𝐅𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 [𝟏𝟖+]

33

Some of you have asked for Cyrus's pov of last chapter so here it is. There is not a single dialogue but just his monologue of celebrating his celibacy lol.

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Cyrus leaned back in the couch in Tyrone's house, his sharp gaze fixed on the scene before him. The commotion roared on, laughter and voices merging into a chaotic hum, but none of it held his attention. No, his focus was entirely on the female creature. Aphrodite Corrine Halifax. She stood across the room, wrapped in a silky dress that clung to her figure, commanding the space with an effortless grace. Men in the room surrounded her, their laughter too loud, their smiles too eager.

She wanted their attention. Of course, she did. And she knew exactly how to get it.

Her laughter rang out, light and melodic, drawing eyes her way. She tilted her head, her hair cascading over her shoulder, and leaned into Romeo, her fingers grazing his arm with practiced ease. The gesture was intimate yet calculated, part of the carefully constructed game she played.

Cyrus's jaw tightened as he watched her, each laugh, each touch fanning the flames of his irritation. She was doing this on purpose---flirting, teasing, provoking. She wanted a reaction, wanted to rattle him. And it was working.

But he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Not this time.

Even so, his gaze lingered, betraying his resolve. He couldn't help but notice the way her lips curved into that knowing smile, the glint in her eyes when she caught someone staring. She was magnetic, drawing people in like moths to a flame. She could have any man in the room, and yet, somehow, he knew this performance was meant for him.

Romeo's fingers inched closer to her and something inside Cyrus burned with a murderous rage.

Cyrus stepped out of the room and let the crisp air hit him like a balm, cooling the heat of the room and the tension coiled tightly in his chest. He slid into his car, the low purr of the engine cutting through the stillness as he drove through the dark streets, his mind replaying the evening in fragments he wished he could erase.

By the time he reached his building, the city seemed a distant hum. He swiped his key card, the elevator whisking him upward with a quiet efficiency that matched his mood. The numbers blinked past, climbing higher and higher until the doors slid open to his Grecian-themed apartment.

As the doors slid open, he stepped in, the quietness of the space enveloping him instantly. The expansive view of the city stretched out before him through windows, the skyline a tapestry of lights. He tossed his jacket onto the leather couch. The air felt still, heavy with the absence of noise. It was always like this when he came home—silent, empty, and somehow heavier than the chaos he left behind. Slumping down on one of the couches, he tugged at the chain around his neck, the ring dangling from it like a curse. It was a relic of their past, a reminder of everything he wanted to forget but never could. The memories came unbidden-her laughter, her lies, the chaos she'd brought into his life.

The memory of their first meeting hit him like a blow. It wasn't a grand seduction but a storm of lies and chaos. He had fully expected her to lie about her name, her identity—he didn't mind that she wanted some privacy. And yet, when he kissed her, none of it had mattered. It was raw, unthinking, electric. But when he'd realized she had lied about her age, the aftermath that came with it had been a different story. Anger, betrayal, and guilt had taken its place, consuming him.

Then came the night of the rooftop at the Evans' house. She had said she was related to the Evans, tried to tell him her real name, but he'd shut her down. It wasn't her name that mattered-it was the lies, the way she had twisted herself into his life and left nothing but traumatic wreckage behind. He had told himself he didn't care, but even as he pushed her away, the cracks in his resolve deepened.