Chapter 18: The Boyfriend

Eva, still half-asleep, groaned where the sun beat down on her, wrapped around her best friend like a suffocating weed. She was sucking the little energy Blanche had left, one leg tangled over hers. She twisted in vain, trying to escape the scorching rays that were burning her face.

"This is the worst weekend ever! "she whimpered, yawning.

Blanche grimaced. Thank goodness she had the built-in Évanescence decoder. Still, she wasn’t wrong.

A twinge of jealousy pricked the redhead, though: Eva hadn’t been run over by a car, nor forced to sleep in an icy forest full of orcs.

But Blanche pushed the feeling away immediately. After all, Eva was her best friend — and if there were two people in the world she wanted to see alive and happy, they were her… and her father.

She forced a tender smile as she struggled to open her eyes.

"Could you move? You’re crushing me, "she murmured.

Eva giggled, grabbed her shoulder to help her sit up — a noble gesture, except the girl was hardly feather-light.

Blanche grumbled for form’s sake, then got up.

A divine smell suddenly tickled her nose.

"Yum! " Eva exclaimed, now fully awake.

Blanche turned her head: the brunette was frozen, eyes wide and greedy. In a split second, Eva flipped her onto the bed and dashed laughing down the hallway.

"Traitor! " Blanche shouted, bursting into laughter as she ran down the stairs in pursuit.

The two of them arrived, still giggling, in front of the bar where a plate of steaming scones sat.

But Blanche stopped short.

Kiyan, standing behind the counter, wore a floral apron. The contrast was striking, almost indecent in how it clashed with the natural authority he radiated. The colorful patterns seemed insignificant on him, unable to truly soften his presence—if anything, they made it even more magnetic, like an unintentional contradiction.

The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed his golden, strong, perfectly smooth forearms.

The light slid over his skin with an almost unreal slowness, tracing every line, every subtle movement of muscle beneath even the simplest effort. His gestures were precise, fluid, free of any unnecessary tension—natural, instinctive ease, as if his body always knew exactly what to do without ever hesitating.

When he moved, his forearms tensed slightly, revealing an obvious strength, but never displayed. Nothing was forced, nothing performed. Everything simply felt… natural. Obvious.

He looked up, amused, then set down a tray filled with scones, chocolate spread, honey, butter, and jam.

His gaze met theirs with simplicity, without the slightest trace of calculation. A faint glimmer passed through his eyes, almost absent-minded, as if he found the moment mildly pleasant without dwelling on it. The corner of his lips lifted slightly, forming a subtle, spontaneous smile, without trying to create any effect.

The tray touched the counter softly, in a simple gesture, yet carried out with a natural, almost unconscious elegance. The warm scent of freshly baked scones blended with that of chocolate and honey, comforting and enveloping—creating a striking contrast with the presence he imposed without meaning to.

And behind that ordinary gesture, behind that almost domestic scene, something lingered.

A diffuse warmth.

A faint, intangible tension.

Not because he was trying to seduce.

But precisely because he wasn’t trying at all.

Shit. She had forgotten: no one was supposed to heal from a wound like that so quickly.

Kiyan looked at her, squinting, suspicious — a look that said: we’ll talk about this.

Blanche bit her lip, guilty, and sat at the counter. She was going to have to improvise an explanation.

She reached for a scone… but the doorbell rang, clear and insistent.

Kiyan sighed in annoyance, removed his apron, rolled down his sleeves, and went to the door.

Blanche, cautious, looked down to avoid his gaze — too dangerous for her focus. Eva, meanwhile, remained unfazed: curiosity came second to her stomach.

"Hello! Sorry to bother you… Is Évanescence here? "asked a warm, polite male voice.

Blanche nudged her best friend.

"Were you expecting someone?"

"Oh gosh! " Eva said, hands full of scones." With everything that happened, I completely forgot!"

She jumped from her chair and ran to her father.

"And who’s asking?" Kiyan grumbled, his tone unwelcoming.

"Hi, Sean!" Eva replied, out of breath. "Dad, Sean, a friend. Sean, my dad."

Blanche raised an eyebrow as she bit into her scone. If Eva had dared give her address to some guy, it must be more serious than she claimed. And knowing the “pitbull” that Kiyan was, the poor guy must have nerves of steel.

Then a chilling laugh echoed in Blanche’s mind — long, vibrating, terribly unsettling. Every hair on her body stood on end. It wasn’t Fenrir. And it was even worse.

She scanned the room nervously but saw nothing. Then she jumped when Eva placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Blanche? You okay?"

Half her scone fell to the floor. The aforementioned Sean immediately bent down to pick it up. As he straightened, he ended up dangerously close to her.

Their eyes met.

Deep green, almost reptilian eyes fixed on her. He sniffed the air, furrowed his brow.

"Well… that explains it, "he murmured. "Your scent and hers… mixed."

Blanche froze. The man was attractive — blond, jaw chiseled like a knife, clothes impeccable, scent of firewood and vanilla. But when his pupils narrowed to vertical slits, her heart skipped a beat.

"You’re an unregistered female? " he asked defensively.

" Excuse- me ?!"

The interjection came from Eva.

"He’s a dragon," Blanche whispered to Eva, barely audible.