It was a mistake. A massive, life-threatening mistake.
Of all the people to get entangled with, it had to be Caelus van de Valt—the man known as the “Iron-Blooded Psychopath.” In the original novel, he was the final boss, the hidden mastermind who would eventually bring the entire empire to its knees.
And here I was, trying to negotiate my way out of his bed.
“You said you don’t remember?”
Caelus leaned in, his shadow looming over me. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with a tension that made my skin prickle. His eyes, cold as a winter frost, traced the line of my neck.
“I… I might have been a bit too drunk,” I stammered, clutching the silk sheets to my chest. “So, if we could just act like civil adults and forget this ever happened—”
“Forget?”
He let out a low, dry chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. He reached out, his long fingers grazing the tip of my chin, forcing me to look up.
“You’re the one who crawled into my carriage. You’re the one who begged me not to leave you alone. And now, you want to ‘bury it as a fond memory’?”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“I was… mistaken! I thought you were someone else!”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His grip on my chin tightened just a fraction—not enough to hurt, but enough to make me realize I was trapped.
“Someone else?” he whispered, his voice dangerously smooth. “Who, exactly, did you mistake me for?”
“I, uh…”
Think! Think of something!
“The… the pastry chef! Yes! I thought you were the man who makes those divine cream puffs at the capital bakery!”
Silence.
Caelus stared at me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might actually kill me for such a ridiculous lie. But then, he leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to prove to you,” he murmured, “that I can provide much more than just… cream puffs.”
