Chapter Nine
After Nova had confronted me, I finally slipped into my room, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The quiet was a relief, but it pressed on me like the weight of the night itself. My chest still thumped, a staccato rhythm echoing the chaos of the evening. I sank onto my bed, wrapping the scarf around my hands as if it could ground me, stabilize me in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions spinning through my head.
The gifts. The note. The empty square. Kian's unexpected appearance. The prince, whose eyes had pierced through me like a storm I couldn't weather. I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to slow the pulse of anticipation and confusion. How can one night change so much? I whispered to the shadows, though they gave no answer.
A soft beep cut through the silence. My phone glowed on the desk. Kian. "Hey, did you get home safely?"
I stared at the screen. My chest fluttered at the concern in his words. The simplicity of it—the casual tone, the ease—made my thoughts spiral. Could it have been him? Could he be the one sending the gifts, playing this strange, silent game of attention and mystery? And yet… the prince lingered in my mind like an impossible melody I couldn't forget, and my pulse betrayed me at the thought.
Days passed. The gifts didn't stop. Notes, flowers, little things that carried intention, mystery, and a strange intimacy I couldn't name. I started to dread them and crave them all at once, unable to untangle my feelings. And then came the day that would make everything even more complicated.
I wasn't home when one of the packages arrived. Nova, unaware, picked it up from the doorstep. She held the delicate envelope in her manicured hands, her sharp eyes scanning the writing with an interest I had never seen before.
"Leah," she called when I returned, her voice light but carrying that edge of sharp awareness she always seemed to have, "who is sending you these gifts?"
My stomach twisted. I froze, caught in the weight of the question. How could I explain without betraying the tangled mess of thoughts in my heart? I glanced at Nova, trying to look casual, trying to find the thread of truth I could hold onto.
"It… it's Kian," I said finally. "He… he must have sent them."
Nova tilted her head, a faint smile curving her lips. "Kian, huh? Interesting," she murmured, clearly amused, yet probing.
I nodded, hoping my composure was convincing enough. And yet, my chest ached, because though I told her it was Kian, part of me knew it could have been the prince. That he had come, had waited, had left silently, just as the night before had played out. That knowledge settled like a stone in my stomach—an ache I couldn't name.
Kian remained his usual self—friendly, teasing, distant in the most frustrating way. He sent gifts, and yet he never said anything. Never a word about love. Not a hint. Just quiet, patient gestures, the kind that made me question everything I felt. I found myself watching him, studying him, trying to decode his behavior, trying to understand why my heart raced even as his words and actions remained innocently normal.
Meanwhile, the prince still appeared once in a while, his presence magnetic, stirring jealousy I couldn't hide. His storm-gray eyes, poised and commanding, seemed to follow me even in moments when I didn't notice. He was calm, collected, always perfect in every detail—the way he dressed, the way he smiled subtly, the way he observed without speaking. And though I wanted to hate the jealousy, I couldn't; it made my heart ache in ways that thrilled me, terrified me, and left me utterly confused.
Outside my life, Nova's world continued in its dazzling, dangerous orbit. She had a taste for attention, a love of fashion that made her magnetic to everyone around her. Men approached her constantly, charmed by her elegance, her confidence, the effortless way she could light up a room. And she loved it. She played them with skill, bending situations to her will, knowing exactly what she wanted and never hesitating to take it.
At the office, I had overheard her phone conversations, the subtle laughter, the way she maneuvered meetings, conversations, even business deals to maintain her control and captivate those around her. Men offered favors, admiration, even dangerous opportunities, and she handled each one with a practiced ease that both fascinated and frightened me. Sometimes, I caught myself wishing I could be so bold, so untouchable, so in control. And yet, I also felt a pang of fear—if she could bend the world so easily to her will, what might she do to my own heart, if she chose to?
Back at home, the gifts continued. Notes slipped beneath the door, flowers left in precise positions on the steps. Each time, I convinced myself it was Kian. Each time, I was consumed by a knot of uncertainty and hope. And each time, I felt a strange, quiet thrill—because a part of me knew, deep down, that the prince's shadow was never far, even if I could not see him.
One evening, as I placed a small bouquet of roses carefully in a vase, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. My heart was racing, my cheeks flushed, and I realized just how deeply the tension of the past week had settled in me. Kian's simple messages, the gifts, the prince's occasional appearances—all of it pulled me in different directions, left me yearning, confused, and utterly alive.
And Nova… always watching, always knowing, always moving through her own world of elegance, desire, and power. I often wondered what she would do if she realized how tangled my heart had become. She had never hesitated to pursue what she wanted, and she had no idea how much influence her presence—her power, her beauty—had over me.
I sank onto my bed, scarf clutched tightly, phone in hand, staring at Kian's most recent message:
"Just checking… hope you're okay. Don't leave me guessing for too long."
I bit my lip. Could he truly be the sender? Was this all his doing, the careful, quiet attention that left me both excited and terrified? Or was it the prince, always moving in silence, a shadow in the background, watching, waiting, leaving me to imagine?
I leaned back against the pillows, pressing the scarf to my face, letting the soft threads ground me. My chest was tight, my thoughts a tangle. I wasn't sure what I wanted, who I wanted, or how to even begin to sort through my feelings. But one thing was undeniable: my life had shifted, pulled into a rhythm I didn't understand but couldn't resist.
And in the quiet of my room, I felt it—the thrill, the confusion, the ache of longing, the spark of something dangerous and irresistible. Gifts, notes, stolen glances, jealousy, and careful lies… all weaving a web that held me captive. And I realized, with a shiver I couldn't shake, that the story was far from over.