"Good evening, my Luna," Lance greeted as soon as she opened the door to her room.
Fiore met his gaze, and for a moment, she noticed how his eyes lingered on her, taking in every detail as if he were admiring a piece of art.
She wasn't dressed in anything extravagant, her hair was swept up into a messy bun, and she wore a simple pair of jeans and a soft, fitted sweater that hugged her curves just enough to be flattering without trying too hard. It was as casual as it gets, and yet, the way Lance looked at her made it feel like she was draped in something far more elegant.
And she didn’t like what it made her feel—her heart fluttered, betraying the indifference she tried to maintain. She straightened her posture, trying to shake off the warmth that crept up her neck. "What?" she asked,
