CHAPTER 72: CHAPTER 72: THE BOUQUET

Selene’s POV~

The sharp ring of the doorbell pulled me out of sleep like a blade dragging across silk. My head felt heavy, as though the weight of the bond still pressed me down. A groan slipped past my lips as I rolled from bed, bare feet dragging across the floorboards.

Sara wasn’t here; she had left for her own home earlier, so the silence of the house pressed against me, thick and suffocating. I rubbed at my eyes, still half lost in dreams, and shuffled toward the door.

Already impatient from being disturbed, I could hardly get any good sleep. The thing I hated most was when someone woke me up—I rather preferred waking up naturally.

Another impatient ring.

"I’m coming..." I mumbled, more to myself than to whoever waited outside.

The lock clicked under my hand, and the door creaked open.

And a wall of color filled my vision. Roses. Carnations. Lilies. A bouquet so large it nearly swallowed me whole. My sleepy mind blinked at the absurdity of it—petals brushing my nose, the faint dampness of rain clinging to the stems.

Before I could gather my wits, a low voice, smooth and faintly edged, murmured from behind the flowers.

"Good morning, dear. Are you awake yet?"

Recognition stirred. My lips curved before my mind caught up. "Why are you giving me a bouquet?"

Still, I took it. My fingers curled around the stems as though accepting were instinct. I placed the flowers on the table, their scent immediately filling the room.

When I turned back, he was already inside. Kieran.

Kieran was my friend, whom I had met a month ago. He is human, but I believe he has more capabilities than most humans. The man had become a very good friend of mine.

When I first met him, we didn’t talk much, but as time passed, we kept encountering each other, and I never realized when he became so close to me. Most of the information we managed to gather was thanks to him.

He is a businessman with deep connections across all races, and with his help, Sara and I were able to obtain many useful pieces of information.

He always moved like that—quiet, certain, as though the space belonged to him the moment he stepped into it. His hair was damp from the rain, dark strands clinging to his forehead.

A black mask covered the upper half of his face, but nothing could disguise the sharpness of his gaze. For a heartbeat, it pinned me in place before he shifted it away, as if he hadn’t been looking at me at all.

He wore a mask because half of his face bore a terrifying scar from fire. Yet it did nothing to lessen his beauty—for beauty was never just in the face but in one’s actions.

"I thought," he said, his voice a deep hum that sank into the silence, "flowers might suit you better than the loneliness you keep company with."

I laughed under my breath, shaking my head. "You’re ridiculous." I already knew Sara must have told him that I was alone here so he could come and accompany me. I don’t mind loneliness at all, but I also don’t mind his company. After all, he is a good man.

He only smiled faintly at my answer, almost as if he hadn’t expected an answer. Then, with a restrained motion, he reached for my hand. His grip was firm, not forceful, and he lifted my fingers to his lips.

"Good morning, beauty," he said softly again, as though testing the words on his tongue.

My chest tightened at the intensity in his tone, though when I glanced at him, his expression was unreadable...eyes lowered, mask shadowing most of his face. Perhaps I had imagined it.

"Sit down," I said quickly, pulling my hand back. "I’ll make something simple for breakfast." I tried to shove him away. I didn’t know why, but whenever he was close, my heart felt ready to leap out of my chest.

He saw nothing wrong with kissing someone’s hand like that—in his mind, it was pretty common, as most human men did when they wished to appreciate beauty.

He obeyed without protest, though I felt his presence even when he wasn’t speaking. Each time I looked back, his gaze seemed to be elsewhere—on the table, on the rain streaking the window, on the steam from the pan. I told myself that was just who he was: a man of few words, distant and watchful.

And yet, when I wasn’t looking, I felt it—that quiet pressure against my back, as though unseen eyes lingered on me too long.

The scrape of a chair made me stiffen. He moved closer, slow enough that I noticed only when the warmth of his nearness brushed my shoulder.

"You shouldn’t be alone," he said quietly, as though it wasn’t advice but fact.

"I’m fine," I answered, focusing on the eggs.

A short, humorless sound slipped from him. "You always say that."

I ignored him, plating the food and setting it on the table. "Eat. Then go. You’re dripping water all over the floor."

He sat again, offering no protest, no argument. Only silence.

I ate quickly, avoiding his gaze, but I could feel it brushing against me in small, fleeting touches—never caught when I looked up, always shifted aside.

He said little, only answering when I spoke, his voice low and steady, carrying more weight in three words than most men managed in dozens.

I fear that if he stays here any longer, I might lose my mind. I don’t know why, but his presence feels intoxicating to me. Whenever I am close to him, I find myself slipping, losing control.

Is it normal for a girl like me? I don’t think so. I have already tasted betrayal and agony more than once, and I am definitely not ready for another drama. And still... my mate bond is alive. How could I possibly accept anyone else?

It must be because of Sara—how she always teases me about him. Because of that, I actually started looking at him with that kind of gaze.

And whenever he is near me, all I want is to throw myself into his arms and stay there. Ahh! Maybe I am nothing more than a starving ghost, craving love from the man I never received it from—my mate.

At the thought of my mate, my heart always clenches painfully.

And maybe, just maybe, my heart is searching for love in someone else... and it has directed itself toward him. Because he was human, and with him, I felt truly safe—safer than with any other race.