“So, good night, I guess?” he says, lifting his eyebrows with a small shrug.
“Good morning would be more accurate,” I reply, a hint of a smile slipping through.
“Good morning then.”
He gives me that relaxed smile, and I press my lips together before turning away. I walk toward the garden, feeling his gaze on my back the entire time. Just before disappearing into the bushes, I glance over my shoulder one last time, unable to hide the smile now.
He’s still there. Still watching. Like he’s making sure I get inside.
I slip back into my room and let myself fall onto the bed, covering my face with both hands.
A moment later, I hear the low hum of his car fading down the street, and something about him stays under my skin long after he’s gone.
Kiara
Present
The blood.
He’s looking at me, the drops falling from his fingers, hitting the floor in front of me.
“Please don’t leave me, Kiara. I can explain everything, just don’t leave me.”
I open my eyes to a chandelier straight out of a princess’s bedroom, glittering on the high ceiling above me. I look around and shoot up quickly, my head clear, no pain and no dizziness.
I’m okay.
I feel good.
He must’ve given me some minerals or something.
Adrien. I remember his name.
I shoot out of the bed, my mind suddenly sharp and ready for whatever bullshit I got myself into. I look around and grab the big piece of glass in my hand while studying the bedroom, and without the horrible hangover, finally thinking more clearly.
I need information. I need to find Adrien.
I burst through the bedroom door and—speaking of the devil—there he is on the sofa, legs on the table, a cigarette between two fingers, holding a white controller with both hands.
Is he playing a fucking PlayStation?
I take in the beautiful, gothic-style living room, appreciating the architecture for a split second before getting into survivor mode again and scanning the place for anything useful.
“Hi, Troubles.”
He pauses his game, drags on his cigarette, and spreads his long arms along the backrest of the sofa, his combat boots on the table, lying there like he owns this place.
Well, he probably does.
He watches me curiously as he drags on his cigarette. I just frown at him, gripping the piece of glass tighter.
“Breakfast.” He gestures toward the feast on the table.
There are like twenty boxes of food from different restaurants. My mouth waters instantly.
I’m starving.
Okay. I’ll be good today. Think first, act later. I need to eat, and then I need to investigate.
