift my gaze back to the ceiling, resigning myself to waiting.

Maybe it’s a good thing. Let him wake on his own. Let this quiet moment stretch as long as it can.

Then—

A sharp, intrusive sound shatters the peaceful morning silence.

A knock at the door.

Angel flinches violently at the sudden noise. His golden eyes fly open, blinking away sleep. Then they focus. On me. On our position.

On the fact that he is wrapped around me in my bed.

His face transforms from sleepy softness to pure, unadulterated shock. Then, a brilliant, scarlet embarrassment floods his cheeks.

He doesn’t remember. He has no idea how he ended up here.

He scrambles back as if burned, putting a foot of space between us on the bed.

“I’m… sor… sorry…” he stammers, his voice rough with sleep and panic.

His beautiful hair is a wild, golden halo of disarray.

I sit up slowly, trying to project a calm I don’t fully feel.

“Why are you apologizing?” I ask, my voice gentle.

His eyes are locked on the rumpled sheets, unable to meet mine.

I smile softly. “Shouldn’t you say ’good morning’ instead of ’sorry’?”

He risks a slow, hesitant glance upward. “I swear… I don’t remember when I… fell…”

I cut him off smoothly. “It’s okay. Last night, we were both exhausted. It was just a coincidence you fell asleep here. Just calm down. You don’t need to be sorry.”

He looks down again, the blush on his cheeks a permanent, adorable fixture. The shyness is so palpable it’s almost a scent of its own.

The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

“Come in,” I call, my voice shifting to something more formal.

The door opens. A servant steps in, her eyes immediately taking in the scene—the two of us, in one bed, under one blanket.

Surprise flickers in her gaze for a microsecond before she expertly schools her expression and looks down.

“Young Master,” she says, her voice respectful. “A guest is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Who is it?”

She hesitates. “From his appearance… he is very handsome, Young Master.”

The odd, pointed description hangs in the air. I almost laugh.

“Okay. I’ll be down shortly.”

She nods, a study in trained deference, and slips out, sealing the door behind her with a soft, definitive click.

I look back at Angel, who seems to be trying to fold himself into the mattress from embarrassment. I smile.

“Angel,” I say softly.

He slowly looks up at me, his golden eyes wide.

“Are you still sleepy?”

He shakes his head slowly, the motion so innocent and childlike it makes my heart squeeze.

“If you want to sleep more, you can. You have the photoshoot this evening.”

“No,” he whispers, his voice firming with a quiet resolve. “I want to go with you.”

I blink, surprised, then feel a bright, genuine smile break across my face.

“Okay then. Go freshen up. I’ll go attend to our… handsome guest.”

He nods, a small, determined dip of his chin, and I’m left watching as he slips off the bed—a beautiful, flustered mess of golden hair and lingering strawberry sweetness—heading to make himself presentable.

I walk down the stairs, my silver hair a soft, sleep-tousled mess, still wrapped in the comfort of my night clothes.

A soft, private smile lingers on my lips, the ghost of Angel’s shy, flustered face and the sweet, clinging scent of strawberries still wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

Servants bow as I pass, their greetings a soft murmur. I barely notice.

“Where is our guest?” I ask, my voice still soft from the morning’s warmth.

“In the main living room, Young Master”

Curiosity, light and harmless, flutters in my chest.

Who’s come to see me so early?

I reach the heavy, ornate doors of the living room. A servant steps forward to open them for me.

I step inside, the morning light streaming through the tall windows, painting the grand room in gold.

My gaze sweeps over the room, lands on the figure sitting casually on one of the opulent couches, one leg crossed over the other, sipping a cup of tea as if he owns the place.

My body freezes. The soft smile on my face shatters, vanishing completely.

Shock, cold and sharp, douses the warm, morning-after glow.

What… is HE doing here?

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