Page 29 of His Little Angel
“You’re losing her right now,” he continues. “Every second you waste pretending you’re in control.”
Before I can speak, Aurora appears in the doorway, drowning in one of Lucian’s shirts.
“Lu? Why aren’t you in bed?”
Lucian straightens instantly. His whole presence shifts—eyes warming in a way I’ve never seen on him with anyone else.
“I’m coming, my little muse,” he murmurs.
She notices me. “Oh—hi, Enzo.”
I nod. My throat feels tight.
She presses into his chest. His arm wraps around her automatically, like his body has been trained to respond before his mind catches up.
The sight hits me harder than anything Lucian said tonight. Is that what I’ve been running from? She isn’t his weakness. She’s his anchor. The thing that keeps him human—but he’d burn cities for.
A drop of cold sweat runs down my spine.
Is that what Mila would be? Is that what I’ve been pushing away?
Lucian guides Aurora back toward the hallway. He glances over his shoulder and mutters low: “Go get her, Enzo.”
I finally understand—
I’m already too far gone.
Running only makes it worse.
Chapter Thirteen
Mila
Ipush through the glass doors, knowing it’s the last time I’ll do it. Three years in this place, and somehow it feels heavier today, like the building knows I’m leaving and wants one final chance to cling to me.
But I’m done clinging back.
If I’m walking out for good, I need all the confidence I can muster. So I dress for war: skirt a little shorter than usual, blouse loosened at the top, hair actually down instead of scraped into that headache-inducing bun. And my heels—the only pair I ever let myself splurge on—hit the marble like warning shots.
Goodbye, kingdom.
Goodbye, king.
It’s petty, but it feels good.
Lindsay from marketing is the first unfortunate soul I see in the kitchenette. The raging bitch who turned my life into company gossip, making up rumors that I ran off with some imaginary billionaire.
I swallow the urge to choke on my own eye-roll and force a polite smile.
“Good morning, Lindsay. Want coffee?”
Her gaze sweeps me. “You’re… dressed differently.”
I want to throw the kettle at her. Instead, I smile wider. “Could be because it’s my last day… or because I have to meet that oil tycoon everyone’s so obsessed with.”
Her jaw drops. Opens. Closes. Malfunctioning robot. “I—uh… I didn’t mean—today is really your last day?”
The kettle beeps. I turn my back to roll my eyes at the wall.