Chapter 184: The Wicked Godmother

When Blanche woke up, it was already dark outside. But with winter, that didn't really mean much. She left the bedroom and ran into Kiyan on the landing, who was just leaving his own room.

Blanche was utterly captivated when the man appeared, dressed to the nines.

She had seen him in elegant outfits before, but never with such meticulous attention to detail. Every element seemed to have been chosen specifically for him—or rather, to highlight what he already possessed.

The upper half of his black suit immediately drew the eye. Fine white and silver arabesques ran across the fabric, delicately embroidered with almost artistic precision. They traced elegant patterns over his shoulders and down his chest, catching the light with every movement without ever appearing ostentatious.

The jacket was open over a black satin silk shirt, its supple fabric gently catching the light. The collar was left widely open, revealing part of his throat and breaking up the formality of the suit, giving him an appearance that was both sophisticated and dangerously seductive.

A silver pocket square, perfectly folded, peeked out from his jacket pocket. A tiny, almost insignificant detail, but one that spoke volumes about the meticulous care he had taken with his appearance.

The trousers were more traditional, maintaining a simple and elegant cut. Their deep black almost absorbed the light, extending the man's slender silhouette without drawing attention away from the elaborate upper half of his outfit.

But it was his face that truly held Blanche's attention.

The open collar of his shirt framed his neck and emphasized his features even more.

His hair had been carefully styled for the occasion. Part of it was pulled back into a simple bun, while a few perfectly straightened strands framed his face. Not a single hair seemed to have been left to chance.

And yet, the whole thing looked effortless.

His hair gleamed with an almost unreal sheen beneath the lights, as though it had been polished until it became satin.

The hairstyle left his forehead exposed and brought out his golden eyes.

Blanche lingered on them despite herself.

They seemed even brighter than usual, almost incandescent against the black of his clothes. There was something deeply captivating about his gaze, accentuated by the contrast between the warmth of that gold and the almost austere sobriety of his outfit.

He was clean-shaven, save for the faintest crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes.

Subtle traces of time.

Far from detracting from his appearance, they gave him even more character.

Because although he carried himself with the elegance of a man accustomed to society parties and admiring gazes, those tiny marks were a reminder that he had lived long enough not to need to play the role of a young heartthrob.

And yet...

Blanche could easily have mistaken him for barely thirty.

He possessed that rare kind of beauty that seemed to stem not only from his features, but from the confidence with which he wore them.

The straight posture.

The calm gaze.

The way his jacket followed the line of his shoulders.

Everything, down to the smallest detail, seemed calculated.

And perhaps worst of all was that he appeared perfectly aware of the effect he had.

Blanche finally looked away.

Too late.

She had already realized that pretending this apparition did absolutely nothing to her was going to be very difficult.

"Your dress and shoes are downstairs," he said, glancing at his watch. "Jax is still asleep. The office is open."

Blanche abruptly returned to reality and understood the hint.

Cassie would know what to do, and she would have all the time in the world to get ready there.

Which was rather useful when you happened to be running late.

"You're... you're very handsome, Professor... uh... Kiyan..." she stammered, caught off guard by the wave of desire that had washed over her.

The man's eyes widened, surprised to see her so flustered.

Everything that had happened between them through their alter egos came rushing back at him like a boomerang.

The silence stretched on, and Blanche took advantage of it to flee, still blushing.

Kiyan's scent and his presence, so close to her, followed her all the way to the stairs.

She couldn't believe he hadn't said anything.

He could have said something...

Or stopped her.

Even just a thank you, at the very least.

She grabbed the garment bag containing her dress, her shoebox, then passed through the office before stepping into her mirror, fully intending to ask Cassian for a drink—with a proper snack to go with it.

Instead, she found Phénix sunbathing.

Naked as the day he was born, as usual, right in the middle of the garden.

"Damn it, at least put on some shorts! And where have you been?"

Except...

It wasn't Phénix.

The resemblance was so striking that Blanche was left speechless when the man stood up, grabbed a towel, and stared at her in amazement.

"You're not Phénix."

"Affirmative," replied the man who looked exactly like her familiar, save for his pale blue eyes.

"Not again..." Blanche murmured.

"Why does this keep happening?!" she screamed at the fake sky, summoning the phoenixes.

"Ma'am?" Cassian asked.

"I didn't know you were so modest, Godmother. Forgive me," the stranger apologized.

He apparently thought she was angry because of him.

"Who is he? And why does he look exactly like my Phénix? Not to mention, why is he calling me Godmother? Was being a mother not enough?! Has the universe decided to make a complete mockery of me?!"

There.

It was time.

Blanche exploded like a tidal wave.

The sky darkened and, for the first time in a long while, rain began to fall over the mansion.

Blanche laughed.

Then she cried.

"He didn't even say thank you! Was it really that hard to say thank you?! And why do I have to go to this party?! I don't want to! And why am I always the one who has to fix everything?!"

She continued forward, grumbling louder and louder, crossed the doorway into the house, and threw the dress and shoes onto the floor.

Cassie immediately caught them and hurried to put them somewhere safe.

"And why does everyone know who I am... except me, huh?! Why?!"

Blanche poured herself a cognac, tears still streaming down her face.

"But do something!" the stranger whispered a little too loudly to Cassian.

The butler shrugged, smoothed his trousers, then cracked his neck before answering.

"And I have to sit here patiently waiting for someone to explain who they are, where they came from, and how I know them. Even here, they follow me around..." Blanche continued.

"Just wait," Cassian said.

"Does this happen to her often?" the young man asked, as the rain was already stopping and rays of the fake sun began breaking through once again.

"Far too often, if you ask me," the brunette replied.

"I heard you!" Blanche grumbled.

Cassian smiled.

Of course she had heard him.

"The mansion is your outlet and your refuge. It's perfectly normal to vent your frustrations here, even in pajamas—remembering that fuchsia pink thing," the phoenix said perceptively. "What did Kiyan do this time?"

Blanche poured herself another drink and collapsed gracelessly onto the sofa in the enormous living room.

"He was dressed for the evening..." she admitted, blushing. "I complimented him, and he couldn't even be bothered to say thank you."

"Ah!" Cassie exclaimed as she returned. "That explains everything."