Page 42 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

Golden morning light streams through the kitchen windows, catching dust motes that dance in the air. The space is empty except for me - exactly what I need right now. No distractions. No obligations. No towering xaphan with piercing eyes and rough hands that still burn against my skin when I let myself remember.

I slam the dough down. Flour puffs up in a white cloud.

Twice. He's kissed me twice, and each time he's pulled away like I'm poison. Like I'm something dangerous. Then that night on his balcony... My cheeks flush hot at the memory of his mouth, his wings spread wide above me, the way he-

"Dammit." I yank my hair tie tighter, securing loose strands that have escaped during my aggressive baking session. I'm done being his plaything, done letting him draw me in only to push me away. I'm not some desperate human who'll take whatever scraps of attention he deigns to give.

The dough tears under my fingers. I've overworked it, just like I've overthought every interaction between us. Every lingering look. Every almost-touch. Every time his wings have shifted toward me before he forces them still.

My hands shake as I dump the ruined dough in the waste bin. I brace myself against the counter, letting my head hang between my shoulders. The cool against my palms grounds me, but it can't ease the ache in my chest.

I'm tired of feeling invisible. Of being treated like I'm both irresistible and disposable. If Ridwan can't figure out what he wants, then I need to stop wanting him. Stop imagining a future where a high-ranking xaphan could ever see a human as an equal.

The morning bell chimes in the distance. Soon the kitchen will fill with staff, and I'll have to paste on a smile and pretend everything's fine. But right now, in this quiet moment, I let myself feel every sharp edge of my anger and hurt.

And that builds in me until I can’t take it. I’m out of the kitchen before I even know what I’m doing.

The halls of the manor stretch endless and dark in the early morning as I march toward Ridwan's study where I am certain he is. My footsteps echo against floors, each step fueled by hours of built-up frustration. Enough dancing around this. Enough pretending the air doesn't crackle whenever we're in the same room.

I don't knock. The heavy door swings open under my palm, revealing Ridwan bent over his desk, wings curved forward as he reads through a stack of documents. The mage light catches his bronze skin, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw.

He glances up, golden eyes narrowing. "Eva-"

"No." I slam the door behind me. "You don't get to dismiss me this time."

His wings snap back, feathers bristling. He rises to his full height, towering over the desk. "I'm in the middle of-"

"I don't care." My voice shakes but I hold my ground. "I need answers. Now."

"About what?" His tone is ice, but I catch the way his fingers curl against the wood.

"About this." I gesture between us. "About why you keep pulling me close only to shove me away. About why you look at me like I'm something you want to devour, then treat me like I don't exist."

He turns away, wings creating a barrier between us. "You don't understand-"

"Then help me understand!" I circle the desk, forcing myself into his space. "Do you want me or not? Because I can't keep living like this, wondering if each moment between us means anything or if I'm just convenient entertainment for a bored xaphan lord."

His wings twitch. The muscle in his jaw ticks. But he won't look at me.

"Ridwan." I reach for him but stop short of touching. "I deserve to know where I stand. What I am to you. Because right now I feel like I'm going crazy, trying to read meaning into every glance, every almost-touch."

The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words. He remains frozen, a statue of bronze and gold, while my heart pounds so hard I swear he must hear it.

His silence fills the space between us, heavy as storm clouds. Those golden eyes hold mine, and I see everything he won't say - the fear, the hesitation, the longing that mirrors my own. My chest aches with the weight of it all.

I know about Sera. About the love he lost, the way it shattered him. Even the servants whisper about how he changed after her death, how the warmth drained from him like waterthrough cupped hands. But I'm not her ghost, and I won't let her memory become the wall he hides behind.

My fingers curl into fists at my sides. The floor is cold beneath my feet, grounding me as memories of our moments together flash through my mind - his wings curving toward me before he catches himself, the heat in his gaze when he thinks I'm not looking, the way his hands linger whenever they brush against mine.

We're trapped in this dance of almost-touching, almost-admitting, almost-everything. And I'm tired. So tired of pretending I don't feel the pull between us, the invisible thread that draws me to him no matter how many times he pushes me away.

The low light catches on his wings, turning the golden feathers to liquid fire. He's everything I shouldn't want - powerful, dangerous, broken in ways that match my own jagged edges. But standing here, watching him wage war with himself, I realize something that steals my breath:

I don't care about shouldn't.

I don't care about the whispers that would follow us, the disapproving stares, the weight of his past. I just want him - all of him, even the parts he thinks are too dark to share. Even if it burns me to ash.

My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to break free, to bridge the space between us that feels both infinite and microscopic. The tension crackles in the air, thick enough to choke on.

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