Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
SANDRA
The morning sun is warm on my skin as I lean against the balcony railing, watching the jungle canopy shimmer in shades of green and gold.
You slept with Fercer last night.
My brain has been helpfully reminding me of this fact approximately every thirty seconds since I woke up tangled in his sheets, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my hair.
You slept with him, my brain announces again, as if I might have forgotten in the last half-minute. You slept with the alien rockstar. Multiple times. With enthusiasm.
Yes. Thank you. I'm aware.
And now you're standing on his balcony wearing his shirt because you couldn't find yours, and he's gone to fetch you breakfast—like this is some kind of romance novel and you're the HEROINE.
I press my palms against the railing, letting the cool metal ground me.
This is fine. Everything is fine. People have sex all the time. It doesn't have to mean anything. Just physical, mutual attraction. Stress relief. Two consenting adults doing consenting adult things.
Except the way he looked at me after, like I was precious. Someone he wanted to keep around. He'd pulled me close, tucking me against his chest like he was afraid I'd disappear.
This morning he'd even kissed my forehead and murmured that he'd be right back with breakfast.
He went to get cinnamon rolls. Laura's cinnamon rolls, the ones I couldn't stop making embarrassing sounds about yesterday. He's probably using it as an excuse to satisfy his own sweet tooth, but still. He remembered what I liked.
Don't, my brain warns. Don't you dare.
Too late.
I'm already replaying last night. The way his hands mapped my body like he was memorizing me. The way he whispered my name like it meant something. The way he held me after—not rushing to separate, not pulling away, just holding me. Like he wanted to.
Like he wanted me.
People leave, I remind myself fiercely. They always leave. Goren left. Everyone before him left. And Fercer...
Fercer has a career. A life. Screaming fans across the galaxy and seventeen ridiculously stupid jackets waiting for him back home. This vacation ends eventually. He goes back to being the Devil, the Lord of Volscian Rock, and I stay here at the hotel, starting over.
That was always the plan.
So why does my chest ache when I think about it?
Because you caught feelings, you absolute disaster of a human being. Real ones.
I close my eyes, letting the warm breeze wash over me.
Fine. I have feelings. Big, terrifying, stupid feelings. The kind that make me imagine futures and forevers.
Oh God.
I love him.
The realization hits like a freight train, or whatever the space equivalent of a freight train is. A cargo hauler? A freight shuttle? The point is, it hits hard, and my brain is absolutely not handling it well.
You LOVE him? my brain shrieks. You've known him for like a WEEK. This is not how love stories work!
And yet.
Here I am. In love with an alien rockstar.
But maybe that's okay. Maybe I can stay, not because I'm repaying a debt, but because I actually want to be here.
Whatever that means for our future.
The thought settles into my chest, warm and terrifying and real.
As soon as he comes back, I'll tell him. We'll talk it out, figure it out together. He wants real, I want real, and together we can be a real couple.
I'll tell him as soon as he returns.
The door behind me opens, and my heart rate skyrockets. It's one thing to mentally plan everything, and another to act on it. But I will. Because Fercer's worth the risk.
"Fercer, I—"
"Such a lovely view."
I spin around.
Not Fercer.
Very much not Fercer.
Vyla stands in the doorway to the suite, her silhouette sharp against the dim interior. She's dressed immaculately, as always. A pleasant smile fixed on her face.
I've seen that smile directed at me so many times these last few days. It's never reached her eyes. Not once.
"Vyla." I straighten, suddenly very aware that I'm standing here in Fercer's oversized shirt and not much else. Cool. Great. Love that for me. Nothing says "I'm in control of this situation" like bare legs and sex hair. "Fercer's not here. He went to—"
"I know where he went." She steps onto the balcony, and the door slides shut behind her with a soft hiss. "I know everything, Sandra."
The way she says my name makes my skin crawl.
"Everything?" I keep my voice light. Casual. Like my heart isn't hammering against my ribs. "That's a lot of information to keep track of. Must be exhausting. Do you use a spreadsheet? Color-coded tabs?"
Vyla's smile doesn't waver, but her eyelid twitches.
Good. Twitch more. Show me the crazy.
"Let's dispense with the act, shall we?" She moves closer, her impossibly tall heels clicking against the balcony tiles.
How does she even walk in those things? They're like stilts with delusions of grandeur.
"I've done my research. Quite thorough research, actually.
It's amazing what you can find when you know where to look. "
My stomach drops.
"Sandra Chen. Former resident of Station Kethris-7. Previous employment: Kelvari market stall. Current status..." She pauses, letting the moment stretch like she's savoring it. "Stowaway. Criminal. Nobody."
The word lands like a slap.
"You snuck onto Fercer's ship like a rat hiding in the cargo hold." Vyla's voice is still pleasant, but there's venom underneath now. "No ticket. No authorization. No legal right to be anywhere near him. And certainly no right to play at being his fiancée."
I should say something. Defend myself. Lie. Anything.
My throat has closed up.
"You're just a slave." She sneers down her nose at me. "Bought by some old alien. So what did you do? Kill him? Your owner?"
Now I find my voice.
"His name was Goren," I say, and I'm proud that my voice only shakes a little. "And he was more of a father to me than anyone I've ever known. So maybe don't—"
"I don't care." She waves a hand dismissively. "What I care about is what this could do to Fercer's career. Do you have any idea? The galaxy's most desired bachelor, engaged to a criminal? The scandal alone would destroy years of hard work."
Guilt punches me in the gut.
She's right. It's one thing to risk your own future, but to do that to someone you love...
"Everything I've done managing his reputation," Vyla continues. "The label would drop him. His fans would turn on him. Everything I've built..."
Wait.
Everything I've built?
"All my hard work! Gone. Because of you."
There it is. That's what this is about. Not Fercer's career. Her career. Her investment. Her property.
"Fercer is..." I start.
"Fercer is mine."
Her smile stretches wider. Too wide. Too many pointed teeth showing.
"I made him. I took a mediocre musician with pretty horns and turned him into a star. I managed his image, his schedule, his entire life for years. I know him better than anyone. Better than he knows himself."
Is she... is she monologuing?
Oh my God, she is. My brain and I have never agreed on anything—except this.
She's actually monologuing. Like a villain in a holovid. On a balcony. While I stand here in nothing but a shirt and my rapidly deteriorating composure.
This is my life now. This is actually happening.
"He doesn't love you." Vyla's voice drops, almost gentle now. Almost pitying. Which is somehow worse. "He doesn't even know what love is. He thinks he does. You think I don't know about all those ridiculous novels he reads? Filling his head with fantasies?"
She knows about the romance novels. Of course she does. She probably inventories his underwear drawer.
"What would he know of devotion?" she continues, her eyes going glassy. Distant. Like she's seeing something I can't. "Of sacrifice? That's what I've given him. Every day, for years. I'm the one who's always been there. Always."
I should be scared. But a very unhelpful part of my brain is also taking notes like this is a masterclass in unhinged behavior.
Note to self: when obsessively stalking someone, maybe don't literally spell out your obsession? Just a thought.
"And then you appear." The gentleness curdles into something ugly. "Suddenly he's looking at you like you're everything he's ever needed."
"Maybe what he needs isn't your decision to make."
Vyla goes very still.
The air on the balcony seems to freeze. The pleasant mask cracks completely, and what's underneath is not pleasant at all.
Nice going, Sandra. Really defused that situation beautifully.
"Here's what's going to happen," Vyla states. "You're going to leave. Tonight. Quietly. You'll tell Fercer whatever lie you need to. That you changed your mind, that you found someone else, that you never cared about him at all. I don't care what. Just make it convincing."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I contact the authorities." She produces her data pad.
"Stowaway charges are serious, Sandra. You'll be arrested.
Detained. Deported back to whatever station will take you.
And trust me, with a criminal record, your options will be limited.
As a slave... well, let's just say you'll be lucky to get any options at all. "
She pauses, letting that sink in.
"You'll never see Cardonia again. Never see your precious human community. Never see him."
My chest tightens.
She's not bluffing. I can see it in her eyes. She has the evidence, the connections, the willingness to follow through. This isn't an empty threat. This is a promise.
I could agree to Vyla's terms. Walk away. Tell myself it was never real in the first place. Just a fake engagement that got a little too convincing. No harm done. No heart broken.
But I think about Fercer finding me gone. No explanation. No goodbye. He'd never know the truth. He'd think I chose to leave. That I just used him like everyone else.