Chapter Two-hundred Fifty-Six: The Weight of a Name

Chapter 256

The Weight of a Name

Vasilos lay in his bed. He groaned as the morning sun shone in on him. Ilias stood over his son with a scowl. He wore a burgundy English-cut suit, a pressed white shirt, a black tie, and brown whole-cut Oxfords.

Ilias: “Feeling better?”

He rasped. Vasilos moaned and sat up. Ilias slapped him over his head. Vasilos rubbed his head.

Vasilos: “The fuck was that for?!”

Ilias: “You ruined my tennis court! Do you have any idea how long that will take to replace?!”

He snapped.

Vasilos: “It’s not like you’ve played in years anyway—and it shows!”

He spat back, glaring directly at his father's gut. Ilias struck him across the face again, leaving Vasilos to grit his teeth and rub his sore cheek.

Ilias: “It’s the principle of it, Vasilos! Furthermore, you managed to destroy most of Orchard Street!”

Vasilos rolled his eyes.

Vasilos: “That street is nothing but a collection of dumps!”

He countered.

Ilias: “Those vials of ehtytrim were strictly intended for personnel use!”

He threw back at him. Vasilos threw his hands up.

Vasilos: “Yeah, and I happen to be the CEO’s son!”

Ilias slapped him yet again.

Vasilos: “Stop doing that!”

He snapped, pushing himself away in frustration.

Ilias: “You are NOT an employee of Megalos Tower!”

He yelled.

Ilias: “You had absolutely no right to those vials, and you even stole a staff member’s key card just to gain entry!"

Vasilos let out an exasperated sigh.

Vasilos: “Because Jordi wounded my pride, and my pathetic cousin, DEIMOS, has the hottest man on the face of the planet!”

Ilias folded his arms behind his back.

Ilias: “One upon a time, you had that in Andrew, and he left you.”

Vasilos’ jaw tightened, and he angrily rose from bed, baring his naked body. Ilias looked away.

Vasilos: “I WAS GOING TO LEAVE HIM!”

He bellowed.

Ilias: “Don’t you raise your voice at me!”

He fired back.

Ilias: “And your feet STINK!”

He added for good measure. Vasilos rolled his eyes.

Ilias: “Put this on.”

He threw his silk dressing gown at him. Vasilos caught it and threw it down. Ilias heaved a deep sigh, walked past his son, and slammed the door.

Vasilos: “Fuck you, Dad. I do what I want.”

~

Jordi stepped out of the bathroom, the steam still clinging to his skin, and went to his dresser. He sprayed his cologne on his neck and wrists, and then moved toward his closet. He glanced at Jaxon still in his bed. He instructed Jaxon to sneak out when Lena was going grocery shopping, as he wasn’t ready to tell her about him and Jaxon just yet.

He pulled out a lilac pressed shirt, the fabric soft and crisp, and buttoned it up. He reached for his black trousers, sliding them on and fastening the belt, before sitting on the edge of his bed—careful not to wake Jaxon—to pull on a pair of black sheer socks.

He rose and went back to the closet for his black Italian-cut suit jacket, sliding his arms into the sleeves and adjusting the collar. Finally, he retrieved his black tie, draped it around his neck, and tied it with precision. He caught his reflection in the mirror, gave a sharp nod, and headed out for the day.

He went out to the kitchen where Lena was preparing breakfast, and Abraham sat down, shoving sausages and home fries in his mouth. Lena wore a pink sundress with heart patterns, with a heart apron over herself. Jordi surveyed her, humming a tune and cupping his mouth, knitting his eyebrows as the knot in his stomach tightened.

Lena dished up banana creme pancakes, bacon, and sausages for him and poured him a cup of coffee.

Lena: “Nervous about your first day at work?”

She smiled. Jordi nodded mutely.

Jordi: “Yes.”

He stammered, adding cream, sugar, and milk to his coffee. He sipped on his coffee and ate a few strips of bacon. He glanced at Lena and down the hall at his closed bedroom door.

Jordi finished his bacon, and then Abraham pulled his plate from him to eat the rest of his breakfast. Jordi didn’t care. He brushed his sleeve to look at his watch, drained his coffee, and rose from the table. He smoothed down the lapels on his suit jacket and slid his feet into his zip-up boots, zipping them up. He grabbed his car keys from the hook and slid on his gold-rimmed, purple-tinted sunglasses.

Lena smiled and hugged Jordi. Jordi’s eyes widened, and he slowly hugged her back.

Lena: “Have a good day at work, Jordi.”

Jordi smiled sadly down at her.

Jordi: “Thanks, sis.”

Jordi stepped out the front door, the morning air crisp against his face. He walked down the path toward his driveway, where his purple Ferrari 328 was parked. He slid into the driver’s seat and slotted his key into the ignition. The engine roared to life with a low, throaty rumble that vibrated through the chassis. He checked his mirrors, shifted the gear stick into reverse, and smoothly backed out of the driveway. Once clear, he clicked the stick into first gear, eased his foot off the clutch, and steered the car down the road, leaving the house behind.

What the fuck am I doing? He wondered as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

~

Jordi arrived at the Donati Tower and pulled into the underground parking lot. He found his designated parking spot. He shut off the engine and stepped out, resting his sunglasses on his head.

He stepped into the tower and onto the Ocean Concourse. A group of office ladies was gathered around the fountain with their cups of coffee. They saw Jordi walking by and swooned over him.

Office Lady: “Who’s that handsome guy?”

She whispered.

Office Lady 2: “I heard he’s Mr. Donati’s new assistant!”

Jordi nodded and smiled at them.

Jordi: “Morning, ladies.”

He muttered, tapping the elevator button and waiting. As the doors parted, he swiped his keycard across the control panel and selected the 64th floor.

He rode the elevator up and felt butterflies in his stomach.

Stepping into the lobby of the 64th floor felt like walking into a sanctuary carved from shadow and amber light. Soaring wooden slats lined the left wall, draped in cascading waterfalls of tiny fairy lights that pooled onto the dark, polished marble floor below like liquid gold.

Suspended from the high ceiling, spherical cage pendants hummed with a low, warm radiance, casting delicate geometric shadows across the vast hallway. Lush green palms and small potted trees—their leaves woven through with delicate, twinkling strands—framed comfortable seating nooks outfitted with plush sofas and candlelight. Further ahead, tucked discreetly under a band of soft under-lighting, the marble reception desk stood quiet and expectant, framed by floor-to-ceiling glass that opened into the early morning sky.

Demetrio approached Jordi with a big smile. He wore a tailored gray English-Cut suit, a white pressed shirt, a blue tie, and black wholecut Oxfords.

Demetrio: “Morning, Jordi.”

He gave a friendly smile. Jordi drank in his surroundings, taking everything in.

Demetrio: “Come along.”

He gestured to a large dark oak door at the end of the hall with “Demetrio Donati, CEO” on a golden plaque.

As they proceeded down the hallway, Jordi stared at the portrait of Sylvia hanging on the wall, captioned with “Dr. Sylvia Hughes, 1948 - 1987” underneath it. Demetrio gazed sadly at the portrait and heaved a deep sigh.

Demetrio: “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.”

He said plaintively. Jordi smiled sadly and patted his shoulder.

Jordi: “Same… She was very good to Ashley.”

He said, feeling a pang of guilt.

Demetrio cleared his throat and used his keycard to enter his office.

The office was a fortress of old-world ambition suspended high above the modern metropolis. Overhead, an intricate Renaissance-style fresco sprawled across the ceiling, filled with tumbling angels and celestial clouds, encircled by heavy, gilded molding that gleamed softly in the muted light. Deep mahogany paneling encased the walls, anchoring the room in an aura of quiet, immovable authority.

To one side, a framed oil painting of a tall ship battling choppy seas hung above a low sideboard stacked with crystal decanters. Deeply tufted leather armchairs surrounded a glass coffee table, where crystal glassware and folded newspapers sat untouched upon an ornate Persian rug. At the far end of the room, a massive wooden executive desk held an Apple II computer, phone, and fax machine, with a classic green-shaded brass lamp and a leather armchair.

Yet for all its rich, classical opulence, the eye was inevitably drawn outward. Framing the entire eastern wall was a breathtaking expanse of glass that offered a staggering view of Pink Top City, the cityline and skyscrapers rising commandingly against a pale, haze-touched sky, standing over the sprawling, endlessly bustling world below.

Jordi’s byzantine eyes widened in wonder as he took in the office and the luxury of this place.

Demetrio: “Now for your office.”

Jordi turned his head, and his jaw dropped.

Jordi: “I… I get an office?!”

He asked with incredulity and awe. Demetrio smiled tightly and nodded.

Demetrio: “Of course, you do. Follow me.”

Speaking in a gentle voice, he guided him along the hallway toward a substantial oak door, where a prominent gold plaque bore the name “Jordi Vaquero.” Jordi cupped his mouth at a loss for words. Demetrio chuckled and used his key card to enter.

The executive office was wrapped in floor-to-ceiling glass that framed a glittering tapestry of skyscrapers against the hazy morning sky. In the corner was a potted palm tree.

Dominating the room was a heavy, high-gloss desk—its dark surface polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the city’s ambient glow. Behind it stood a high-backed black leather chair. Atop the pristine lacquer, amid neat stacks of paper, a phone, a fax machine, a globe of Reona, and an Apple II computer. Its beige housing sat angular and proud, flanked by an external floppy disk drive. There was a golden nameplate on the desk with his name on it.

Jordi’s mouth was ajar as he took in his surroundings. He couldn't believe it. He’d expected a cramped cubicle, or perhaps a desk tucked away in some forgotten corner of the building—not this expansive, high-altitude sanctuary. The weight of his own name engraved on that gold plaque felt surreal, almost heavy.

He ran a hand over the polished surface of the desk, tracing the cool, smooth lacquer. For a man from his background, this kind of luxury wasn’t just a workspace; it was a testament to a life he was only just beginning to claim for himself. He felt a surge of pride war with a lingering sense of impostor syndrome, his heart hammering against his ribs as the magnitude of his new position truly hit home.

Demetrio handed him his keycard and work badge. On Jordi’s new work badge, he was smiling, unlike the one for Megalos Tower.

Jordi: “Demetrio, I cannot thank you enough.”

He said, on the verge of happy tears. Demetrio patted his back.

Demetrio: “No, son, thank you… Thank you for appreciating Sylvia for who she was.”

He said earnestly. Jordi closed his eyes, recalling the eulogy he delivered and then the sorry excuse of a “eulogy” Blair delivered. It’s no wonder Demetrio feels this way, he thought.

~

Tristan sat across from Jordi at Alice’s Dreams, clad in a pressed blue shirt and a dark blue tie beneath a black Italian-cut suit, completed by black wingtip Oxfords. He sipped on a Southern sweet tea while Jordi had an iced coffee. Jordi surveyed Tristan.

Jordi: “How do you feel?”

Tristan took a deep breath and set his cup down.

Tristan: “About as good as anyone would be finding out they’re born to be a human weapon.”

He said wryly. Jordi knitted his eyebrows and looked at him with empathy.

Jordi: “I’m sorry, Tristan… You’re not a human weapon; you’re more than that. You helped me find myself in more ways than one.”

Tristan looked down at his glass, the ice clinking softly as he swirled his tea. A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he met Jordi’s gaze.

Tristan: “That’s kind of you to say, Jordi. Truly.”

He paused, his expression softening just a fraction, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

Tristan: “It’s just… when your entire existence is designed for a specific purpose, it’s hard to imagine what else is left underneath. But hearing you say that… it makes the weight feel a little lighter, at least for a moment.”

He said earnestly. Jordi smiled a bit.

Jordi: “You’re a dear friend, Tristan. You’re one of the few friendships I didn’t fuck up. For that, I will always cherish you. You were my light when I was in darkness and helped me see things I didn’t see.”

He drew a long breath.

Jordi: “Yeah, I mess up a lot of relationships and friendships, so I’m glad I didn’t do that with you.”

He laughed a hollow laugh. Tristan gazed at him.

Tristan: “Is everything okay?”

He asked. Jordi sighed.

Jordi: “Tristan, Jaxon told me everything you endured, and you don’t need my trivial problems on top of it.”

Tristan pursed his lips.

Tristan: “Just because I was faced with that news and had to face…”

He shifted his eyes and moved in his seat.

Tristan: “...that again, doesn’t mean I am unavailable to help you. I will get through this, Jordi.”

He said gently, but firmly. Jordi tightly pursed his lips.

Tristan: “Clearly, I didn’t kill her when she started that fire, but I will this time.”

He tapped on the table with a glint in his eyes.

Tristan locked his eyes on Jordi.

Tristan: “Jaxon told you? I would have assumed Lena told you via Jaxon.”

Jordi shook his head and embraced himself. Tristan surveyed his body language. Tristan knitted his eyebrows and leaned forward.

Tristan: “Jordi, what’s wrong?”

He asked softly.

Jordi: “Ashley left the house with their cat, their stuff, and the fairies!”

He blurted, his bottom lip trembling. Tristan’s eyelids dipped, and he drew a long breath.

Tristan: “I do read the messages on Fabien’s Bungle and saw what Blair was squawking about. In his time of mourning, he hires people to follow you to take pictures of you on dates.”

He scoffed.

Jordi: “Nothing happened!”

He slammed his hands on the table.

Jordi: “That fucker, Blair, manipulated it to make it look like something more happened, but nothing did! I took her out, blew my paycheck, and didn’t get to eat what I wanted!”

He cried.

Jordi: “And Ashley was upset about this… and I… snapped at them… Hahahaha!”

He laughed humorlessly. Tristan held his gaze. He folded his hands and rested his elbows on the table.

Tristan: “Why did you snap at them for feeling hurt?”

Jordi paused.

Jordi: “...I don’t know.”

He hung his head.

Jordi: “I didn’t understand why they were hurt when it was over.”

Tristan nodded.

Tristan: “I believe after you ended the relationship, they should have moved out and ended everything with you there. There was no way this would work without you snapping at everything they did.”

Jordi looked away with hurt.

Tristan: “You feel guilty about what you did to them, and looking at them is a constant reminder of you allowing your loneliness to override your logic, and your actions ruined this friendship.”

Jordi smiled sadly and bobbed his head.

Jordi: “Hahahaha, that sounds right.”

Tristan inhaled sharply.

Tristan: “You didn’t tell them to go because it goes against your nature, and I believe Ashley took your politeness as you wanting to work things out in your time.”

Jordi sighed and nodded. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

Tristan: “Jordi, I am so sorry this didn’t work out… Unfortunately, not all friendships are meant to last.”

He began.

Tristan: “I always said a fish and a bird can fall in love, but where will they live? One will always be out of their element, drowning or suffocating in a world that wasn’t built for them.”

He stared down at his reflection in his tea.

Tristan: “The people of their planet… They are not only physically weaker than we Reonans, but they have vastly different principles than we do, and they don’t understand our way of life.”

Tristan looked up, his eyes meeting Jordi’s.

Tristan: “I don’t believe Ashley views you in the same vein as Blair or Lazaros. While the relationship and friendship eventually disintegrated, you helped them in many ways.”

Jordi raised an eyebrow.

Tristan: “When Lazaros cruelly tossed them aside, you offered them a place to stay, set up their living space so they would feel at home, and repaired their relationship with their brother. Lazaros destroyed what they had with Blake, but you repaired it. Don’t think for one second this doesn’t go unnoticed.”

He smiled warmly. Jordi smiled a bit upon hearing those words.

Jordi: “I would like to see them to apologize… I don’t want to have them in my life anymore, but I would like to part on good terms.”

He sighed.

Tristan: “I feel you already did, Jordi. Don’t chase them as Blair would. Leave them be. They don’t see you in the same light as Blair or Lazaros; they just… feel in their heart that leaving you and this friendship is to your and their benefit, so give them space.”

He said firmly, but gently. Jordi nodded.

Jordi: “All right. Wherever they are, I hope they are happy.”

He said sincerely.

Jordi then drew another breath.

Jordi: “And this is another thing…”

Tristan: “Yes?”

Jordi: “Jaxon and I…”

He pursed his lips and cupped his mouth.

Tristan: “You’re dating him?”

Jordi reddened and rubbed the back of his neck.

Jordi: “I don’t know? We’re not doing that… We never even made love, but we did kiss and sleep together.”

Tristan raised his eyebrows.

Tristan: “Does Lena know?”

Jordi shook his head and knitted his eyebrows.

Tristan: “I think you should tell her, Jordi. I know she and Jaxon were never dating, but feelings were involved, nonetheless. I think it should come from you over a rival.”

He said resolutely.

Jordi: “Oh, speaking of rivals, Vasilos is now one of us. He has pyrokinesis.”

Tristan gaped at him and then heaved a deep, exasperated sigh.

Tristan: “Oh, golly, this is like… giving a nuclear bomb to a monkey. Who gave it to him?”

He asked. Jordi shrugged.

Jordi: “Search me. When I quit my job with Minerva, he and I exchanged words, and then he shows up to my place, setting most of Orchard Street ablaze. I rescued Jaxon, things got heated…”

He said, his voice trailing off.

Jordi: “Anyway, I shocked him, and he passed out. Cedar got him and cleaned up the mess.”

Tristan nodded. So this is how Jaxon told him everything, he thought.

~

Blasting Mountain’s “Mississippi Queen,” Fabien sat barefoot in his backyard wearing jeans and a Boston tank top. Nearby, Gus lounged in a kiddie pool, stripped down to his underwear. Fabien put the song on again.

He fished a cigarette from his pocket and flicked a silver lighter, the flame dancing to the rhythm of the heavy guitar riff. Taking a long drag, he exhaled a plume of smoke into the humid air and gave Gus a lazy salute with his two fingers, grinning as the cowbell intro kicked in again.

He heard someone knocking on the door and rose. He walked through the house and opened the door to see Lena standing there. She wore a pink sundress with a heart pattern, a beige sunhat, and butterfly sandals. Fabien leaned against the doorframe, smiling at her. Lena reddened, taking him in, gazing at his ivory arms and down to his clean bare feet.

Fabien: “You lookin’ for Jiro?”

Lena’s blush deepened, spreading across her cheeks as she struggled to maintain her composure under his gaze. She fidgeted with the hem of her dress, her heart racing.

Lena: “Actually… I-I wasn’t.”

She stammered, clearing her throat in an attempt to regain her focus.

Lena: “I actually came here to see you, Fabien.”

Fabien exhaled a plume of smoke, a grin spreading across his face.

Fabien: “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lena held a grocery bag up.

Lena: “D-Do you want me to make lunch for you?”

She stuttered. Fabien snorted.

Fabien: “What do you got in mind?”

He drawled, scratching his left leg with his right foot.

Lena: “BLTs!”

She chirped. Fabien’s grin widened, and he stepped back to hold the door open for her, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Fabien: “Now you’re talkin’. That sounds perfect, Lena. Come on in.”

Leaning back at the kitchen table with an arm slung over the adjacent seat, he watched as she crossed the threshold and stepped inside. He flicked his ashes in the ashtray as she pulled the bacon, tomatoes, lettuce, mayonnaise, and bread out of her grocery bag.

Lena moved with practiced ease, laying the ingredients out on the counter. She fired up the skillet, the bacon beginning to sizzle and pop, filling the kitchen with its savory aroma. While the meat crisped to a perfect golden brown, she sliced the tomatoes, their juices bright and fresh against the cutting board. She tore the crisp, green lettuce leaves and arranged the slices of bread, spreading mayonnaise on each slice as her focus was entirely on assembling the perfect sandwiches, as the music still drifted in from the backyard.

Bringing the plate over to the table, she set down three sandwiches for him and one for herself. Fabien ground his cigarette into the ashtray. Fabien took a bite, the crunch of the bacon and toast echoing satisfyingly in the kitchen.

Fabien: “Man, this is exactly what I needed.”

He said, his mouth half-full. Lena smiled, relieved to see him enjoying it, and took a small bite of her own sandwich.

Lena: “Glad you like it.”

She replied, relaxing into the chair. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the heavy guitar riffs of “Mississippi Queen” still rolling in from the backyard, grounding them in the quiet, lazy afternoon.

~

Standing outside Fabien’s house, Ivy pushed Samson in his stroller. She was dressed in a green cheongsam adorned with a cascading golden peacock, an oversized Kentucky Derby hat decorated with peacock feathers, and criss-cross sandals. As she read Lena’s mind and discovered her crush on Fabien, a smile crossed her face. Ivy mused that this was exactly what she needed. While Fabien might be acting this way to prove Lena was no different from her brother, Ivy realized she could simply inform Celeste. Given how Jiro behaved, Celeste would undoubtedly believe it.

~

Meanwhile, over on Deimos’ backyard patio, Celeste watched him train. Deimos, clad in loose blue shorts, was busy throwing punches at a punching bag. Celeste looked on wearing a black tank top, Daisy Dukes, and a spiked collar.

Celeste: “Do you ever think about… what Narcisse told Tristan?”

Deimos: “What exactly? That he kept his mother preserved in some tube or that he was born to be a superior etheressum?”

Celeste: “He was born to be a superior etheressum.”

Deimos stopped and heaved a deep sigh, resting his forehead on the punching bag.

Deimos: “Narcisse told me Bastien was a result of that.”

Celeste: “ ‘cause that’s what you wanted to hear.”

Deimos’ eyelids dipped.

Deimos: “...I know.”

He blew air through his parted lips.

Celeste: “He never trained in a facility, though. I did.”

Deimos turned to her.

Deimos: “Maybe not in a facility as you did, but his mother abused him.”

Celeste and Deimos heard the stroller wheels on the pavement. Deimos prayed it was just a mother pushing her child and not Ivy pushing that fat cat. He looked over the fence, and his fury soared when she saw Ivy.

Ivy: “Nihao!”

Deimos: “The fuck do you want?”

He spat. Ivy giggled.

Ivy: “Deimos, you were always so uncouth. You were the hero’s embarrassing brother in my favorite Hallmark movie, Bread to Wed!”

She smirked.

Deimos: “Wow, what a fuckin’ clapback! Take your tubcat and beat it, bitch!”

He snapped. Ivy rolled her eyes.

Ivy: “I don’t know what a refined gentleman like Tristan sees in a hick like you. The place here smells like feet. You and your brother sure know how to stink up a place, perhaps as much as Jaclyn.”

She grinned. Deimos bared his teeth at her.

Ivy: “Celeste, darling? Your man, Fabien? He’s having lunch with Lena.”

She held her hand horizontally under her chin and laughed.

Celeste: “Maybe that would be bad news in Hallmark movies, but real life isn’t like those crappy movies.”

She drawled. Ivy’s laughter died on her lips, and she scowled.

Ivy: “THEY ARE NOT CRAPPY! Hallmark movies are masterpieces!”

She stomped her feet.

Deimos: “Yeah, I’m not taking advice from someone who thinks Hallmark movies are peak cinema.”

He rolled his eyes.

Celeste: “What’s wrong with Lena having lunch with Fab anyway?”

She asked her and shrugged.

Ivy: “Because, you brainlet, I read minds and she is crushing on him! She made him BLTs and came to see HIM, not JIRO!”

She shook her forefinger at her. Deimos rolled his eyes and glowered at Ivy.

Deimos: “Find a better fuckin’ hobby, Ivy. What would Tristan see in you? A whiny brat who cries until they get what they want? If Tristan wanted that, he’d fuck Blair.”

Celeste snorted, and Ivy seethed with absolute fury.

Ivy: “I came to help you, and this is how you repay me?!”

Celeste: “Ivy, you did this with Jax, and you were right, but Fabien is nothing like him.”

She replied evenly.

Ivy: “Well, sweetheart, why did he invite her into his house to make sandwiches for him if he’s not like Jiro? Face it, honey: men don’t want women like you!”

She grinned.

Deimos marched up to her.

Deimos: “I know what you’re fucking doing. Stop it. Stop digging your own grave.”

He said in a gravelly voice.

Celeste: “What about your man, Ivy? He’s pining for Ash.”

She drawled.

Ivy: “I am not even living with that pathetic wastrel! I now own my father’s estate! You’re looking at a new homeowner while you two have to sponge off others!”

She spread her arms out and laughed loudly. Deimos sneered at her.

Deimos: “Bull fucking shit. If you got your Dad’s estate, you hocked your soul for it.”

He growled.

Ivy: “I am still a virgin, Deimos. I am saving it for Tristan!”

Deimos: “Okay, I know you’re dying a virgin, but this isn’t what I meant. I meant you made a deal with someone to get your father’s assets. It doesn’t have to be sex.”

He said firmly. Ivy froze. She read Celeste’s mind to see she noticed how she isn’t mocking Tristan for being a superior etheressum, and Deimos’ mind said he wished he could read minds because he knows he cornered her.

Ivy: “Celeste, I know women more than anyone, and when a woman cooks for a man, she’s honing in on him, and men don’t want a brute like you!”

She snapped and stormed off.

Deimos flipped her off as she left. He turned to Celeste.

Deimos: “Don’t fuckin’ listen to her bullshit. She thinks life is like those shitty Hallmark movies.”

Celeste bowed her head.

Celeste: “Why is Lena doing that, though?”

Deimos shrugged.

Deimos: “Because she’s like her big brother? She saw Jaxon is just not boyfriend material? All of it?”

He offered.

Celeste: “I noticed Ivy didn’t mock you for finding out Tristan is a Project Ghisyn baby.”

Deimos froze and gaped at her.

Deimos: “...Because months ago it would have bothered me. In fact, it bothered me so much I slept with Jaxon…”

He heaved a deep sigh and brushed sweat off his forehead.

Deimos: “But now? It doesn’t. Tristan needs me.”