Chapter 88: Cute Bunny ♡

Deniz unlocks his apartment door and pushes it open. The warm, familiar scent of clean linen and faint rose greets us.

I follow him inside, a silent, shivering shadow. My clothes are plastered to my skin, soaked through and ice-cold from the snow.

I can feel the meltwater from my silver hair tracing a cold path down the back of my neck.

I look around. This time, the apartment is spotless—no trace of the late-night disarray from before.

“Deniz,” I start, my voice trembling more from the cold than anything else.

He turns, and before I can form another word—

Ah… CHOO!

The sneeze rips out of me, loud and helpless in the quiet space. My cheeks flush instantly with heat.

So much for cool composure.

Deniz’s eyes widen. In a flash, he’s crossing the space between us, his warm hand closing around my icy wrist.

“Look,” he says, his voice laced with a worry that feels like a tangible touch.

“This is the result of your stubbornness. You’re sneezing. You’re freezing. You need to get warm. Now.”

I just look at him, chastised, and let him lead me further inside like a scolded, soaking puppy.

The last of my triumphant victory melts away, leaving only the reality of my chattering teeth and his clear, deep concern.

“Sit,” he commands, gentle but firm.

I obey, sinking onto the couch. The fabric is soft, but I’m too cold to feel it properly.

He disappears and returns a moment later with a thick, soft towel.

Then, he starts drying my hair.

His movements are methodical, careful, yet there’s an intensity to them. The rough-soft texture of the towel, the firm pressure of his hands through it… I go perfectly still, my eyes fixed on the space just past his shoulder.

His scent—clean rose and the warmth of his skin—wraps around me more effectively than any towel. He moves to my face, dabbing gently at my cheeks, my forehead, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“First, a warm shower,” he says, his voice a low murmur close to my ear.

“Change out of these wet clothes. I’ll give you something warm to wear.”

A gentle pat with the towel. “After your shower, I’ll give you something for the chills. We can’t have you getting sick.”

I listen, but the words are just sounds. My entire attention is funneled into him. The way his dark black eyes flicker with concern, the set of his jaw, the careful, almost reverent way he’s trying to dry me off.

I nod dumbly, my gaze tracing the line of his throat.

Deniz’s eyes shift, meeting my stare.

“Zyren. Are you listening?”

I blink. “Okay.”

He lets out a soft breath, then pulls back. He shrugs off his own jacket, the muscles of his back shifting under his thin shirt, and rolls up his sleeves with brisk, practical motions.

He heads for the small open kitchen. “I’ll make you something warm to drink,” he says, his back to me as he fills a kettle.

I’m still staring. The towel sits forgotten on my head. The memory of his warm hands on my face lingers, a brand.

It feels so good.

“Zyren.” He turns, catching me again. His expression is a mix of exasperation and that deep, undeniable care.

“Go. Get fresh.”

I stand up, nodding once more. A soft, secret smile touches my lips as I walk toward the bathroom.

For him, I think, I can do anything.

Sometimes, the hidden villain the world expects—Zyren Kael—wakes up in the depths of my soul. That part whispers to simply take.

To claim this caring, beautiful boy who worries over me with towels and tea, to make him mine whether he wishes it or not. To own the concern in his eyes.

But I am Neon.

And I am not a villain.

So I will do something far more dangerous, far more permanent.

I won’t seize him.

I will make him fall in love with me. So utterly, so completely, that he gives himself to me freely.

No matter what I have to do. No matter how many sneezes I have to fake, or how many snowy nights I have to engineer.

This is my new plot. And it’s the only one that matters.

The warm shower melts the last of the street’s chill from my bones. I change into the clothes Deniz left for me—soft, clean, and smelling faintly of his detergent.

Then I look in the mirror.

And stare.

It’s a hoodie. A soft, grey hoodie. But the hood… the hood is shaped with two long, floppy pink ears.

A bunny.

Last time, it was head-to-toe pink pajamas covered in tiny stars.

This time… this.

A disbelieving laugh gets trapped in my throat.

I am Zyren Kael. I am an Alpha. I am supposed to be a villain who commands fear, not… not this.

Unbelievable.

A flare of mock indignation sparks, hot and bright. I yank the bathroom door open and step out, the plush fabric of the ridiculous hoodie swallowing my frame.

Deniz is still in the kitchen, his back to me, focused on stirring something in a pot.

The warm, savory scent of dinner and the sharper note of herbal tea fill the small apartment.

I march over, the fluffy ears on my hood bouncing with each step. My cheeks, already warm from the shower, are burning with a different heat now.

“Deniz,” I say, my voice a low, affronted rumble.

“What. Is. This?”

He turns, ladle in hand. His eyes travel over me—from the damp silver hair clinging to my forehead, down the absurd bunny-covered front, to my bare toes peeking from borrowed sweatpants.

A slow, soft smile spreads across his lips, reaching his dark eyes and lighting them with pure fondness.

“I was right,” he says, his voice warm with satisfaction.

“It’s perfectly your size.”

I glare, crossing my arms, which only makes the bunny ears flop forward.

“Don’t you have anything else? Anything… normal? Alpha-like?”

He sets the ladle down and walks over to me. Before I can protest, he reaches up and pulls the hood gently over my head, settling it in place.

His fingers brush my forehead, adjusting a stray lock of hair with a tenderness that steals my breath. The long, pink ears now frame my face.

“There,” he murmurs, his gaze soft.

“You look cute.”

A dramatic, furious pout twists my lips.

“But I’m an Alpha,” I grumble, the protest weak even to my own ears.

He just laughs softly, a warm, low sound. Then he reaches out and squeezes both my cheeks gently between his thumb and forefinger, squishing my pout.

“There’s no one here to see but me,” he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“And I know exactly what you are.”

I stare up at him, all my faux-anger evaporating under the warmth of his touch and his gaze.

My cheeks flush a deep, undeniable scarlet. The blush spreads, hot and helpless, from my face down my neck.

Oh.

The thought comes, quiet and absolute, disarming me completely.

If my future wifey wants me to look cute… then I’ll look cute.

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