Mordred sat in the backseat of his blacked-out SUV, staring out at the city lights blurring past. The streets were alive, buzzing with energy, but inside the car, it was nothing but silence.
His mind, however, wouldn't shut up.
Nevaeh.
He hadn't realized how much he'd gotten used to her presence until she was gone. Until Ellie sat across from him, asking the right questions with the wrong energy. Too calculated. Too careful.
Nevaeh had never been careful. She had been honest.
Mordred hated that it mattered.
The car slowed as they neared the hotel. Security was already stationed at the entrance, holding back the usual crowd of paparazzi and fans. Cameras flashed, voices called his name, but he barely registered any of it as he stepped out.
He nodded to the guards and walked straight through the lobby, heading for the elevator. He barely made it inside before Oliver stepped in behind him.
"You're thinking too hard," Oliver said, leaning against the mirrored wall.
Mordred scowled. "Didn't know you were a mind reader."
Oliver smirked. "Don't have to be. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I just met someone who actually got to me, and now I don't know what to do about it' look."
Mordred scoffed, crossing his arms. "That's not a thing."
Oliver gave him a knowing glance. "Keep telling yourself that."
The elevator doors slid open, and Mordred stepped out, ignoring Oliver's amused chuckle behind him.
But as he entered his suite, shutting the door behind him, he knew Oliver wasn't wrong.
---
Nevaeh
Nevaeh tapped her pen against her notebook, her gaze unfocused.
She had done the right thing.
That's what she kept telling herself. Handing the coverage over to Ellie was smart. Safer. Less of a headache.
So why did she feel like she had walked away from something unfinished?
Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts.
Oliver: Are you free for a call?
She hesitated. The logical thing would be to ignore it, keep her distance.
Instead, she sighed and typed back:
Nevaeh: Sure.
Within seconds, her phone rang.
She answered. "Didn't think I'd be hearing from you again."
Oliver chuckled. "Neither did I, but here we are."
"What's up?"
There was a pause. Then—
"Mordred wants you back on the coverage."
Nevaeh nearly dropped her pen.
She had expected Oliver to check in, maybe probe for information. But a direct request? From Mordred?
She leaned back in her chair, choosing her next words carefully. "I thought Ellie was handling it now."
"She is. But Mordred isn't exactly… pleased with that arrangement."
Nevaeh frowned. "Since when does he care who interviews him?"
"Since now, apparently," Oliver said. "Look, I get why you dropped it. The fans, the pressure, the whole circus. But if you're worried about the backlash, we can handle it."
Nevaeh exhaled slowly. "It's not just that."
"Then what is it?"
She didn't have an answer. Or maybe she just didn't want to say it out loud.
She had seen too much. Understood too much.
Mordred wasn't just another celebrity looking for a headline. He was—
Complicated.
And complicated was dangerous.
"I'll think about it," she finally said.
"That's all I ask," Oliver replied. "Just don't take too long. Mordred isn't exactly patient."
Nevaeh smirked. "Yeah, I got that impression."
Oliver chuckled. "Goodnight, Nevaeh."
"Night."
She ended the call, staring at her phone.
She had spent years keeping a safe distance from stories that felt too personal. But this?
This was already personal.
And she wasn't sure she liked that.
---
Mordred
He was pacing.
Mordred never paced.
But here he was, running a hand through his hair, waiting for Oliver to text him back.
This was ridiculous.
Nevaeh wasn't special. She was just another journalist. He had done thousands of interviews. He didn't care about any of them.
So why was he waiting?
His phone vibrated. He snatched it off the table.
Oliver: She'll think about it.
Mordred frowned.
That wasn't a yes.
It also wasn't a no.
He sat down, drumming his fingers against his knee.
Would she come back?
Did he want her to?
Yes.
And that?
That was really annoying.