11. CHAPTER 11
MOON
Declan smiled. It looked wrong on his face, like a crack in concrete.
“Moon Hyun-seo.”
I stopped.
My fingers tightened on the strap of my bag. He was bigger. Heavier. Built like someone who solved problems with his fists. I was faster, but I wasn’t a street fighter. I was a fencer—footwork, timing, distance. That was the whole game.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
Declan stepped off the wall and blocked my path. “No,” he said. “You don’t dismiss me.”
I swallowed the sharp reply burning on my tongue. Provoking him right now would be stupid.
“I’m not looking for a fight, Declan,” I said. “Just let me pass.”
He laughed. One short sound. No humor. “You’ve got a Blood Writ on you,” he said.
My fingers went still on the strap. Only for a second. His eyes dropped. “Congratulations,” I said. “Is it yours?”
“Not yet.”
Yet.
“I’m sure that disappoints you.”
“It does.” He stepped closer. “Ashbourne’s making a romance out of it.”
My throat closed.
Wait.
Cillian held the Writ on me?
A Blood Writ wasn’t permission to kill. It was permission to ruin someone in full view of every court that mattered. Vivienne didn’t know. She would have told me. That meant no one had protected me from this. Declan saw the shift in my face. His eyes lit up, primitive and entertained.
“Flowers,” he said. “The hallway fight where Ashbourne jumped me like a rabid dog the second I got too close to you. All that petty shit he’s doing.”
He really had done that for me.
Declan tilted his head. “If the Writ lands with me, I won’t waste your time with flowers and romance. I’ll come straight at you. Sanctioned. Public. Smiling.”
I looked past his shoulder.
Cold stone pressed the chill back into the corridor. The air smelled faintly of damp mortar and old wax. Rain-dark light cut pale strips across the floor. The vaulted ceiling swallowed every sound.
No staff. No students.
Fuck.
I looked back at him. “Then stay away from me. At least Cillian knows how to make it interesting. You’re just… tedious.”
Declan’s smile froze. Then it twisted into something ugly.
He moved. Fast for his size.
One hand slammed the wall beside my head. The other caught my jaw hard, fingers digging under the bone, thumb pressing near my throat.
My bag dropped.
I snapped my hand up, caught his wrist, drove my elbow toward his ribs. He absorbed it with a grunt and shoved closer. Wall at my back. His chest too close. His hand forcing my chin up.
Humiliating.
Heat flashed hot behind my eyes.
“You’re fast,” he said, tightening his grip. “For a soft rich boy. Keep squirming like that and I’ll show you what real fighting looks like.”
I drove my knee up. He twisted and took it on his thigh.
Boxer. Heavy. Stronger than me in close quarters.
I wasn’t going to win this by force. I hooked fingers into the pressure point below his thumb and wrenched.
His grip eased, just enough. I shoved him back with my shoulder and immediately turned to leave.
“Stay away from me, Declan,” I said over my shoulder. “Whatever game you think you’re playing, I’m not interested.”
One step.
Two.
Cillian.
His name surfaced.
Fuck.
Bag still back there with Declan.
“Ashbourne took the Blood Writ on you. Day one.”
My foot stopped mid-step. Day one. Saint Lucia. The flowers. The gallery floor. All of it under a Blood Writ.
“Liar,” I said evenly.
Declan grinned. “Ask him.”
I spun toward him. Stomach clenched so hard I nearly gagged. Declan crossed his arms and scoffed.
“Oh, fuck me,” he said. “Don’t tell me you actually like him.”
Vision flashed white. I let rage flood.
“Ashbourne flirts with you for points,” Declan said, stepping closer, “and you spread your legs like a good little performance.”
Too caught in the words. He was already on me.
His arm hooked around my neck, spinning me as he yanked me back.
My back slammed into his chest. His forearm crushed under my jaw, snapping my head back and cutting off my air.
I thrashed, shoulders jerking, legs kicking, but nothing worked.
His other arm trapped mine against my ribs, killing the next swing.
I bucked and twisted, heel scraping his shin, but he only crushed me tighter.
I clawed his sleeve, nails finding the seam, and twisted hard. He hissed, cursed. His grip loosened just enough. I wrenched my shoulder down, slipped under his arm, and shoved away with everything I had left.
My back hit the wall. I took three quick steps sideways, body coiled and ready to run if he moved again. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Pain throbbed beneath my jaw and along my neck with every heartbeat.
His blood marked his lower lip now. Mine tasted like copper.
We stared at each other. His smile came back first. Naturally.
“Knew there was something under all that polish.”
My breath dragged in rough. Once. Twice. I forced it even.
“Touch me again,” I said, “and the consequences will follow you far beyond these walls. The Moon name doesn’t need fists. We end legacies with one call.”
Declan wiped the blood from his mouth with his thumb, staring at the red smear for a second.
“Oh?” His voice dropped, amused. “So the perfect little Aster prince wants to play big boy games now? Not just schoolyard bullying?”
He took one step back, eyes gleaming with promise. “Fine. I’ll remember that… Enjoy Ashbourne while he’s sentimental,” Declan sneered, wiping the last of the blood from his lip. “That shit never lasts. And when it ends… I’ll be right there to finish what he started.”
I stayed pressed against the wall, body screaming, legs tense and ready to sprint, pain throbbing hot under my jaw and down my neck as I watched him retreat. I picked up my bag without taking my eyes off him.
“See you soon, Moon.” He stepped aside. Not because he had lost. Because this was a warning, and men like Declan loved saving violence for an audience.
I walked past him.
Controlled pace. Straight spine. A painful lump rose in my throat, and I made it around the corner before my stride broke. Only when I turned the corner did my fingers fly to my throat.
The marks on my throat burned. The skin felt raw and swollen under my fingers. Every heartbeat sent sharp pain pulsing through the bruises Declan had left under my jaw.
I stopped beside the narrow window and forced my eyes to the glass. Red finger marks stared back. Slight swelling near the hinge of my jaw. Ugly. Real.
Vivienne would notice immediately. Sawyer would start a war. And Cillian. He’d lose his mind when he saw these.
Day one. He’d held the Blood Writ from the beginning. Was none of it real?
My thumb tapped the screen. I opened our last message thread, breathing hard through my nose.
I can’t believe I fell for Saint Lucia.
Fell for. No. Absolutely not.
Deleted before my thumb even finished. Pathetic. I was fucking pathetic.
I tried again.
How long were you planning to use the Writ as an excuse to…
To touch me again. To pin me. To make me desperate enough to forget what he was. Breath caught halfway down. Jaw burning. The same humiliating need I couldn’t kill.
Deleted.
His last message still waited there, mocking.
Still hiding, prince?
No. I wouldn’t hide. Wouldn’t indulge that manipulative Irish bastard anymore. I locked the screen and shoved the phone deep into my pocket. Fuck him. Let the silence choke him the way he had choked me. Let him refresh and wonder.
The Writ. Saint Lucia. Declan’s hands. All of it could rot behind my teeth. I was done feeding him pieces of me.
The courtyard was quieter now, the low afternoon light turning everything gold. I kept my hood up. The cut on my lip had stopped bleeding, but the bruise along my jaw throbbed. I could still taste blood.
Zara was already waiting under the colonnade. The second she saw me she straightened. Her eyes narrowed.
“Hyun.”
I stopped a few feet away. “You wanted to talk.”
“Who did this to you?” Her voice was low.
“Don’t worry about it.” I adjusted the hood, keeping my face half-shadowed. “Just a fight. It’s handled.”
“That is never true when men say it.” She stepped closer. Her gaze flicked over the visible bruise, the split lip. “This isn’t you, Hyun. Not the version I knew in high school. You didn’t show up to galas with split lips and bruises.”
I gave her a dry smile that pulled at the cut. “People change.”
Zara studied me, then she exhaled, sharp.
“I don’t like this anymore. The Gallery is buzzing with questions about whether I know my boyfriend is letting Cillian Ashbourne touch him like that in public.
My friends. People whose opinions actually matter.
” Her voice stayed quiet, fury simmering beneath it.
“You promised me optics, Hyun. Not this.”
I met her eyes. “We are not actually together.”
“Publicly we are. That was the entire point.” She gestured between us, cool disdain flicking over my split lip. “Showing up bleeding after one of Ashbourne’s pets got his hands on you? Terrible look, darling. For both of us.”
I swallowed. The bruises on my throat pulled. “Fine. It’s over, then. Cillian and I are done, anyway.”
Zara’s expression shifted. “What happened with Ashbourne?”
“Nothing.” I looked past her, at the ivy climbing the stone. “Nothing worth discussing.”
She didn’t push. Instead she reached out, cool fingers catching my chin just long enough to tilt my face into the light. “You’re bleeding again.”
“It’s just a cut.”
Zara released me. “I’ll explore the options. But this version of you, brawls in corridors, fresh bruises, Thorn Court rumors, is becoming a liability, Hyun. Dangerous for both our names.”
I nodded once. “Cillian and I are done. Like I said.”
The lie scraped my throat raw. Something in my chest eased, anyway. Even my fake girlfriend saw the cracks.
Zara studied me for a long moment, then stepped back.
“Good. I’m not letting Thorn Court claim any more Favor.
We are not done. Fix your face, stay out of the spotlight, and let Vivienne help spin this if she can.
I’ll find a way to salvage our arrangement, provided you stop dragging both our names through the mud. ”
I watched her walk away.
The arrangement was cracking.
So was I.