Chapter Six.

Belladonna sighed at the night sky, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets.

"Seems I won't be sleeping in my apartment tonight."

Lucien had already flipped her life upside down in under an hour. She wasn't about to walk into whatever other surprises he had waiting for her in that building.

"I should find the nearest motel."

She pulled out her phone, scrolling for options as she walked. The neon lights of the city buzzed around her, the streets alive with music, laughter, and—

Wait.

She paused mid-step, frowning.

Down the sidewalk, a man stood hunched over a crate, wearing the most ridiculous disguise she had ever seen. A trench coat too big for his frame, thick-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose, and a fake mustache that was barely hanging on.

He was juggling.

Badly.

The glowing nightclub sign behind him cast a flashing red LUXURIA above his head—the hottest club in the city.

And yet, here he was, dropping what looked like foam apples onto the sidewalk.

Belladonna blinked.

She should walk away. She should ignore him. But she had made eye contact now, and—

"Ah! You there, beautiful lady!" The man's voice wobbled between an old-timey accent and a cartoon villain's rasp. He pushed his slipping glasses up his nose and grinned. "Would you like to witness magic?"

Belladonna stared.

No. No, she absolutely did not.

Before she could answer, he yanked a deck of cards out of nowhere and dramatically flung them into the air. They scattered across the pavement.

"...Oops."

Belladonna pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Listen, dude, I don't have time for whatever weird scam this is—"

"But wait!" He fumbled with his coat, and a bouquet of fake roses flopped out of his sleeve. "For you, my darling~"

He wiggled his fingers dramatically, thrusting the flowers at her.

And then—

The moment her hand brushed the petals, his grip shifted.

The glasses hit the ground.

The trench coat slipped off his shoulders.

And suddenly, instead of some terrible street magician, she was standing in front of Xavian Noctis.

Belladonna's stomach dropped.

Silver hair like moonlight. Amethyst eyes brimming with mischief.

And a smirk that promised nothing but trouble.

"Hello, sweetheart." His voice was suddenly velvet, his fingers sliding up her wrist in a touch that sent heat down her spine.

Belladonna yanked her hand back immediately. "You?!"

Xavian sighed dramatically, stretching as if he'd been freed from a terrible burden. "Finally. That disguise was killing me."

"You—what—why—WHAT WAS THAT?!" She gestured violently at the discarded trench coat.

"A performance," he said smoothly, stepping closer. "You know how much I love a good chase."

Belladonna took a step back.

Xavian took two forward.

"Ah, ah, where do you think you're going?" His fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face up to meet his wicked grin. "You did stop for me, after all. That means you wanted to see me, right?"

Belladonna slapped his hand away. "I stopped because you were acting like a deranged magician! Not because I wanted to!"

Xavian only chuckled, utterly unbothered. "Mmm, but you touched me first. You accepted my gift." He twirled the fake rose between his fingers before tucking it behind her ear.

Belladonna swatted it away. "Stop being weird."

"Oh, darling." He leaned in, his lips brushing just near her ear. "I haven't even started being weird."

Belladonna shoved him. Hard.

"GO AWAY, PERVERT!"

Xavian stumbled back, laughing. "So cruel! But fine, fine. I'll behave… for now."

He winked, then turned toward the club entrance, the bouncer stepping aside without a word.

Before disappearing into the neon-lit doorway, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming.

"See you soon, Queen."

Belladonna stood frozen on the sidewalk, heart hammering, hands clenched into fists.

She exhaled.

"I hate my life."

Belladonna quickly rushed down the street, muttering under her breath, "Nearest motel, nearest motel, nearest—ugh!"

Her pulse was still racing. She could still feel Xavian's lingering touch on her wrist, like a ghost of silk and sin. The way he had looked at her, the way he had set her up—the ridiculous disguise, the fake magic act—it had been so stupid, but the moment he dropped the act, he had her exactly where he wanted.

"Damn it!" She smacked her forehead. "I fell for that idiotic street magician act!"

She was so done. First Lucien, now Xavian? She needed a break. A hole to crawl into. A universe where she wasn't constantly being stalked and toyed with by her so called husbands.

She speed-walked past the flashing neon lights of Luxuria, resisting the urge to look back, in case Xavian was still watching.

He definitely was.

Finally, she spotted a cheap motel up ahead. The kind of place that didn't ask questions and didn't care who you were, as long as you paid. Perfect.

She yanked the door open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind her, panting.

The bored-looking receptionist barely glanced up from her magazine. "Welcome to the Blue Moon Inn. Cash or card?"

Belladonna pulled out some bills, pushing them across the counter. "One room, no disturbances, and if anyone comes looking for me—"

"You don't exist. Got it." The receptionist took the money, slid a key across the desk, and went back to flipping pages.

Belladonna snatched the key and made a beeline for the stairs. Finally, peace—

A low chuckle rumbled from behind her.

Her entire body locked up.

That voice.

No. NO.

Slowly, mechanically, she turned her head.

In the dimly lit lobby, lounging on one of the battered sofas, sat a very familiar figure.

A newspaper covered most of his face, but she could see it—the silver hair peeking from under the hood of his sweatshirt. The long fingers drumming lazily against the armrest.

And those unmistakable, mischievous amethyst eyes gleaming over the edge of the paper.

Xavian lowered the newspaper just enough to smirk.

"What took you so long, sweetheart?"

Belladonna's stomach dropped.

Her fingers tightened around the motel key as Xavian slowly folded the newspaper and set it aside, stretching like a lazy cat.

"You look tense," he murmured, voice all honeyed amusement. "Rough night?"

Belladonna took a step back. "Nope. Absolutely not. I am not doing this with you."

Xavian sighed dramatically, standing up in one smooth, fluid motion. His hoodie was slightly oversized, hanging just enough to look casual—but the moment he moved, she could see it. The way it clung to his body, the way he was deliberately not wearing a shirt underneath, letting just the faintest glimpse of skin show at his collarbone.

Oh, he was so doing this on purpose.

She clenched her jaw. "Why are you here?"

Xavian smirked, stepping closer. "Coincidence?"

Yeah right.

Before she could bolt, he was suddenly there, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that she caught the faint scent of something dark and expensive—red wine and something sinful.

A single, teasing finger traced along her wrist. She shivered.

"You are always running, Belladonna." His voice dipped lower, his touch light but deliberate. "You ran from us and your title back then, and now you're still running."

She had to move. Had to get away.

But then Xavian's fingers slid further, barely grazing the inside of her palm before trailing up, slow and lazy, along her arm.

Her breath hitched.

"Tell me, Belladonna…" His lips were right by her ear now, his breath warm. "When are you going to stop pretending you don't like being caught?"

"Shit! For some reason, I can't resist. Something intoxicating is clouding my mind..."

She risked a glance at his face and instantly regretted it. Those amethyst eyes, normally so controlled, now burned with raw hunger – half-lidded, fever-bright, and locked onto her like she was the only thing in his universe. A deep crimson stained his high cheekbones. His lips curled into that signature crooked smile, but there was nothing playful about it now. Each ragged breath that escaped between them sent jolts straight to her core.

His body trembled against hers, not with nervousness but with the effort of holding back. The predatory intensity in his gaze stripped her bare long before his hands could, devouring her whole.

Heat pooled low and insistent in her belly, spreading like wildfire as his hands – those clever, maddening hands – pressed into the sensitive skin at her waist. His mouth traced a burning path down her throat, each kiss more desperate than the last, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp as he approached the edge of her collar.

*Why here? Why now?* her mind screamed, desperately clawing for rationality while her body surrendered to the onslaught of sensation. Her breath caught when his teeth found that sensitive spot below her ear. Her thoughts scattered like leaves in a hurricane. And her body – her traitorous, honest body – arched against him, seeking more.

The hard ridge of his arousal pressed unmistakably against her thigh, hot even through their clothes. A whimper escaped her throat before she could catch it, and she felt him smile against her skin in response.

She shoved him.

Not hard. Just enough to breathe again.

"You are so damn annoying." Her voice was strained, but she refused to let him see how much he affected her.

Xavian chuckled, utterly unbothered. "And yet, here we are."

He stepped back just enough to be polite—but his eyes told her this wasn't over.

"I won't push," he said smoothly. "For now."

Then, just as she thought she was free, he reached out hooking a single finger under her chin.

A tilt. A whisper of touch.

"Sleep well, sweetheart."

And then he was gone, vanishing into the night like he had never been there at all.

Belladonna collapsed against the motel counter, dragging a shaky hand down her face.

She hated this. She didn't need all these distraction.

And worst of all?

Her body was still burning where he had touched her.