Chapter 38: Top Model

Kiyan went on. Blanche only retained the essentials: an irresistible voice—literally—an incarnation of lust, an incubus, a model who had walked the runway in the nightlife world just yesterday. Elsa would dream of having him as a model, even just once.

And yet, despite herself, Blanche wasn't really listening anymore. Her eyes kept drifting back to the man beside her. The way his jaw tightened ever so slightly between sentences. The way his voice, even calm, always seemed to carry something darker, deeper beneath it—like a low rumble under the surface.

She forced herself to look away, annoyed at herself for being so affected.

He finished his plate before continuing:

"A familiar demon is, in a way, bound to its master. For a noble with full powers to suddenly accept taking orders... well. In short, like all demons, he can spend a few days here, but primarily resides in Hell."

Hell is deadly boring... Phénix thought. So when I was offered the chance to play familiar, I said yes. Fewer responsibilities—it's relaxing. But ending up with a bratty virgin teenager, honestly...

Blanche rolled her eyes, though her lips pressed into a tight, nervous smile. As if wanting to wait for the right person was a crime.

"Obsessed," she muttered under her breath.

Her slender fingers tapped lightly against the counter, betraying a restlessness she didn't quite control. She pushed back a strand of her light hair—still slightly damp—that brushed against her cheek. Her pale skin clashed just as much with that ridiculous fuchsia pajama, but her emerald green eyes remained bright, almost too expressive for someone who pretended not to care.

"I thought they didn't choose to become familiars... I thought they were punished into it. A top model as a consolation prize..."

She shook her head, unimpressed, though her gaze flicked briefly toward Kiyan, searching for a reaction. He stood there, still, almost too composed.

"Wait a second," she suddenly exclaimed, straightening slightly. "If he walks runways, he has a human form, right?!"

Kiyan nodded slowly.

"A demon has several forms: animal, demonic, human... and, if I'm not mistaken, even the form of what one desires most in the world."

His eyes settled on her as he said it. Not for long. Just enough for something to tighten in the air.

Blanche felt her throat constrict for no reason. She looked away immediately, unsettled.

Just need to unlock my levels, little mouse.

"Which isn't happening anytime soon," she muttered, swallowing her second-to-last bite, more sharply than intended.

Under Phénix's hungry gaze—though he hadn't eaten anything at the station—she handed him her plate, almost despite herself.

The cat leapt with unreal elegance. On the rug, beneath the warm kitchen light, his black fur seemed to shift—deep, silky, almost unreal, like a living night. Every movement caught the light in subtle reflections, and his silver eyes gleamed like twin shards of moonlight. He was no longer merely beautiful—he was mesmerizing.

He thanked her with a soft brush, his head grazing her wrist with a slow, deliberate, almost possessive motion.

Blanche suppressed a shiver.

"I assume, as a model, there must be photos, videos?" she said, suddenly curious—and perhaps eager to redirect her attention.

Kiyan took out his phone. His movements were calm, controlled. Too controlled. Blanche found herself watching his hands: long, steady, precise. The kind that didn't tremble.

He opened Sean's app. The intertwined white initials on a black background edged in red made her grimace.

As he entered the login and password, something struck her memory. A fleeting, unsettling impression. Déjà vu. Impossible... and yet.

Search: "Phénix, Epsilon winter show."

Dozens of photos appeared instantly.

"Wow..." Blanche murmured, leaning in, forgetting any restraint.

On the screen, Phénix was nothing like a cat. On the red carpet, he was... something else.

A man in a white two-piece suit, with pearly pink buttons, his silhouette sculpted with almost indecent precision. An immaculate faux fur draped over his shoulders, enhancing his presence even more. His physique, perfectly defined, showed through the fabric without excess.

His pale skin resembled that of a living statue, and his long black hair flowed down to his lower back like glossy ink. Curled lashes, sharp eyeliner, vivid lipstick... everything about him contributed to an unreal, almost provocative beauty.

But it was his eyes that held attention. Silver. Burning. Alive.

Magnificent... and dangerous.

Pretty handsome, right?

Blanche narrowed her eyes slightly, a crooked smile returning despite herself.

"You wouldn't happen to know a drakion who looks like you? Without the pigheaded attitude, obviously."

Offended, the cat turned around and, with zero dignity, presented his rear—tail raised—before disappearing.

Blanche let out a soft laugh.

"The Marquis is touchy. Is he attending the Gala?"

"Yes."

The phone snapped shut. The sharp sound echoed louder than it should have.

Blanche flinched slightly.

The Gala.

She blinked, then straightened. She had almost forgotten.

"I'll have to remember to warn him..."

She stood, picked up her plate, but a hand closed around her arm.

The contact was immediate. Warm. Firm.

"Leave it. I'll take care of it."

His voice was low. Lower than usual.

Blanche froze for a fraction of a second. Her eyes slowly moved from his hand to his face. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't joking.

And yet, he didn't let go.

Something pulsed between them, invisible but undeniable.

"...Alright," she finally murmured.

When he released her, the absence of contact felt almost abrupt.

She stepped back once, then twice, before heading for the stairs.

"Good night, Blanche."

"Good night, Mr. Ardachir," she replied from the first step, her voice lighter than she felt.

She went upstairs quickly.

Up there, Eva was already asleep, sprawled across the bed. Blanche smiled softly at the sight of her drooling like a shameless little marmot and slipped in beside her, curling up.

But calm didn't come.

Her arm still burned where he had touched her.

She stared at the ceiling, cheeks warm, heart unsteady.

She wanted more.

Much more.

She closed her eyes, but her mind refused to settle. Kiyan's image kept returning. His voice. His hands. The way he had held her without really giving her a choice.

An hour later, though, she drifted off.

And slipped once more into the Otherworld, excitement still humming beneath her skin.

After all...

If he had a familiar, he had to be playful too... right?