Chapter 15 – Enya
The room Cyril gave me is bigger than my entire apartment. High ceilings, wood furniture, and crisp white sheets that smell like lavender. It should feel comforting. Safe. But all it does is echo with everything I don’t want to admit.
I sit on the edge of the bed, fingers clenched around my phone like it might bite me. The snow outside taps softly against the window, more whisper than threat. The storm is dying down, but in my chest? It’s just getting started. The kiss I shared with Cryil hasn’t left my mind, and I know there’s something that needs to be done.
Kai’s contact glows on the screen. Moonlight.
He used to call me sunlight, and I thought it was cute. He said I lit up his day. So, I saved his contact as Moonlight, said it was only fair to return the favor. It was a joke at first. Now? It feels like a fucking curse.
I tap the button.
It rings once.
Twice.
My breath is stuck somewhere in my throat.
He picks up.
“Sunshine.” His voice slides through the speaker, warm and familiar and so goddamn careful it makes my skin crawl. “Didn’t expect to hear from you this late.”
When I hear his voice, every word I had planned to say disappears like smoke. My hand shakes. I press it to my chest, willing myself to just say it.
“Sunshine?” he says again, his voice sharpening just a little. “Is everything okay?”
“I just…I needed to talk,” I say, but it barely comes out. Like it’s caught in a net of everything I’m afraid to feel.
A pause. Then a soft chuckle, like he’s trying to defuse whatever he thinks this is. “Of course. I’ve been meaning to call you all day. Work’s been insane. I miss you.”
I swallow. Hard. “Kai….”
He goes quiet.
“I think….” I take a breath. “I think we should take a break.”
The pause this time is longer.
Then, the laugh comes again, but it’s strained now. “Wait. What? Where is this coming from?”
His voice isn’t soft anymore. It’s tight. Cracking at the edges.
“We’ve been…distant. Disconnected. It’s not working anymore.”
“Disconnected?” he repeats, and now it’s got teeth. “Enya, if something’s wrong, just tell me. We can fix it. We always fix things.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” I lie. “I just…I need space.”
“No,” he snaps. The charm is gone. “No, no—this isn’t you. You never shut people out. What’s really going on? Did something happen?”
I blink fast, trying to hold it together, but my throat burns.
“I can’t do this anymore, Kai.”
I can hear him shifting.
“You’re not making sense,” he says quickly, almost frantic. “Where are you? Enya, just tell me where you are. I’ll come to you. We’ll figure this out.”
His voice is unraveling. It’s not desperation; it’s control trying to hold its grip. I hear the panic underneath, the fear of losing power. But it’s too late.
“I have to go,” I whisper. Despite all my efforts to keep my voice steady, it breaks.
“Enya—don’t you dare hang up. Don’t you—”
I end the call.
My thumb hovers.
Then, I block the number.
Done.
I sit there for a while, in mourning. Of us.
My reflection stares back at me from the snow-covered glass. Pale skin. Faint freckles. Shadowed eyes.
A stranger.
The memory hits like a freight train.
It was raining. Not just the soft drizzle kind, but sideways, violent rain that turned umbrellas inside out and drowned your shoes in seconds.
I had papers clutched to my chest: resumes, certifications, and a handwritten letter of reference from Mrs. Dalca. All soaked.
I was half a block from the bus stop when it happened. My umbrella snapped back, flipped like it had been bitch-slapped by the wind, and I lost control of the stack in my arms. Papers scattered across the sidewalk like some pathetic movie scene.
“Shit!” I shouted, already half-wet, half-defeated.
A pair of hands appeared.
Long fingers. Warm.
“You look like you could use a rescue,” a voice said.
I looked up. Navy coat. Golden hair matted to his forehead. A crooked, apologetic smile.
Kai.
He helped me gather the mess. Held my umbrella for me. Walked me to a nearby café with his coat draped over my shoulders.
Coffee turned into dinner.
Dinner turned into that week.
That week turned into something I didn’t see coming.
He listened. Really listened. He brought me flowers after my first interview. Kissed my forehead when I couldn’t sleep. Made me feel seen. Special.
I loved him. I really did.
Or I loved who I thought he was.
Now, all I can see is that photo.
Kai and Sora.
Arms around each other.
Smiling.
How the hell did they even know each other?
And why didn’t he tell me?
I get up. I need some movement. Anything to get me out of this slump.
The house is quiet. It’s late. Everyone else is either asleep or pretending to be.
I find my way to Ren’s room. The door is cracked. I peek in.
He’s curled on his side, blanket half-kicked off, a stuffed lion clutched to his chest. His cheeks are pink from sleep, curls stuck to his forehead. There’s a softness to him that makes my throat ache.
He stirs.
“Eny?”
“Shh. Go back to sleep, sweet boy.”
He blinks at me, sleepy. “Are you staying?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m staying.”
He sighs and turns over, the lion still in his arms.
I sit beside him for a while, watching his breathing even out. Every soft exhale is a tiny comfort, proof that innocence can still exist in this house.
When I finally step back into the hallway, I don’t go to my room.
I go toward the one place I probably shouldn’t.
The hall outside Cyril’s office is dim, but not silent. The low murmur of voices, his and Alvise’s, filters through the thick wood. I can’t make out the words.
But I can hear the anger in them. The intent.
My fingers linger on the handle, hesitating. The cold brass bites into my palm like it knows I shouldn’t be here. I turn around. I should go to my room and come back here when I’m thinking straight. Before I can turn around, the door opens, and Alvise stops in his tracks.
“Alright, Enya?” he asks, glancing back at Cyril like he’s afraid I might have been listening.
“Yeah, I was just—”
“I’ll deal with it, Alvise. You go on,” Cyril interrupts, and I’m grateful for it because I have no idea how I was going to end that sentence.
Without invitation, I enter Cyril’s study. The door shuts behind me, encapsulating me with the one person I shouldn’t be with. Not when I’m this vulnerable.
Our eyes meet.
Cyril crosses the room in a few strides and pins me against the door. He grabs my chin, tilting it up, and kisses me. I return the kiss, but we both know kissing won’t cut it. Not anymore. He grinds his body against mine, and I gasp against his mouth as he groans low and rough, his voice vibrating through me.
“Fuck, Enya,” he mutters, his breath hot on my lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you in that dress….”
“Really?” I breathe, my voice a shaky whisper.
He nods, his eyes dark and molten with want. He asks, “Do you want this?”
There’s no hesitation in my answer as I nod, meeting his gaze.
He curses under his breath as he grabs my face in his hands.
“You want to know what else I’ve been thinking about doing to you?” he asks, his grin slow and wicked.
I nod, barely managing the movement, too breathless to speak.
He kisses me again, harder this time, pushing me from the door to onto the sleek leather couch in the corner of his study. The room smells like cedar and cigarettes. The fire crackles in the hearth, throwing warm light across the bookshelves that tower around us, but I barely notice anything except him.
There’s something about how he takes control that feels like a relief, a kind of unspoken permission to stop thinking, stop worrying, and just feel. I surrender to it instinctively, letting the heat between us carry me away. He moves over me, his mouth trailing from my lips to my cheek, then down my neck, his breath a hot whisper over my skin.
A soft moan escapes me as he shifts lower, his hands parting my thighs, the soft material of my nightdress riding up my legs. For a moment, I expect nerves to kick in, to feel self-conscious here under the burning weight of his gaze, but all I feel is anticipation. A hunger so fierce it chases away every other thought.
He brushes his mouth up the inside of my thigh, slow, purposeful, sending sparks skating across my skin. His hot breath over my panties causes me to shudder. His fingers hook around them, tugging gently, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“I really want to go down on you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with hunger.
God. The words slam into me like a jolt, every nerve ending alight. I nod frantically, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, lifting my hips to help him. I don’t care that I’m about to be completely exposed to him; there’s no fear here.
“Fuck,” he groans again, spreading my legs wider, his fingers brushing the goosebumps at the apex of my thighs. His breath ghosts over my skin, and my pussy throbs with anticipation.
And then finally, finally, he plants his mouth on me.
I tip my head back against the leather couch, a long moan spilling from my lips.
He licks slow, teasing circles around my clit, like he’s savoring every second, every taste. I can’t tear my eyes away from him, this devastatingly beautiful man on his knees in front of me, so focused.
He slides his hands under my ass, lifting me easily, his strength stealing my breath all over again.
“Oh, God,” I gasp as he draws my clit between his lips, sucking softly, sending shudders through my entire body.
My hips roll instinctively, chasing every stroke of his tongue, every pull of his mouth. I grip his arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fine fabric of his shirt, and rake my nails down his back, needing more, needing everything.
I want to gorge myself on him. I can’t get enough.
The way he’s eating me out is pure fucking desperation. His tongue flicks over my clit again, sharp and wicked, and I’m so hypersensitive it nearly shatters me on the spot.
I groan helplessly, thighs tightening around his head, dragging him closer.
He moans into my pussy, and the vibrations rip through me like a live wire, setting every nerve ending on fire. It’s that, the sound of his pleasure, that finally tips me over the edge.
The fact that he’s getting off on this just as much as I am, that he wants me, really fucking wants me, there’s no bigger turn-on in the world.
With his face buried between my thighs, I come hard, crying out, my voice ricocheting off the wood-paneled walls of the study. Right now, it makes no difference to me if the entire estate hears me. I don’t care about anything except the devastating pleasure ripping through my body. I don’t remember the last time I was touched, but I don’t need to. Not anymore.
When I come, I have to push his head away, oversensitive and shaking. He lets out a low and sinful chuckle, running his big hands up and down my trembling thighs, eyes gleaming up at me like he’s starving for more.
“You good?” he rasps, voice hoarse.
I nod, my breath coming in shallow pants, needing a second to gather the shreds of my sanity.
I lean down and kiss him, tasting myself on his mouth, my core clenching at the intimate flavor of it.
He smooths my hair back from my face, his eyes tender like I’ve never seen them before. If I stay here any longer, I know what might happen, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it yet. Even this feels like a mistake, but I already know that it’s only a matter of time before we both crave each other like our lives depend on it.