Christina’s POV
Ysolde tried to deny it, but failed spectacularly.
Then she made a weird little giggle.
Akira snorted in my head. "Looks like soone’s got a new romance brewing."
"I might be seeing soone. Just casually. Definitely not living together. I’ve just been busy lately, that’s all," Ysolde admitted.
"Wait, what?" I leaned forward eagerly. "Damn, Akira, you’re good."
"Who is he?" I pressed.
"Here."
Ysolde pulled out her phone and shoved the screen in my face.
A baby-faced boy’s selfie filled the screen. His features were unnervingly symtrical. Full lips, thick eyebrows, and practically poreless skin.
I narrowed my eyes. "I’ve seen him before. Isn’t he one of those shirtless lip-syncing social dia guys?"
"That’s him," she said, beaming. "He has two hundred thousand followers."
"Does he actually look that good in person? Or is it just lighting and filters? And isn’t he like eighteen? What could an eighteen-year-old possibly want besides access to your Arican Express?"
Ysolde rolled her eyes. "He’s twenty-one, three years younger than , and still in college. Yes, I’ve seen him in person—he’s even better-looking than his photos. No filters, no catfishing. And before you ask, he hasn’t asked for money. Though if he did, I could afford it. I don’t mind paying for so emotional support. He’s gorgeous, clingy but not annoying, doesn’t sulk, and has plenty of stamina..." She fanned her face. "Trust , I know what I’m doing."
"So you weren’t planning on telling at all?" I leaned back, crossing my arms. "What if he’s just a Cassian knockoff and you’re using him to get revenge on your ex?"
Ysolde looked slightly offended, which ant I was right.
"I was going to tell you eventually."
"You better. Bring him around next ti. I want a good look at him before you let him sleep over."
"He’s not sleeping over," she said quickly. "Anyway, he’s studying film. Has a little following online. He wants to break into the industry eventually. It’s just casual. I’m just... keeping it casual."
For her sake, I hoped that was true.
***
Later that night, I returned ho and imdiately regretted it.
My bedroom was freezing like an icebox.
I walked around it twice, rubbing my arms.
The vent in the corner clicked softly but produced no warm air.
I checked the guest rooms.
Sa problem.
I stood in the hallway, debating my options—couch or hotel—when a voice ca from behind .
"Planning to sleep on the couch to avoid sharing a bed with ? What exactly do you think I’ll do to you?"
I jumped and grabbed the railing.
My heel slipped on the edge of the step, nearly cracking my tailbone on the marble.
Hudson was leaning against the doorfra, his hair slightly damp.
His casual posture contrasted sharply with his tone.
"Are you afraid of now?"
I forced a smile, acting nonchalant. "Just didn’t want to disturb your sleep."
"How considerate. Planning to catch pneumonia in the living room despite being a werewolf in these temperatures?"
"The living room is warm," I said, glancing downstairs. That was a complete lie.
Hudson walked toward .
He didn’t stop until I was trapped between him and the railing. He didn’t touch , but he was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"Is there a problem? Worried I might do sothing inappropriate?"
I pressed my back against the railing.
As I leaned back, my elbows hit the upper railing as I tried to maintain so distance.
He moved closer.
I shifted.
He followed.
I was half-bent backward like a folding chair.
He grabbed my arm and pulled upright.
"What is this? Staircase yoga?"
I glared at him, snapping, "I’m not afraid of you."
He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Then why are you acting like I’ve grown fangs?"
"I’m not. I’m just standing here. You’re the one crowding my space."
His gaze moved slowly over my face, assessing. He chuckled softly. "You’re nervous as hell. Now you’re pretending you’re not."
His smug expression made my throat tighten.
I stepped forward.
He didn’t move.
I stepped into his space again. This ti, I invaded his personal bubble.
"We’re both adults," I said, lifting my chin. "What exactly should I be afraid of?"
He raised an eyebrow without answering, but his smirk grew more pronounced.
This ti, he stepped back.
He moved with lazy steps, as if indulging . As if he could have stood his ground but didn’t need to.
"So... I’m not scared to try?"
"Obviously not," I snapped.
He laughed softly, reaching for my wrist, his warm fingers connecting with my skin. My mouth went dry at the electric touch.
"Co on." He led into his bedroom.
The bed was huge, the down comforter crisp and clean, pillows stacked at the headboard, looking utterly inviting.
"Right," I said. "Shower ti."
I grabbed my stuff and went to the bathroom.
After a quick shower, I wiped down the counter, hung up my towel, and even stuffed my fallen hair into the trash can.
I arranged everything in perfect order.
When I ca out, he was sitting in a low armchair by the bed with a tablet across his lap.
He didn’t look up, but I caught the flash in his eyes.
Tonight I wore all-cotton pajamas, buttoned all the way to my neck, with the hem neatly tucked into the waistband.
I toweled my hair dry and nodded toward the bathroom. "All yours."
"Need help with your hair?"
"No, I’ve got it."
He stood and walked past into the bathroom.
The door closed softly behind him.
When he ca out, his hair was wet and slicked back.
He’d exchanged his suit for a black t-shirt and drawstring pants that clung to his muscular thighs and defined abdon, showing off his powerful Alpha physique.
I was already in bed by then, pressed tightly against the edge as if there was border patrol on the left side.
My eyes were barely open.
My eyelids drooped.
But I deliberately stayed awake until he ca out.
He dimd the lights to a soft orange glow, then climbed in beside .
"Want to put a glass of water between us? Or maybe set up a laser tripwire?"
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