Chapter 29 Chapter 29
Luna was still on the call with Sierra when she reached the staircase.
“You are right,” she muttered under her breath, phone pressed to her ear, “he almost kissed me. Like—almost. Then he didn’t. And that somehow made it worse.”
Sierra laughed on the other end. “That’s psychological warfare. Classic rich-man nonsense.”
“It wasn’t nonsense,” Luna protested, slowing her steps. “It was deliberate. He wanted me confused.”
“Oh, you are confused,” Sierra said smugly. “You sound like it.”
Luna scowled. “I am not.”
A pause.
“…Okay, maybe a little.”
She reached the upper floor and stopped, lowering her voice instinctively. “I don’t even know why I care. It’s not like this is real. It’s a contract.”
“Mmm,” Sierra hummed. “And yet here you are spiralling.”
Luna sighed. “I just—he looked so… normal today. Human. I don’t know. It threw me off.”
“Well,” Sierra said lightly, “if you want to un-spiral, do something grounding. Like cooking. Rich men eat too, you know.”
Luna frowned. “Cooking?”
“Yeah. Find out his favourite dish. Cook it. Domestic dominance,” Sierra joked. “Plus, it’ll mess with him. Men like him aren’t used to effort.”
Luna considered it.
That… actually sounded doable.
“I’ll ask him,” she said suddenly.
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
“Lulu—”
"What now?"
"Just promise you won't let him get to you, okay?"
"Fine. You'll be my weight. I'll hold on to you whenever I feel like I'm drowning."
"That sounds right."
She ended the call and followed the corridor until voices reached her—deep, unfamiliar, authoritative. The sound carried weight. Power. She slowed, peering into the open dining room doors before she could stop herself.
Big mistake.
Daimen sat at the head of the long dining table, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. Around him were five men—older, sharp-eyed, expensively dressed. The air felt heavy even from where she stood, like a room where decisions ruined lives.
One of the men was speaking. He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed her.
All eyes turned.
Luna froze.
“I—” She swallowed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise—”
She stepped back instinctively. “I’ll leave.”
“Lulu.”
Daimen’s voice cut through the room—calm, commanding.
She stopped.
He rose slowly from his chair and crossed the room toward her. Every step was unhurried, deliberate. The men watched in silence.
He took her hand.
Before she could react, he lifted it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t chaste either.
Luna's eyes widened. Now? Right in front of everyone?
“I told you,” he said mildly, eyes never leaving hers, “you don’t need permission to find me.”
Her cheeks burned.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“You didn’t.” He turned slightly, addressing the room without releasing her hand. “Gentlemen, forgive us.”
Then, without warning, he pulled her closer and sat back down—drawing her with him.
Straight onto his lap.
Luna gasped softly, fingers gripping his sleeve.
“Daimen—”
“Sit,” he murmured near her ear. “You’re fine.”
While Luna was mentally recovering from the shock and embarrassment, the people got back to the lunch.
Daimen scooped a bite of food from the plate and held it up to her lips.
“Open.”
Her mind screamed.
Every man at the table watched. Some with shock. One with something darker.
Her pride flared—her eyes watered. She was at the verge of tears. But she knew she couldn't deny. Not in front of these men.
She opened her mouth.
The spoon slid past her lips. Daimen watched her chew as it mattered.
“There,” he said casually. “Much better.”
She leaned closer, lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “I’m having Sierra over for a sleepover tonight for this.” For the embarrassment you put me through!
His grip tightened imperceptibly at her waist.
“Is that so?” he murmured back.
“Yes,” she said sweetly. “Non-negotiable.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “We’ll discuss it later.”
She pulled back, heart racing.
That was when she noticed him.
One of the men—dark-haired, sharp-featured—was staring at her too intently. His gaze slid over her slowly, assessing, calculating. It made her skin crawl.
Daimen noticed.
His eyes flicked to the man, hardening instantly.
The meeting ended shortly after.
Later that evening, Luna stood alone in the kitchen.
She had insisted.
“I can do it myself,” she’d said. “I don’t need help.”
Now she stood over the stove, sleeves rolled up, focus narrowed. Cooking calmed her. The sounds, the routine—it gave her control.
She wasn’t paying attention when the oil spat.
Pain exploded across her palm.
“Shit—!”
She dropped the utensil, clutching her hand to her chest. The burn throbbed instantly, sharp and unforgiving.
“What happened?”
Daimen’s voice was already there.
He crossed the kitchen in seconds, gripping her wrist gently but firmly.
“You burned yourself,” he said flatly.
“It’s nothing—”
He cut her off with a look.
“Sit.”
She did.
He ran her hand under cold water, jaw clenched, movements precise. Anger radiated off him—he looked aloof.
“You don’t need to do this,” he said quietly.
“I wanted to,” she replied just as softly.
He didn’t respond.
He dried her hand carefully, then wrapped it in gauze, fingers brushing her skin with unexpected tenderness.
“There,” he said finally. “You’re done for tonight.”
She looked up at him. “You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re hurt,” he replied simply.
That stunned her into silence.
He stepped back, expression unreadable again.
“I have work,” he said. “Rest.”
Before she could respond, he leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to her forehead.
Not her lips.
Her forehead.
Then he left.
Luna stood there long after the door closed, hand bandaged, heart unsteady.
Somewhere down the hall, her phone buzzed.
Sierra.
She answered immediately.
“You won’t believe what just happened,” Luna blurted.
Sierra listened. Quietly. Carefully.
By the time Luna finished, Sierra exhaled slowly.
“Luna,” she said, breathless sigh, “this is getting more and more out of hand.”
Luna stared at the wall.
She didn’t deny it.
And that scared her more than anything else.