Chapter 7 Lila
SEVEN
LILA
Lila’s eyes fluttered open as the first rays of Nova Aurora’s twin suns painted her guest suite in warm amber and rose gold.
The ethereal light streaming through the glass windows felt like a gentle caress against her skin, so different from the Santa Monica sun.
For a moment, she lay still, letting the planet’s mysterious calm wash over her as memories of last night crashed back with devastating clarity.
Draven’s intense brown eyes. The electric pull between them.
Heat flooded her cheeks as she remembered how desperately she’d wanted to close the distance between them, to feel his hands on her face and his lips on hers. The professional boundary she’d sworn to maintain had felt gossamer-thin in that charged moment.
“Get it together,” she muttered, throwing off the silky covers. “You’re not here to sleep with the dragon king. You’re here to help his mental state, not complicate it further.”
But even as she said the words, her body betrayed her with a delicious shiver at the memory of his deep voice saying he’d been thinking about her.
She padded across the stone floor toward her suitcase, then stopped short at the enormous wardrobe dominating one wall. The dark wood doors stood slightly ajar, revealing a flash of emerald fabric within.
That’s odd. She distinctly remembered the wardrobe being empty yesterday afternoon.
Curiosity overrode caution as she pulled the doors wide, gasping at what she found inside. Dozens of dresses hung in perfect rows—flowing fabrics in jewel tones, elegant cuts that would flatter her curves, and every single piece appeared to be exactly her size.
“How did they—” She touched a stunning sapphire blue dress, the fabric soft beneath her fingers. “Did Draven do this? Or Nyra?”
Either way, the gesture sent warmth spreading through her chest. Someone had taken the time to ensure she felt welcomed and cared for.
When had anyone done something so thoughtful for her? Certainly not Trevor.
Her ex had been too busy charming his way into other women’s beds to notice if she wore the same outfit three days in a row.
Her fingers traced along the hanging garments until they found a dress that made her breath catch—deep forest green silk that would complement her eyes perfectly, with a flowing skirt and fitted bodice that would hug her curves without being inappropriate for a therapy session.
Why are you trying to look extra beautiful for him? her rational mind demanded as she lifted the dress from its hanger. It’s a typical therapy session, not a date.
But as she slipped the silk over her head, feeling the luxurious fabric settle against her skin like a second layer of confidence, she couldn’t bring herself to care about the distinction.
The dress transformed her—the rich green made her eyes luminous, the cut emphasized her hourglass figure, and somehow she looked more vibrant than she had in months.
She moved to the ornate mirror and began applying her makeup with more care than usual, enhancing her natural features with subtle touches of color. Mascara to darken her lashes, a hint of blush to warm her cheeks, and lip gloss that caught the alien sunlight.
The woman staring back at her was barely recognizable. Gone was the tired, burnt-out therapist who’d dragged herself through her Santa Monica routine. In her place stood someone radiant, almost... regal.
Weird how one day in this beautiful place has changed me mentally and physically.
The thought struck her with surprising force. She felt more confident, more centered, more beautiful than she had in years.
This place definitely has some strange healing powers.
The realization sparked both hope and determination in her.
If Nova Aurora could work such transformation on her in mere hours, surely she could channel that healing energy to help Draven overcome his condition.
She wanted to see him get better, to watch him become the best king and man he could be.
I hope that for all my clients, she reminded herself, but the words felt hollow.
Because the truth was, she’d never felt this invested in a patient’s recovery before. Never felt this personal stake in someone else’s happiness and success.
And she definitely shouldn’t be picturing herself in the equation as more than his therapist—but she couldn’t help it. Draven made her feel alive, electric in ways no other man ever had. Especially not Trevor, who’d made her feel small and disposable by the end.
A knock at her door interrupted her racing thoughts. She gathered her professional composure like armor and opened it to find Nyra waiting in the corridor, dressed in practical leather pants and a flowing burgundy tunic.
“Good morning, Dr. Reyes. I hope you slept well.” Nyra’s eyes swept over Lila’s appearance with obvious approval. “That dress is perfect on you. Green definitely suits you.”
“Thank you. And thank you for arranging the wardrobe—or was that Draven’s doing?”
A mysterious smile played on Nyra’s lips. “Let’s just say someone wanted to ensure you felt comfortable during your stay.”
Heat bloomed in Lila’s cheeks at the implication. Draven ordered clothes for her personally. The gesture felt intimate, thoughtful, and completely inappropriate for a doctor-patient relationship.
“I was planning to show you the castle layout, amenities, and practical routines after your session with the king,” Nyra continued, apparently oblivious to Lila’s internal crisis. “Would that work for you?”
“That sounds great. I’d love to learn more about this place.” Lila stepped into the corridor. “Has Draven mentioned how he’s feeling this morning? Any episodes overnight?”
Nyra’s expression grew thoughtful. “He seemed... restless at breakfast with Queen Serenya. But more energized than usual, if that makes sense. Like he has something to look forward to.”
Something to look forward to. The words sent a dangerous thrill through Lila’s system. She forced herself to interpret them professionally—of course he’d be anticipating their therapy session if he was serious about getting better.
But the woman in her, the one wearing his gift of a dress, whispered other possibilities.
“I should get going,” Lila said, glancing at her watch. “I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Of course. I’ll see you after your session.”
As Nyra disappeared down a side corridor, Lila made her way through the castle toward Draven’s office.
The volcanic stone walls were adorned with tapestries depicting dragon battles and ceremonial scenes, and every step brought fresh waves of that strange familiarity, as if her soul recognized this place even though her mind insisted she’d never been here before.
Focus on the session, she commanded herself as she approached the wooden doors of his office. You’re here to provide therapeutic intervention.
But even as she raised her hand to knock, her pulse quickened with anticipation. Despite every logical argument she could make, every boundary she knew she should maintain, one truth burned bright in her chest. She was excited to see him.
Maintain professionalism, she reminded herself one final time, then knocked firmly on the door.
“Come in.”
His deep voice sent shivers down her spine as she turned the handle and stepped into whatever came next.
Lila stepped into Draven’s office and immediately regretted every fashion choice she’d made that morning.
His sharp intake of breath cut through the air like a blade, and his golden-brown eyes darkened to molten amber as they swept over the flowing green dress.
The fabric suddenly felt like liquid fire against her skin under his scorching gaze.
This is definitely not how I wanted to start a therapy session.
The professional distance crumbled in seconds. The air between them crackled, and she could practically feel the sexual tension radiating off him in waves.
“Good morning, Draven.” She forced her voice into clinical neutrality, clutching her notebook like a shield. “How are you feeling today?”
He cleared his throat. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and tension carved lines around his mouth. He looked like he’d wrestled demons all night—which, given his condition, he probably had.
“Better now that you’re here.”
The raw honesty in his voice sent heat spiraling through her chest.
She moved to the chair across from his massive desk, grateful for the solid wood barrier between them. “Let’s start with how you’ve been feeling the past few weeks.”
Draven’s broad shoulders sagged slightly as he settled deeper into his leather chair. “Worse. Much worse. The panic attacks have been increasing—sometimes three or four a day. The fire madness whispers constantly now, telling me I’m losing control and that I’m failing everyone.”
His vulnerability hit her like a physical slap. This powerful dragon king, who commanded an entire territory, was crumbling from the inside out.
“But yesterday,” he continued, his intense gaze finding hers, “after you helped me through that episode during your assessment, I haven’t had a single attack. For the first time, my mind feels... quieter.”
Lila scribbled notes, trying to ignore the way his voice caressed the word ‘quieter’ like it was a miracle. “That’s encouraging progress. Many patients experience immediate relief when they begin opening up about their struggles.”
“It’s more than that.” He leaned forward, his massive frame somehow making the imposing desk look small. “You have this calming energy. Just being in your presence makes me feel more... centered. More like myself than I’ve been in years.”
Heat rushed to her face. Professional deflection, now.