Healing Melody (Very Slow Updates)

25. Unpleasant Surprise

A/N:
This chapter is dedicated to latchkeyy for her guidance. She is a great reviewer and helped me a lot. I'm so glad to have found her review shop. She is detailed and explains the aspects the writer should improve on in every single chapter. And of course, she gives praise where praise is due too. So thank you girl!

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Natasha gapes at me in shock for a couple of seconds, then her eyes dart to Galan to gauge his reaction. 

If he's wondering why I labelled myself as a homewrecker, he sure as hell isn't showing it.

Natasha snaps her gaze back to me and tips the corner of her mouth upwards, but when she takes in the small smirk hanging off my lips, her fake smile falls. When I raise my brows tauntingly at her, she loses it, that seemingly flawless combination of facial features contorts with vexation.

"You–You–You–" she stutters, her red-painted bee-stung lips unsure of what shape to form as I continue baiting her not just with my smirk, but with the challenge swirling in my eyes, causing her to abruptly spit out, "You bitch."

Galan growls and we both look at him instinctively. He's subtly narrowed his eyes at her with his jaw clenched tight.

The intensity of the camera flashes become harsher, every reporter turning more aggressive at the spectacle unfolding.

Natasha changes modes as quick as flipping a switch, imploring him with her baby blue eyes and playing the victim. "Galan, she started–"

However, the hard glare he sends her has her clamming up like a Venus flytrap.

Galan turns to look at me with a softer expression, but his blue-grey eyes hint of annoyance, thankfully, not at me. "We're running late, A rúnsearc. Come." 

He curls his arm around my shoulders and propels us forward, circling around the white limo as his bodyguards shove away any overly courageous or plain dumb reporters—depending on perspective—from barreling forward with their camera lenses poking into our faces.

Natasha is left fuming alone with several reporters vocally harassing her for answers. The plumes of smoke coming out from her nostrils and ears could probably choke me to death.

At the entrance, a heavy set of timber-framed french doors the width of six average-sized people are pulled open from the inside by two doormen. We step into the foyer and a mellow, tranquil undertone permeates my receptors almost immediately, but the row of employees on each side of us bowing ninety degrees and greeting Galan in unison has me eyeing the lot like they're my worst nightmare.

I guess all those Korean dramas weren't exaggerating.

Galan only nods curtly as he continues striding forward without a pause. We breeze past them and I peek around to survey the foyer. 

Nature-themed structures are the main constitution. The exuberant plants decorating the place, the vines woven around wooden pillars, and the enormous wooden fans hanging from the high ceiling provide the resort vibe, but an urban flavor is incorporated as well through the use of modern architecture, especially seen in the vaulted ceiling above, which allows us a full view of the sky above via its glass panels.

Craning my neck to gaze at the star-spilled night sky in wonder, I can only imagine how stunning it would look with daylight shining through, the way the refracted light would bounce off the posh furniture scattered around the foyer to give it a radiance of paradise.