Logan leaned back in his luxury leather carseat, a small smile playing on his lips.
"How was your outing today, Mr. Grant?" his driver asked, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
"It was quite... refreshing," he replied, his mind still on the humble meal he had shared with Amelie. Despite the simplicity of the interaction, it was the most genuine connection he had had in months.
Pulling out his phone, he called one of his secretaries. "Adam, I need you to arrange something."
"Of course, Mr. Grant. What can I do for you?"
"I need you to order premium healing herbs," Logan said, moving his eyes to the blurred city lights outside the window. "The highest quality available. Have them delivered to an address I'll text you."
"Are you ordering them for a specific healer working for us?" Adam's voice still sounded professional, but there was a tinge of genuine curiosity behind it.
"That's not important," Logan replied firmly. "Just make sure they're delivered tomorrow. And Adam? Make sure there's no indication they came from me."
"Understood, Mr. Grant. Will there be anything else?"
"No, that's all." Logan ended the call and looked out the window again, watching the city blur past.
He knew he shouldn't get involved with Amelie Gilmore. His family would never approve – there was a silent war inside Blood Moon which no one wanted to admit to, but everyone wanted a piece of it. And of his family's wealth, too, of course.
But there was something irresistible about Amelie that simply wouldn't let him stay away from her. She was guarded and cautious, yet there was clearly a storm brewing under the surface.
He wanted to unleash it all. He wanted to help her bloom and become who she really meant to be.
And he wanted it all to himself.
***
The Johnes family home buzzed with excitement as the maid announced the arrival of the Crane family.
Amanda Crane swept in first, dressed impeccably in all the famous brands, followed closely by her son Sam – and his new fiancée, Miranda Johnes.
"Amanda, darling!" Mrs. Johnes exclaimed, air-kissing her cheeks. "And Sam, you look sharp as always!"
Miranda stood tall beside Sam, her posture projecting confidence and superiority. With her perfectly fitted red silk dress and arrogant smile, she looked like she had just come off the glossy pages of a fashion magazine.
"I hope we're not late," Amanda said, handing her coat to a maid.
"Not at all," Mr. Johnes assured her, waving his hand dismissively. "We were just discussing the upcoming Grant family banquet. Only the elite of our country have been invited."
The room turned significantly quieter at the mention of the Grant name. Apart from the pack they were the leaders of, the name of their family alone carried quite a weight.
"Speaking of which," Miranda said, reaching into her purse with a smug smile, "I have something to share with you all."
She pulled out an elegant envelope with gold embossing and held it high enough for everyone to see. "The Grant family has personally invited me to their annual banquet!"
Gasps and murmurs filled the room. Her mother, Mrs. Johnes, nearly swooned.
"Let me see!" she asked, reaching for the invitation with trembling fingers.
Miranda handed it over with the careful nonchalance of someone trying to appear humble while bragging. Mrs. Johnes opened it with a deep inhale and read aloud: "The Grant family cordially invites Miss Miranda Johnes and Mr. Samuel Crane to attend our annual Summer Banquet..."
"Both of us!" Sam gaped, mannerlessly snatching the invitation from the woman's grasp.
Amanda beamed with pride. "This is what happens when you associate with the right people, dear child," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Not like that worthless Gilmore woman, living like a parasite."
Sam rolled his eyes dramatically. "Don't remind me of her. What a fatal mistake that was. Three years wasted on a woman who couldn't even afford to buy me a proper tie."
The room filled with sympathetic murmurs and thinly veiled curiosity. Amelie's humiliation was their favorite type of entertainment.
"Well," Miranda said, curling her lips slyly, "Samuel deserves only the best. I've already ordered a stunning tuxedo for him to wear to the banquet."
"Wow, I am being pampered like a princess here!" Sam chuckled, planting a kiss on Miranda's cheek.
***
AMELIE
Back in my place, I leaned back in the chair, scrolling through the numerous listings of the plants that could be used for handmade medicine. A sharp knock snapped my attention to the door, and I frowned, feeling a little annoyed at the interruption.
As I opened the door, I was greeted with an assessing look from a tall man in a well-pressed black suit holding a large cardboard box with both hands.
"Miss Gilmore? Amelie Gilmore?" he asked, his voice firm and rather cold.
"Yes, that's me."
He simply handed me the package, frowning as he said, "Delivery for you."
"I didn't order anything," I answered, surprised by how heavy the package actually was.
"Well, someone else did," he said flatly. "I was instructed to ensure it reached you personally."
Opening the package, I gasped in disbelief. Inside were herbs – not just any herbs, but premium ingredients that would have cost me months of savings. Red cynite roots, five rare types of wolfsbane, powdered burning bush, spiraling lilac, and even silver crowsack – the most expensive tincture preservative known to man.
I was stunned.
"Who ordered this? Are you sure there's no mistake?"
The man's lip curled slightly. "Absolutely not. I asked your name, didn't I? My boss ordered it."
"And your boss is..?" I arched a curious brow.
"Mr. Logan Grant."
I nearly dropped the package. I should have guessed. After all, who else would have done something like this for me?
"Please tell him I said thank you," I said, genuinely moved by his kindness. "These will help me tremendously."
The man's professional mask slipped, revealing contempt beneath. "Miss Gilmore, let me make one thing clear here. Mr. Grant doesn't usually express his interest in people like you."
His sudden hostility caught me off guard. "I—"
"Do you have any idea who he is?" he continued, his voice low and demanding. "He is not just any rich man. He is the heir to the Grant Empire. He is royalty."
Each sentence felt like a cold slap in the face. I stood frozen, clutching the herbs that now felt like burning coals in my hands.
The man leaned closer, his eyes narrowed and dark. "I don't know what your agenda is, but I'd advise you to drop it. You can play around with your little witchcraft here all you want, but it is my job – and the job of many others – to protect Mr. Grant with our lives. And trust me, we will."
His words echoed in the narrow hallway, hammering the brutal truth: whatever connection I thought existed between Logan and me was a fantasy that could never become reality.
We were living in different worlds. We were different species to begin with.