She brought another woman.
Of course she did.
Luna has this beautiful habit of missing the most obvious things. Of seeing only what she wants. And tonight, she walked into that restaurant dressed like ruin and tragedy wrapped in silk—bringing someone else on what should have been our dinner.
She doesn't understand.
She doesn't see.
She thinks this is about someone else.
The girl—Lila—is talkative. Pale skin, sharp jaw, hair like summer wheat and a mouth that runs far too easily. She smiles when she talks. Smiles when she looks at me. Her eyes sparkle like she's already won something.
But I don't look at her.
Not even once.
Luna sits across from me, trying so hard to look composed. Like she's orchestrated this entire thing. Her hands tremble when she lifts her water glass, and I know—know—she's uncomfortable.
> "So, Luna tells me you're into… architecture?" Lila says, voice bright, leaning just a little too close.
I nod without looking at her. My gaze stays where it belongs.
On Luna.
Her lashes flutter, her lips part—soft, vulnerable, slightly bitten—and she won't meet my eyes. Good. She's nervous. She should be.
> "That's really cool," Lila continues. "I've always thought buildings are like… frozen music, you know?"
Luna shifts. She's watching us closely now, expecting something. Waiting for me to flirt, maybe. Waiting for confirmation of whatever wild scenario she's concocted in that stubborn, beautiful head of hers.
Instead, I lean back.
And speak for the first time in ten minutes.
> "Luna. You haven't touched your food."
Her eyes dart up to mine, wide and guilty.
> "I—I will," she mumbles. "I just…"
> "Eat."
It's not a suggestion.
Lila laughs awkwardly. "Wow, protective much?"
But Luna obeys.
After dinner, Lila thanks me for the meal with too much enthusiasm and thanks Luna for "introducing her to such a man." I keep my silence. I don't correct her. I don't humor her. Because her presence here is nothing but background noise.
The moment she walks away, I turn to Luna.
> "Don't do that again."
She blinks. "What?"
> "Bring anyone else into our conversations. This is between you and me."
She stares at me, confused… then hurt.
Perfect.
Let her misunderstand.
Let her think I'm being selfish. Harsh. Controlling.
It's still nothing compared to what I will be—once she finally belongs to me.
And soon, she will.
--