Thick.
Charged.
Full of the scent of burning sugar—and everything he had already fucked up.
Chapter 15: Sylvie
This dragon-man should come with a manual. A thick one. Obviously.
Warning: hoarding included as standard. If attachment mode has been activated by another user—do not proceed. Evacuate immediately. Run.
Rhavor had told her himself. When he attached, it was for life.
He hadn’t sugarcoated it, either. He’d looked her straight in the eye and dropped that truth like a life sentence—heavy, final, and zero percent negotiable. And now the ex-fiancée was back in town, haunting his driveway like a bad omen.
But Sylvie couldn’t shake the look in his eyes when she’d tried to end their chapter. It was like watching the lights go out in a skyscraper. Like she’d reached into his chest and flipped his soul to off.
It was all she could think about. Seeing a man like Rhavor actually tremble was… a lot.
Keep busy,she reminded herself.Busy hands don’t reach for things they can’t have.
Like dragon-men who break your heart by existing.
Thankfully, she had plenty of distractions.The shop was in the final stages of renovation—which was basically just chaos wearing a “Progress” T-shirt. Between hauling furniture and arguing with Julian about the undertones of “Linen White,” she had little space left to dwell on the way Rhavor’s scent lingered in her mind—or the memory of his wide, strong golden arms.
They’d repainted the front of the house, light linen color lifting the entire space. Once she’d stripped away the fake flower garlands and tragic canvas art, the wooden counter revealed a stunning oak surface carved with intricate vines, leaves, and curling flames.
It anchored the room. It felt fresh, high-end, and full of the charm she’d moved here for.
They were dragging one of the bulky couches toward the door when Julian paused mid-heave, wiping a smudge of paint from his cheek.
“What about him?” Julian asked.
“Who?” she snapped, far too fast. Her mind leaped straight to Rhavor. A traitorous, liquid heat flickered in her gut.Stop being pathetic, Sylvie. He isn’t the only ‘him’ in the world.
Julian pointed toward the corner. Fred the unicorn stood there in silent, dusty-wood judgment.
“I’m getting rid of it,” she said firmly.
Julian hesitated, his brow furrowing. “You know unicorns are sacred in elvish culture, right?”
Sylvie scoffed. “He might be sacred to the elves, Julian, but he’s just clutter to me.”
“He can be charmed. Bring luck and good fortune.”
Sylvie’s nose wrinkled. If Fred had brought her anything so far, it was an obnoxious, demanding, infuriatingly hot dragon-man with a messy past and a former fiancée who’d resurfaced like a surprise tax audit. If that was “luck,” she’d officially hit her quota. She’d had quite enough of it.
“He’s taking up seating space,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “He’s going.”
Julian studied her a second too long, his eyes narrowing. He almost whispered, “I have an idea.”
“That sentence is usually the opening credits to a disaster,” Sylvie muttered.
“Trust me.”
“Also not reassuring.”
He narrowed his eyes further, and she caved with a huff and capitulated. “Fine. You get one chance. Make him useful, or he’s gone.”
