Chapter 355: Comforting lie

NICK

The sudden mention of his name made my hand pause for a fraction of a second.

"I honestly expected him to be a complete disaster by now," she said, a small, slightly hollow smile touching her lips. "After I ended things between us. He used to act like the entire world would fall apart if I wasn’t in the room with him. But the last time I caught a glimpse of him near my neighborhood, he looked... fine. Good, even. It’s strange."

The answer came to my mind instantly, complete and obvious.

Cassian. The reason Noah wasn’t falling apart was currently resting in a massive private estate, looking at my brother as if he were the only stable thing left on the planet.

I knew exactly what kind of questionable, intense arrangement they had stumbled into over the last month, but it wasn’t my secret to tell, and more importantly, I genuinely could not care less about Noah’s romantic endeavors.

"No idea," I said, my voice perfectly indifferent. "I don’t keep track of his emotional state. I never have."

Lila accepted the response without a second thought, launching into a long, detailed complaint about her current standing at the publication.

She talked about the fallout from the missing Cassian story, how her editors were questioning whether her sources were worth anything anymore, and how her reputation had taken a hit among the senior staff.

I sat there, nodding at regular intervals, but my mind had completely left the café several sentences ago.

Then, the phone against the wood table gave a sharp, heavy vibration.

I picked it up reflexively, my thumb unlocking the screen before I could even remind myself to act detached. It was the same habit I’d been unable to break all week.

Cyan had finally responded.

The notification opened, and a photograph loaded directly into the center of the screen.

It was a selfie, taken from an absurdly close angle. Cyan’s face took up nearly the entire frame, his messy pink hair faded slightly at the roots where his natural brown hair was beginning to show through.

He was winking at the camera, his tongue sticking out just far enough to let the small piercing catch the bright morning light.

Right next to his cheek, he was holding the ridiculous, angry dildo plushie from his earlier text.

The toy’s furious, embroidered eyebrows were pressed right against his skin, creating a ridiculous contrast with Cyan’s absurdly handsome, playful expression.

Underneath the photo, the caption read: I’ve been diagnosed with far worse. Delusional is mild, honestly.

I stared at the screen.

Objectively, it was just a single, silly photograph, but my brain completely locked up.

For a few seconds, the entire café disappeared. My heart did a strange, uneven stutter against my ribs, caught entirely off guard by the sheer, unbothered beauty of his face.

It was so vivid, so entirely him, that the cold, careful mask I wore every single day simply crumbled to dust. My features softened completely, my mouth loosening from its hard line before I even realized I was doing it.

"—well, that is definitely new."

Lila’s voice cut through the air like cold water.

I looked up, my mind scrambling to pull the pieces of my face back into order, but I was a second too slow. The mask wasn’t fully in place yet.

Lila was leaning across the table, her eyes fixed on me with the terrifying, sharp focus of a person whose entire career was built on catching the things people tried hardest to hide.

"That is not your usual face," she said, her voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous register. "You definitely don’t look like that when you’re bored, Nicholas."

"It’s nothing," I said, my voice instantly dropping back into its cold, professional rhythm. "Just an updates thread from the department."

"Are you absolutely sure you’re not seeing someone?" The sharp, knowing smile returned to her face, but her eyes remained completely focused.

"Because honestly, it would be much easier to believe the world is ending today than to believe you’re emotionally involved with another human being. You don’t do that. You’ve never done that."

The words landed heavily in the center of my chest, but instead of making me defensive, they brought a sudden, immense wave of relief.

She’s right, I thought, my pulse finally slowing down as the logic reasserted itself.

This is not what I do. I am a rational man.

This is just a temporary fixation on an absurd situation that requires closer study. Nothing more. Once the observation period concludes, the data will normalize and this will resolve itself.

I pushed the thought away as a comforting confirmation of my own sanity. The relief was immediate, useful, and almost certainly a complete lie, but I clung to it anyway.

"You’re imagining things, Lila," I said smoothly, sliding the phone face down onto the wood. "Tell me more about this club you mentioned."

Lila watched me for another moment, clearly unsatisfied, but she let the subject drop for now.

Her hand moved slowly across the table, her fingers sliding over mine. It was an old, familiar touch, the exact gesture she used whenever she wanted to re-establish the frequency we used to share.

Her eyes did that soft, heavy thing that used to work on me without a single scrap of effort.

I looked down at her hand. I saw the physical contact. I felt it with a dull sort of detachment, that my body should be responding to it.

But it wasn’t working. My mind was still stuck on the image of a fading pink hairline, a silver tongue piercing, and a ridiculous plushie held up like a joke.

Lila leaned a little closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "We could go back to my apartment. Or yours. It’s been a while, Nicholas."

"Maybe," I said. My hand remained flat under hers, not pulling away, but not matching her pressure either. It was just... there. Like a piece of furniture.

Then, an unwelcome, unbidden thought broke through my mind, complete and terrifyingly clear: I’d rather it was him.

I caught the thought mid-formation, my internal defenses slamming down instantly.

What the actual fuck am I thinking?

The sheer wrongness of the moment made my throat go dry.

Here was Lila... attractive, familiar, historically effective, and completely available and my system was simply refusing to cooperate.

It felt off, the way a familiar song sounded completely ruined when played in the wrong key.

Lila slowly withdrew her hand, reading the lack of response with a quiet, analytical focus. She didn’t look angry; she just looked like she’d bring it up later.

"There’s an event this Friday," she said, changing tactics seamlessly as she gathered her designer bag.

"A new client I’m covering, a major celebrity, though I can’t name him yet. He’s supposed to be at this exclusive club downtown. Big crowd, heavy security. I’m going for the story. Come with me."

"Maybe," I replied, my voice sounding distant even to myself. "I’ll think about it."

Lila stood up, sliding the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She stood by the edge of the table, studying me for one final, long moment before she walked away.

"You’re hiding something, Nicholas," she said simply. It wasn’t a question. "I don’t know what it is yet, but I will find out."

She turned and left the café without waiting for a reply.

I sat alone for a while, looking at my coffee. It was mostly untouched, and it had gone completely cold.

She’s right, I thought, looking back down at the black glass of my phone. She’s exactly the kind of person who finds things out eventually. Which is precisely why I can’t let her go yet.

I turned the phone over. The selfie was still open, Cyan’s winking face still occupying the screen, still doing that strange, heavy thing to the center of my chest.

I didn’t put the phone away for a very long time.