Fated Series. Book #2
"Be possessive of me, own me, keep me, because if you do then nothing and no one else can." - Maddox.
My name is Maddox Vallero, and I'm dead.
Well, that's not quite true. I'm alive in the breathing, walking, talking sense-but...
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Chapter 24 Never Ending Phone Calls Sophia
There was something strange about Maddox tonight. Not bad—just different. Like a faint flame had sparked in the embers of whatever had been burned to ash inside him. And for once, it felt like he was the one holding the match.
When I opened the front door earlier and caught that look of unexplainable relief on his face, it sent a ripple of worry through me. But since he's been here, he's been... calm. Not tense, not fidgety, and not prowling the space like he's waiting for it to collapse in on him.
Now, as he sits at the counter, casually eating, I'm still trying to figure out what's changed.
"Maddox," I finally spoke, leaning closer to study him. "What's going on?"
He looked up, brows pulling together in mild confusion. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his tone casual as he prodded at his food with his fork. "I'm not a fan of this... thingy," he added, sliding the tofu to the edge of the plate like it personally offended him. Without hesitation, he speared a piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth. His lips curved lazily around the fork, a small smirk tugging at the corners as he chewed, pale eyes flicking back to the tofu like it might stage a comeback.
And for a moment—just a fleeting, unfair moment—I let myself stare. The way his jaw flexed under the strain, the casual dominance in every little movement. Jesus Christ, the man was devastating. All that golden hair, those bright, sharp eyes that sparkled with mischief, and that insufferable, effortless charm. Maddox was dangerous in the way that made people fall without realizing it, the perfect storm of wicked smirks and a devil-may-care attitude designed to mess with your head—and your heart.
"I don't know," I said more firmly. "You just seem... off."
That small smirk tugged at his lips, full and maddeningly smug. "Off my meds?" he teased, earning a sharp look from me.
"Maddox," I warned, already regretting bringing it up.
But he chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Relax, Soph. I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. For the first time in... I don't know, forever, maybe."
I leaned into the counter, resting my elbows on its edge as I watched Jax slowly chew through his food, his little legs swinging idly in the high chair. "What changed?" I asked, my eyes narrowing on Maddox. Something about him felt... off. Not bad, necessarily, but different. I needed to figure out if it was the good kind of different or the kind that would throw us off balance. That's who I am—I see problems, and I fix them. But I can't fix what I can't understand, and with Maddox, that gray area he lives in makes me feel unsteady. Maddox is the gray, and he pulls me right into it.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he fiddled with his fork, pushing the last few pieces of chicken around his plate as if they might hold the answer. Finally, he set the fork down, lifting those pale, glacier-cut eyes to mine, and the weight of his gaze hit me like a tangible force. "I talked to Kirsan," he said, his voice low and reflective.
