At Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Lalia Azali hides more than most. She's not just a surgeon-she's this universe's Scarlet Witch, a title whispered with fear and awe, tied to a power she never wanted and a fate she can't outrun.
Logan sees t...
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- Lalia
I leaned back against the rough bark of the old oak tree, the sun filtering through the leaves and casting shadows on the ground. My sunglasses were doing their best to shield my eyes from the harsh daylight, but they couldn't do much to stop the pounding in my head. Three empty bottles of orange juice lay beside me, my feeble attempt to rehydrate and recover from last night's events.
Logan had taken me to the bar, and what started as a fun night out quickly spiraled into a mess of emotions and confessions. I groaned, remembering how I had kissed him, told him I loved him. It wasn't the alcohol talking; it was me, every word and action fueled by feelings I had been too scared to admit sober. Now, I was terrified of what he might think.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts. "Get it together, Lia," I muttered to myself. "It's not the end of the world." But even as I said it, I didn't quite believe it.
Maybe I should just avoid him for a while, let things cool down. But deep down, I knew that wasn't the answer. Logan deserved an explanation, and I owed it to myself to be honest. I just needed to muster up the courage to face him.
I tried to push myself up from the ground, but my legs felt like jelly. The world spun around me, and I stumbled, nearly tripping over my own feet. I could feel the eyes of the kids on the grass watching me, their whispers growing louder.
"Dr. Azali, are you okay?" one of the braver ones asked, his voice tinged with concern.
I forced a smile, attempting to appear composed. "Yes! Totally fine," I lied with an overly bright smile. "Just... practicing my grass appreciation."
I hurried towards the mansion, my vision still blurry. And then I slammed directly into a wall.
No—not a wall.
Logan.
I was so focused on reaching the kitchen that I didn't see Logan until I collided with him. His strong arms steadied me, and he looked down at me with an amused grin.
"Whoa there, slow down," he chuckled, gently lifting my sunglasses off my head.
The sudden exposure to the light made my head throb, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I barely made it to the sink before I started to throw up, my stomach rebelling against me. Logan's expression shifted from amusement to concern as he quickly came to my side, his hand gently holding back my hair.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and worried.
I groaned, hovering over the sink and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Fucking disgusting," I muttered, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief. "I'm fine, just hungover."
"You know," he added, voice low and amused, "next time you wanna tell a guy you love him, maybe do it without three shots of tequila first."
His words slammed into me harder than the headache pounding behind my eyes. My heart plummeted—straight past my stomach and somewhere near my feet. I turned my head just enough to shoot him a glare over my sunglasses. "I hate you."
