<b>hapter </b><b>93 </b>


    Elena’s POV


    “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s personal, Mkai said quietly, his voice dipped in unexpected sincerity


    The moment he said it, I let out a slow exhale, feeling the tension in my chest ease just slightly. Thurn’t even realized how tightly my muscles. clenched until that breath released. I appreciated that he backed off not everyone did. Most people would press further, turning your traumia into karaft talk, like pain was a topic for brunch.


    But not him


    There was something different in Mkai’s expression, something that didn’t quite fit into the same categories as people ske Lazar dr Dmitri He wasn’t being pushy. He wasn’t being charming in impress me like before. And he definitely wasn’t flirting, though caught flickers of warmth and familiarity in his mannerisms. I just……….. didn’t know what he wanted.


    Lunderstood why Seraphina would want to talk to me. That could stomach. She was powerful, elegant, and chilling in a way I hadn’t forgotten since the g. But Mkai? Her brother? Why was he being so… normal?


    I turned toward the passenger–side window and <b>shook </b>my head slowly, trying to push the thought out of my mind. Then another wave of difort rolled behind my eyes, and I winced as the ache in my skull returned with a dull throb tilted my head slightly, closing my eyes for a moment, letting my forehead rest against the cool window.


    Damn


    The nausea hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had grown worse. The car, as sleek and stunning <b>as </b><b>it </b><b>was</b><b>, </b><b>had </b>started to feel like a trap. We’d been driving for half an hour, and with each minute, I felt more and more like my insides were staging a rebellion.


    are we going exactly?” <b>I </b>asked, my voice lower than usual, the silence between us having stretched on far too long.


    “Where are we


    Mkal nced over and frowned, taking in my pallor again. “Almost there. Just after this tum,” he said. Then added with concern, “You really don’t look okay. Are you sure you’re not sick or something?”


    I sighed and leaned back in my seat, squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t know,” I muttered. “Let’s just……… get there.”


    I wasn’t trying to be rude, but politeness had flown out the window somewhere around minute twenty. The pressure in my head, the dull ache in my joints, and the gnawing emptiness in my stomach were all conspiring against my self–control.


    it also didn’t help that I was sitting next to Mkal Legacy. A renowned model. I should’ve been making a better impression, but here was–slouched in a hoodie and jeans, with dark circles under my eyes and all the grace of <b>a </b>sleep–deprived roon.


    And yet… he hadn’t said a word about it.


    He hadn’t even blinked at my appearance.


    No judgment. No <b>subtle </b>eye–rolls. No pitying nces.


    Just calm concern.


    Which was saying something, especially considering hisst name.


    In my mind, “Legacy” was practically synonymous with elitism, Arrogance. Like Lazar. Like Onitri Like everyone else born into the upper crust of Wlhaven’s society.


    But Mkai?


    He <b>hadn’t </b>shown even <b>a </b>shred of mockery No derision. No condescension.


    And if he was jodging me,, he <b>was </b>doing an Oscar–worthy job of hiding it.


    I <b>nced </b>sideways at him again as the car rolled to a gentle stop outside a small, tucked–awayer cafe painted in soft was quaint, with rustle French windows and flower boxes full of bloomingvender and lvy spitting over the woodwork, its i calligraphy above the ss, Maison du Miel


    1frowned.


    “A normal cafeteria, huh?” Imuttered, stepping out of the car.


    Mkalughed under his breath, unbuckling smoothly. “Yeah, well… It’s one of the more lowkay sprits my sister frequents. Hope you don’t <b>mind</b><b>.</b><b>” </b>


    I gave him a tired smile, brushing my hair from under my cap as the breeze hit my cheeks. “it’s fine”


    Honestly? The fresh air felt like a balm. My stomach still lipped uneasily, but at least the pounding in my skull had dulled slightly. The breeze carried hints of brewed coffee, sugar, and something faintly floral–honeysuckle maybe, it was calming, grounding


    We stopped inside, a soft bell chiming overhead. The cafe was <b>mostly </b>empty, its interior bathed in warm, honey gold light from sconces mounted against pale <b>cream </b>walls. Small round tables were scattered about, each one set with a simple <b>vase </b>holding a single wildflower. A chalkboard menu hung over the espresso bar, written entirely in elegant French script.


    Mka nced around, then frowned, fishing out his phone.


    “Where is she?” he murmured, more to himself than to me.


    I looked around as well. There were maybe two other patrons, both absorbed in theirptops, and a young couple whispering to each other in the back


    “Why don’t you go sit down?” <b>Mkal </b>said, turning to me with a soft smile. “I give her a call and see where she is. Feel free to order anything you want


    it’s <b>on </b>me.


    I hesitated, not quite used to this level of casual generosity, but nodded. “Thanks.”


    I <b>wandered </b>toward <b>a </b><b>small </b>three–person table in the <b>back </b>corner <b>and </b><b>set </b>my rucksack down with a tired sigh, I slid off my cap, hung it on the back of the chair, and tried to fix my hair in the reflection of my phone screen. The sight made me wince.


    No amount of lip gloss was going to for this.


    I looked like death’s understudy.


    I was exhausted. And starving. But still nauseous. The worstbination. My <b>limbs </b>felt heavy<b>, </b>my chest tight. Drowsiness coated my mind like a fog, <b>and </b>Islouched deeper into the chair <b>with </b><b>a </b>sigh that felt like it came from my soul


    A young cafe worker approached<b>, </b>smiling warmly as she set a digital tablet with the menu in front of me.


    “Bonjour, mademoiselle. What would you like to order today?”


    I scrolled aimlessly through the tablet. Nothing stuck. The words blurred together. My brain was mush


    Just… your strongest coffee,” I said, and cringed. Even I heard how awkward that sounded.


    The waitress giggled politely. “I rmend the café noisette–or the Café Serre. It’s small, dark, and very strong. French equivalent of rocket <b>fuel </b>


    “That one,” I said, nodding. “Whatever <b>sounds </b>most effective.”


    She nodded. “Would you like something to get with that? Our Turkish croissantes quite popr. Or we have bava, Caramel waffles too.”


    My stomach twisted again, I hesitated.


    <b>2/3 </b>


    Baldaya<b>. </b>


    My mind traitorously drifted to Niki.


    He loved sweets. Had a ridiculous sweet tooth, the kind that didn’t fit with his cold, ruthless exterior, I remembered the half–asian pastry bow still in our a fridge. The one I’d picked out yesterday before everything imploded with inomi,


    I looked down, swallowed hard. “The croissant is fine. But… can you bring it outter? When the others order?”


    The girl nced toward Mkal, who was still talking quietly on the phone by the cafe’s entrance. Then the nodded. “Of course, mademoiselle.”


    As she walked away, I slipped lower into my chair and stared at the wonden grain of the table, I hated how easily my mind betrayed me. How even something as simple as a pastry could break me down.


    What the hell was even doing?


    Why was I still thinking about him?


    Why did everything keeping back to Niki Vetrov?


    The sound of footsteps brought me back, and I sat up a little straighter as Mka returned to the table, sliding into the seat across from me with a tight expression.


    “Uh. Elena…” he began, running a hand through his hair. “It seems my sister found an acquaintance of hers on the way!”


    My brows to


    1 blinked slowly. My brows rose


    “<b>Oh</b><b>… </b>so… she won’t being?”


    AD


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