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Dark Moon Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 372. You’re Enjoying This
🕑 Added 2025-02-13 15:30:44 +0000 UTCThird Arc (Fallen Heart) - 372. You’re Enjoying This
Rose felt her breath catch for half a second before she steadied herself, forcing her expression to remain neutral. But Angel saw it—he always saw it. The faint shift in her breathing, the way her fingers tensed just slightly against his. And judging by the glint in his eyes, he was thoroughly amused by it.
“You’re enjoying this,” Rose murmured, her voice just low enough that only he could hear.
Angel’s smirk widened, his grip on her waist tightening just enough to remind her that he was very much aware of what he was doing. “Of course I am. Are you?”
Rose narrowed her eyes on him, though she couldn’t deny that there was something thrilling about this—the way they moved together, the way every set of eyes in the ballroom followed them, the way Angel carried himself like he was utterly untouchable.
“I’m trying to decide,” she said, tilting her head slightly.
Angel chuckled, his tone full of quiet confidence. “Let me help. If you weren’t enjoying it, you would have stepped away by now.”
Rose huffed softly, rolling her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“I know. But, you’re still here,” Angel mused, his voice carrying that infuriatingly smooth charm.
Rose didn’t respond immediately. She knew if she did, she might say something he could twist into another one of his smug little victories. So instead, she focused on their movements, the way their bodies moved in perfect sync as the dance continued. But of course, Angel wasn’t one to let silence linger for too long—not when he could toy with her just a little more.
His lips brushed dangerously close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered, “I know you enjoy this too. You’ve fallen for me after all.”
Rose stiffened, just for a fraction of a second, and she hated that he noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always noticed. His grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly, his fingers pressing through the fine fabric of her gown, grounding her in the moment. She should have said something. Denied it. Scoffed. Anything. But she didn’t.
Because he was right.
And he knew it.
Angel chuckled softly, the sound sending an irritating shiver down her spine. “Nothing to say?” he teased, his tone laced with quiet amusement.
Rose finally exhaled, keeping her expression unreadable. “What’s there to say when you’re so convinced of yourself?”
Angel tilted his head slightly, his gaze dark with something unreadable. “That’s not an answer.”
She forced herself to look at him then, eyes meeting his as if she could challenge him without words alone. “Neither was yours.”
His smirk widened, but there was something different in it now. Less of a taunt, more of a quiet acknowledgment. He knew the truth. He didn’t need her to say it. And that was exactly why she wouldn’t. Not yet.
Instead, he let out a breath. “Just enjoy the dance.”
She hummed, seemingly satisfied, before whispering, “I am. And so are you.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from reacting. The worst part was that he was right—again. She did enjoy it. The dance. The way he held her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered. The way he made everything else fade into the background, even the ever-present weight of their responsibilities.
Still, there was one thing she had to confirm.
“And the assassins?” she murmured, glancing briefly at the edge of the ballroom.
Angel followed her gaze, but he remained relaxed, his movements never faltering. “I haven’t seen any yet.”
“Yet,” Rose repeated, her fingers tightening slightly against his shoulder.
Angel smirked. “Don’t worry, Rose. If they do show up, I’ll make sure you still get to finish the dance first.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “How thoughtful.”
Angel smirked, the amusement in his gaze lingering for just a second longer before his expression shifted. Subtle, almost unnoticeable, but Rose had been around him long enough to catch it. His grip on her waist didn’t tighten, his posture didn’t stiffen, but there was a moment—a fleeting second—where his gaze flickered toward the far end of the ballroom.
Something had changed.
