The next morning, Mordred woke up feeling strangely light. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He stretched, staring at the ceiling, and realized—talking to Nevaeh last night had done something to him. It was almost like therapy, but better. It felt real.
He let out a small chuckle. I guess I'll stick to it.
Without overthinking it, he picked up his phone and sent Nevaeh a message.
Mordred: Morning. Are you busy today?
It took a few minutes, but then her reply came in.
Nevaeh: Not really. Why?
Mordred: Come by my workplace. I want to show you something.
Nevaeh hesitated for a moment before typing back.
Nevaeh: Alright. I'll be there.
Mordred smirked as he put his phone down. He didn't fully understand why, but he wanted her there. Maybe just to talk again. Maybe for something more.
Nevaeh arrived at Mordred's workplace, a sleek, modern building buzzing with activity. The moment she stepped in, she felt the weight of eyes on her—his co-workers, dancers, and staff whispering as she walked past. She ignored them and focused ahead.
Mordred was waiting for her in one of the private lounges, seated casually with his phone in his hand. The moment he saw her, a small smirk played on his lips.
"You actually came," he said, leaning back in his chair.
"You invited me," she shot back playfully.
He chuckled and motioned for her to sit. "I ordered breakfast. You eat, right?"
"Of course," she laughed, taking a seat.
The food arrived, and they ate in comfortable silence. That was, until Mordred, in the middle of chewing, suddenly choked. He grabbed his throat, his eyes widening slightly.
"Mordred?" Nevaeh's voice sharpened in concern.
He coughed violently, and before she could think twice, she rushed over to him, placing a hand on his chest, trying to help. "Breathe. Just breathe."
He was fine within seconds, swallowing hard. But when she pulled her hand back, he caught it.
Nevaeh froze as his fingers wrapped around her wrist.
His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. Then, deliberately, he guided her hand back to his chest, right over his heart.
The steady rhythm beneath her palm was strong.
"Keep going," he murmured.
Nevaeh's breath hitched. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she stared at him. The room suddenly felt smaller. More intimate.
She could have pulled away. She should have.
But she didn't.
Mordred's lips curled into a sly smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing. His dark, intense eyes stayed locked on Nevaeh, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.
He was dangerously attractive—his tousled hair, sculpted jawline, and the way his lips parted slightly as he breathed in her touch. He was a man who thrived on attention, and right now, he was getting it from her.
Nevaeh swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the warmth of his skin beneath her palm. Gosh, he's so handsome. Help me out… she prayed silently, her mind screaming at her to pull away.
But she didn't.
Mordred tilted his head, his smile deepening. "I think you're enjoying this more than me," he teased, his voice low and smooth.
Nevaeh's cheeks burned. "Shut up," she muttered, pulling her hand away, but he caught her wrist again, holding her just a second longer.
"Why so shy?" he taunted, his tone playful but laced with something deeper.
Nevaeh glared at him, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted at his touch. "Because you're a menace, that's why."
Mordred chuckled, finally releasing her. "And yet, you keep coming back."
Nevaeh crossed her arms, trying to regain her composure. "I came here to eat, not to be played with."
Mordred leaned closer, resting his chin on his palm. "Who said I'm playing?"
Her breath caught. This was dangerous. He was dangerous.
And the worst part? She liked it.
Nevaeh rolled her eyes, trying to regain her composure. "Oh please, like I need that."
Mordred leaned back in his chair, watching her reaction with amusement. "You sure? You seem pretty flustered for someone who doesn't need it."
She picked up a napkin and tossed it at him. "Eat your food, superstar."
Mordred caught the napkin effortlessly, smirking. "Maybe I should start arranging personal fan service for you."
Nevaeh nearly choked on her coffee. "Excuse me?"
"You know," he teased, tapping his fingers against the table. "A little VIP experience—private concerts, one-on-one interactions, maybe even some exclusive behind-the-scenes moments."
Nevaeh scoffed, shaking her head. "Mordred, you are the most self-absorbed celebrity I have ever met."
"And yet, here you are, having breakfast with me."
She paused, realizing that he had a point. This was definitely not what she had expected when she walked into work today.
"I was tricked," she mumbled.
Mordred grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Was it really a trick? Or did you just secretly want to spend time with me?"
Nevaeh shot him a glare, but the warmth creeping up her neck betrayed her. Why is he so good at this?
Mordred took a slow sip of his coffee, never breaking eye contact. "You know, I really do like this side of you."
"What side?" she asked cautiously.
"The side that gets flustered when I flirt with you."
Nevaeh groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I need to get out of here."
Mordred chuckled. "Run if you want, but we both know you'll be back."
She grabbed her bag, standing up quickly. "You are impossible."
He shrugged, flashing her a devilish grin. "And yet, you're still here."
Nevaeh turned on her heel, marching toward the door before he could say anything else. But as she reached for the handle, she hesitated.
Mordred was trouble. She knew that.
But why did it feel like she was already getting pulled into his orbit?