Chapter 8
1244 Words
Lyssara stepped out from the dressing area, still tugging the hem of the dress down like she didn’t trust it to stay where it was.
I was already watching her.
Leaning slightly against the mirror.
Smiling.
Not even trying to hide it.
She noticed immediately.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I tilted my head slowly, letting my gaze run over her again before answering. “I’m just thinking.”
“That tone already sounds suspicious.”
A soft laugh slipped out of me. “You look… decent.”
“Decent?” she repeated.
“Mm,” I hummed. “Like someone’s good girl. Someone’s church daughter.”
Her brows pulled together. “Excuse me?”
I pushed myself off the mirror and walked closer, lowering my voice just a little. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were innocent.”
She stared at me.
Then scoffed. “Zarelle, please.”
I leaned in slightly, my voice softer, more pointed. “But we both know that’s not true.”
She hit my arm immediately. “You’re mad.”
I laughed under my breath. “I know you too well.”
“And I know you,” she fired back, folding her arms. “So don’t even start.”
I reached out, adjusting the strap of her dress without asking.
She slapped my hand away. “Stop touching it. You’ll tear it.”
“You’re dramatic,” I muttered, fixing it anyway.
“And you’re annoying.”
“And you still look like you’re going to a prayer meeting.”
“Zarelle—”
“No,” I cut in, straightening the dress properly this time. “We’re going out. You need to look like it.”
She exhaled sharply, already tired of me. “You and your definition of ‘looking good’ is always borderline indecent.”
I gasped softly, placing a hand on my chest. “That is called confidence.”
“That is called stress,” she corrected.
I rolled my eyes, but a small smile stayed on my lips. “Whatever. You’re still wearing it.”
She shook her head, muttering something under her breath, but she didn’t argue again.
Which meant she had already given in.
“Good,” I said softly, grabbing my bag. “Let’s go before you change your mind.”
We stepped out together, still adjusting small things—hair, attitude, composure.
Everything felt normal.
Easy.
Until we reached the stairs.
And stopped.
He was there.
Vaelor.
Standing at the bottom like he had been there the entire time.
Waiting.
Still.
Composed in a way that didn’t look forced—it just was.
My steps slowed without permission.
Then stopped.
Lyssara bumped into me lightly. “Why did you—”
She saw him.
And went quiet.
But I didn’t say anything.
Because for a second…
I wasn’t thinking clearly.
My eyes moved over him before I could stop myself.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Taking him in like I hadn’t already done it before.
The fit of his shirt.
The way it sat against his chest.
The controlled rise and fall of his breathing.
The stillness in him… like nothing about him was accidental.
God…
My thoughts slipped.
Uninvited.
Unfiltered.
He looks even better like this…
“Zarelle.”
Lyssara nudged me sharply.
I blinked.
“What?”
“You’re doing it again,” she whispered.
I straightened immediately, adjusting my expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She gave me a look that said she absolutely did not believe me.
“Move,” I muttered, starting down the stairs again.
This time, I forced myself not to look at him too long.
Forced.
When we got to the last step, I shifted my bag slightly and called,
“Vaelor.”
He moved instantly.
“Yes, Miss.”
I held out my bag.
He took it without hesitation.
Smooth. Quiet. Efficient.
Then stepped aside.
Making space for us.
We walked past him.
But I felt it.
That awareness.
That presence.
Too close.
Too steady.
Too… controlled.
The moment we stepped outside—
Lyssara’s elbow hit my side.
Hard.
“What was that?” she whispered.
I didn’t even look at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t do that,” she said. “You were gone.”
“I was not.”
“You were literally staring at him like—”
“Lower your voice,” I snapped under my breath.
She leaned closer anyway. “You didn’t even try to hide it.”
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward before she could continue.
“Walk,” I said.
She laughed quietly. “You’re already finished.”
“Shut up.”
The car was waiting.
Vaelor stepped ahead and opened the back door.
We got in.
He closed it, then walked around and got into the driver’s seat.
For a second, silence.
Then I spoke.
“How about my dad?”
“He has left, Miss,” he replied.
“Okay.”
A pause.
Then he asked, calm and respectful, “Where would you like to go?”
I leaned back, crossing my legs slowly.
Then tilted my head slightly.
“Are you from this town?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Good,” I said quietly. “Then take us somewhere loud.”
A small pause.
“Somewhere alive.”
Another beat.
“Somewhere that can actually wake someone up.”
I caught it.
That small shift.
Barely there.
But there.
Then the engine started.
Lyssara leaned toward me immediately.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “This man—”
“Behave,” I muttered.
“Did you see his chest?”
“Lyssara—”
“The way it moves when he breathes..”
“Control yourself.”
She turned to me slowly, smirking. “Why? You’re not controlling yourself.”
I looked at her.
Cold.
“Don’t test me.”
She laughed.
The car stopped after a few minutes.
Music was already spilling into the street.
Lights flashing.
People everywhere.
Exactly what I wanted.
Vaelor stepped out and came to my side first.
Opened the door.
Held out his hand.
I took it.
Of course I did.
He helped me out.
Steady.
Then Lyssara stepped out.
He did the same.
But she didn’t move immediately.
She paused.
Looked at him.
Really looked.
Then said, casually, “You’re good at your job.”
A beat.
Then she added, “And you’re very attractive.”
My expression dropped instantly.
“Lyssara.”
Before she could say anything else, I grabbed her arm and pulled her away.
“Stay away from him,” I muttered under my breath.
She burst into quiet laughter.
“Did you just warn me?”
“Six feet,” I said. “Maintain it.”
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m serious.”
She leaned closer, still laughing. “You like him.”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
We walked toward the entrance.
The noise getting louder.
The night opening up around us.
Behind us—
Vaelor followed.
Silent.
Steady.
Present.
And I could feel it again.
That same pull.
That same tension sitting low in my chest.
Like something had already started…
And whether I admitted it or not..
I was already too aware of him.
Too aware of myself.
Too aware of the line…
I was thinking about crossing.
- Writer
