We lay at the bed with the scented candles, I admire Heart's sleeping face as I cradle her body, calmly brushing her hair and if I were to describe this feeling;
Her soul makes me want to strive to be better for her. It wasn't just sex. It was a connection much deeper than affection. In her arms I am changing, she placates my soul and softens my heart, tearing away the rot of killing. I can feel my body soften as she makes me something more, something kinder, someone worthy to love.
Still, a part of me feels guilty, I blame myself on KopiKopi, had I never became an undercover there, this wouldn't have happened to Heart.
If we never met, then right now, she would still be running KopiKopi.
My eyes softly closed, drawing myself to sleep.
Heart Stealer's point of view
His appearance was striking, at first, I thought he would be egoistical.
I opened my eyes to see him gently asleep facing me, the dim lit candles illuminating the shade of his sleeping face, his arms embraced my body and I knew myself was irresistibly craving his. I stare at him as I conjure the exact words this moment feels as I calmy brush his hair.
I want to understand him. I want to know his favorite color, how he suffers, why there's a glint of guilt behind his eyes, and why he feels complete in my presence. I want to dance the rhythm of his soul and memorize the beat of his heart. I want to know more, and all the parts that make up his unparalleled divinity.
I wore a knitted vest in the shade of cream, buttons styled in chocolate, the fabric catching the breeze as it brushes your skin. A lighter trench coat hung over my shoulder framing my body with delicate mother-of-pearl buttons on my neck glinting the Moroccan sun.
Paired with white high-waisted trousers, tailored just so, lengthening my petite frame and giving me that hint of old money sophistication, the ash-blonde balayage of my hair falls in loose layers, an octopus cut that layered my shoulders. The sunlight touches each strand, igniting hints of honey and silver.
I was outside the villa waiting for Jazz, some people jogged on the street and I watch their focused, tired faces.
I see them glance, just briefly, and I wonder if they notice the way their tiredness fade for a second. My own gaze, a deep, jeweled green that shimmers like a cat's—captivating, a shade that didn't quite belong in the real world.
I see the sparkle in their eyes, whenever I catch my reflection in a car passing by, and it startles me too sometimes, like catching a glimpse of someone else altogether.
I was really lucky having emerald eyes.
I pause just outside the villa, letting my hand trace the intricate patterns in the ironwork of the gate, feeling the cool metal beneath my fingers. The air is warm, perfumed with the scent of blooming jasmine and orange blossom from the courtyard beyond. Then, I hear it—a low, powerful purr that hums through the ground before I see anything.
And then, there he is, the Bugatti La Voiture Noire rolling an entrance perfect for this place, for this moment. The car gleams under the Moroccan sun, every angle and shadow crafted with precision, and it somehow suits Jazz' personality if you gave him a first impression—classic, dark, exuding an effortless kind of power.
Bugatti, La Voiture Noire, the only all black Bugatti car created, costing 19 Million dollars with a customized nameplate 'Alasteer.' 1,112,545,000 Billion if converted into Philippine peso.
