Chapter 10 - Visitor
Arabella POV
I design my nails by the table in my room. They really outdid themselves—worth every pretty penny. The old dead cottage is now my pink heaven.
The closet's enchanted with space magic because, of course, there wasn't enough room for all my clothes. The bed is plush and cloud-like, the bathroom was expanded with a separate tub and shower, and there's even a solar panel set up so I don't worry about electricity.
A knock sounds on the door.
Prince—my cat, thank you very much—who had been snuggled in my sheets like the royal he is, leaps off the bed with an irritated meow.
I frown.
Who the hell is knocking at my door at 8PM?
I step out of my bedroom, sighing. This is my me time. My sanctuary. Whoever it is, they better have a good reason.
I open the door.
And in front of me stands a familiar fae figure. Elion.
His hair, now streaked with pastel blue highlights, frames his ethereal face. His violet eyes gleam darker in the evening light, like twilight just before the stars appear.
"Elion," I say flatly, folding my arms.
"Please, call me Ellie," he says, voice dipped in playful charm. He attempts to glamour his features, but I see through it.
His real face is absurdly beautiful—the kind of beauty that would drive someone mad, the kind artists cry trying to capture.
It's unfair. I don't like men prettier than me, there's room for one pretty person and that's me.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"You wound me," he replies dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.
I give him a look. I'm not falling for it.
"You look great. Comfortable," he says, tugging at a lock of my hair. His fingers are cool, light.
"Well, Ellie," I say sweetly. "Care to inform me why you're at my door at—"
I glance back inside, eyeing the wall clock above the TV.
"—8PM?"
"Will we have this conversation by the door?" he asks, crossing his arms and giving me a look like he owns the place.
I sigh. "No shoes in the house."
"I don't wear shoes... often," he replies airily. I glance down. His feet don't touch the floor. Of course they don't.
He drifts into my house like a breeze, and when I turn around, he's sprawled across my couch like it belongs to him. Arms flung over the back, head tilted back with a satisfied sigh.
"This is nice."
"It should be. I paid quite the steep price."
I duck into my room and grab the last few press-on nails I need to finish designing. I have two more left. Might as well be productive if he's going to haunt my living room like some trickster ghost.
I return and settle on the floor, cross-legged, with my tiny rhinestones and brushes. I catch his eyes on me—curious and amused—but he says nothing.
"You never answered my question," I say, not looking up.
"Ah, but what is a fae if not mysterious?"
Annoying.
"I'll tell you if you tell me about this ungodly beast," he says, gesturing toward Prince.
I narrow my eyes. How does he know? Not even the average fae could see Prince's true form.
"Relax. It's my inherent ability. I can see through true forms," he says, lounging like he hasn't just dropped a bomb.
I pause, then continue with my nails.
"I thought you're supposed to keep those abilities a secret."
"Now we both know each other's secrets," he says with a shrug.
Dealing with a fae 101: leave them alone until they get bored and go bother someone else.
He may look like this, but he's at least two centuries old. Maybe more. Because of their long lifespan, they get bored. Trickery, deals, drama—it's their equivalent of a hobby. And it seems I've become Elion's latest pastime.
"So why are you here?" I ask.
"Well, I sent you a message on your social media yesterday. Since I didn't have your number and all."
"You texted me. On my account. The one with millions of followers. And you thought I saw it?" I lift a brow.
He shrugs.
I sigh. "My phone's in my room on the bed. You can add your number now."
He stands, glides into my room, and returns with my phone.