“We’re with you, Avi. If one day your secret blows up, we’ll stand by you and shut everyone up,” Autumn promises.
“If needed, I’ll kill people for you,” Lyn adds with a grin.
“Do you know how?” Wen asks.
Lyn nods. “Dad taught me how to kill. I’ve never had to use it, but I’d love to, especially if Matleon says something to you. That’d be the perfect excuse to spill his brains out.” A small grin tugs at the corner of her mouth.
Everyone laughs.
“Why so much love for Leo?” Autumn asks.
“Well, he deserves this kind of love,” Lyn says, rolling her eyes.
He broke her heart, and now, ask me how possessive he is about her. He almost killed me. I tell them, recounting yesterday’s story.
“Why are these boys so stupid?” Wen snorts. “I just wish I’d meet someone with his brain in his head.”
“That would be boring, Wen. Why don’t you wish for a psychopath? It’ll be easier to fulfill,” Autumn says.
We laugh.
“How about you tell us about your stay with Zender Mikhailov instead?” Wen teases.
She scoffs. “I have nothing to tell about that playboy.”
Lyn chimes in, laughing. “I always told everyone that Kaz is far better than Zender when it comes to girls, but no one ever believed me.”
“Really, Kaz is god-tier compared to Zender,” Autumn agrees with a firm nod. “Mom and Dad think Zender is like Uncle Ruslan, and I don’t think anything could shake that belief. He’s a master manipulator, perfect at wearing an innocent face. Don’t even get me started on his fake serious nodding, he never actually takes anything seriously.”
“Geez, how do you even manage living in his house with that much annoyance?” Lyn asks.
“Ask my parents. They think it’s safe that way,” she groans.
We chuckle.
chapter 26
Avira
I had no idea how much would change after I announced I was marrying Roxion in a week. That was just two days ago, and now the guest apartments on the two floors below this penthouse are buzzing with cleaning and preparations because our family will be arriving the day after tomorrow. Wen already came yesterday morning, and today she and Lyn spent the whole day with my wedding planner debating the color and type of flowers for the venue. After last night’s marathon movie session, we finally decided to give ourselves some sleeptonight.
Wen has taken the room downstairs, and Lyn refused to stay in Leo’s house, so she went back to her own apartment.
I’m lying flat on my back, staring at the off-white ceiling. It feels real now, like I’m actually getting married. And the feeling is far from good when the person waiting for me at the other end of the aisle isn’t Zoan.
I let out a sigh and close my eyes. The last time I saw him was at that breakfast table. Since then, he’s vanished from sight, from this house, from me. I even checked last night, after Wen and Lyn finally passed out at four in the morning, but his room was cold and empty.
These days, I start feeling Zoan withdrawal symptoms if I don’t see him for more than twenty-four hours. I could just video call him, but I’ve sworn to myself I’ll throw tantrums this time. Pretend to stay mad at him, at least while I’m away. Because I know myself too well, once I see him again, I’ll crawl right back into Zoan’s puppy mode.
Sleep tugs at me, pulling me under with my opening and closing thoughts about that man. But consciousness resurfaces like a rippling tide when I hear the faint sound of my door unlocking. Wait, how could it open? I remember locking it.
A familiar fragrance seeps into the room, subtle yet unmistakable. Footsteps follow, measured, steady, unhurried, coming closer with each soundless step. Hemust have the key. Of course he does. It’s not even surprising anymore.
He stops at the side of my bed; I can feel his presence looming over me, his gaze a weight against my skin. I force my breathing to stay slow and even, needing to know what he’ll do.
Then he leans closer, and the back of his finger traces the outline of my cheek in a featherlight caress. The touch disappears almost before I can feel it. His lips press briefly, softly, against my forehead, then he moves away. But he doesn’t leave.
The faint rustle of movement dies into silence. He doesn’t climb into the bed. He doesn’t retreat. Where is he? I hate his noiseless movements. Even ghosts, I’m sure, make more sound than this man. I guess that’s why they call him the Phantom.
