I lifted my chin slightly, my lips parting as I prepared myself for the kiss I thought was coming.
I knew I didn't like him.
At least… that was what I kept telling myself.
But a kiss wouldn't hurt, right?
Just as I closed my eyes and surrendered to the dangerous fantasy in my head, Dylan reached past me—
—and pulled the pillow from behind my back.
My eyes snapped open.
He straightened, clearly satisfied with himself, then turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.
Heat rushed to my face.
I wanted the ground to split open and swallow me whole.
Humiliated, I quickly sat up.
"You should sleep on the floor," I muttered.
He moved to the other side of the bed without sparing me a glance.
"Why should I?" he asked coolly.
I frowned. "Because I'm not comfortable sharing a bed with you."
"If you aren't comfortable," he said flatly, "then you can take the floor. I don't mind the bed."
I glared at him.
Dylan finally looked at me, his expression unreadable.
"You shouldn't glare at me like that. I paid for this accommodation. If you're unhappy with my arrangement, you're free to pay for another room."
With that, he climbed into bed as if the matter was settled.
Totally annoyed, I snatched up my pillow and stormed over to the blanket spread across the floor.
"I don't have the strength to deal with this unreasonable human—no, monster," I muttered under my breath as I laid down.
I was exhausted.
Even though the floor was uncomfortable at first, sleep eventually dragged me under.
Dylan's POV
"Stubborn as always," Dylan muttered under his breath.
In the middle of the night, his gaze fell on Clover curled tightly on the floor, her body trembling from the cold.
For a long moment, he stared at her.
Then, with a quiet sigh, he rose from the bed.
The next morning, warm sunlight filtered through the room.
I slowly opened my eyes, half-asleep, enjoying the soft mattress beneath me.
The soft… mattress?
My eyes flew open.
Bed?
I froze.
I clearly remembered falling asleep on the floor last night.
Then why was I on the bed?
I pushed myself up and looked down at the spot where I had slept.
The blanket was still there.
But Dylan wasn't.
My fingers tightened around the duvet draped over me.
Did he… carry me here?
Before I could think too much about it, footsteps approached from outside.
The door opened.
Bruno walked in, holding a white dress. He placed it neatly on the table.
"You should freshen up and change into this," he said stiffly. "He's waiting for you in the hall."
He turned to leave, but stopped at the door.
Then he looked back at me.
"Thank you… for the other day," he said, the words sounding forced.
I blinked in surprise.
"There's no need. I only did what was ne—"
"But don't do it again," he cut in sharply.
I frowned.
He stared at me with open hostility.
"I don't know if you haven't noticed, or if you're simply being obnoxious, but I really hate you."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"And don't think pretending to care will change my opinion of you. You're just a common human."
Before I could respond, he turned and left.
The room fell silent.
I stared after him, stunned.
I guess there was really nothing I could do about people hating me.
But strangely enough… it didn't hurt as much as it used to.
Maybe because I was already used to it.
Or maybe because I had bigger things to worry about now.
Without another thought, I headed into the bathroom and took a quick shower.
I washed my hair, dried it carefully, and stood in front of the mirror with a comb in hand.
Slowly, I ran it through my red hair until the strands fell smoothly over my shoulders.
I picked up my hair tie, ready to pull it into my usual ponytail.
But after a brief pause, I set it back down.
Instead, I let my hair fall freely down my back, brushing just above my waist.
I studied my reflection.
Maybe… I really was prettier than I used to think.
Or maybe I had never been ugly at all.
Maybe I had simply spent so much time envying other people that I never noticed how badly I had neglected myself.
A faint smile touched my lips.
I applied a soft pink gloss, then reached for the white dress Bruno had brought me.
Once I slipped it on, I turned toward the mirror again.
The dress made me look innocent.
Soft.
Sweet.
Almost like a completely different person.
When I finally stepped out of the room, I made my way toward the hall.
I had barely started wondering how I would find them when I spotted Dylan seated above the main hall, calm and composed as always.
Bruno stood beside him, looking like they had already been discussing our plans.
By tomorrow morning, we would probably have arrived at the small village of Yakima.
I climbed the stairs toward them.
It looked like they were having breakfast.
Dylan was holding a cup in one hand, his posture lazy yet elegant.
But that wasn't what caught my attention.
It was his hair.
His dark hair was longer now, tied loosely behind his head in a way that somehow made him look even more dangerously handsome.
I blinked.
Since when had his hair gotten that long?
And why did it suit him so unfairly well?
He was dressed in black again, of course.
At this point, I was convinced black was the official color of his entire species.
As I approached, Dylan looked up at me.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then his gaze lingered.
"Have a seat."
I sat across from him, trying not to think too much about the way he had looked at me.
Breakfast had already been served, and I ate quietly, grateful for the distraction.
Bruno left shortly after receiving instructions from Dylan, leaving the two of us alone.
I was still eating when I noticed Dylan staring.
I lowered my spoon.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "You look… different."
I blinked.
I pointed at his hair. "You're one to talk. What happened to your hair?"
One corner of his mouth lifted.
"What's wrong with it?" he asked. "You don't like it?"
His tone was light.
Teasing.
I narrowed my eyes. "Since when did it become long?"
For once, Dylan said nothing.
He actually looked… as if he was in thought.
A slow smile spread across my face.
"Oh…" I leaned back in my chair, suddenly delighted. "Don't tell me you're trying to impress me."
He remained silent.
My smile widened.
"You even carried me back to bed last night," I continued, pretending not to notice the dangerous shift in his gaze. "Don't tell me that behind that toxic mask of yours, you actually have a soft spot."
I flashed him my sweetest smile.
He scoffed.
Clearly, he hadn't expected me to throw his own games back at him.
Then he stood.
I paused mid-bite.
"Where are you going?" I asked. "Don't tell me you're running away, stunt face."
He smiled.
That smile alone should have warned me.
Instead of answering, he walked toward me.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
My breath caught in my throat.
He stopped right beside my chair, then leaned down until his face was only inches from mine.
My entire body went rigid.
The memory of last night—of how close he had been—flashed through my mind so suddenly that my thoughts tangled into complete chaos.
Dylan's voice dropped low.
"What if…" he murmured.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"What if I really am trying to impress you?"
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
He leaned in even closer.
"What if," he whispered, his dark eyes locked on mine, "I told you that I've started to like you?"
My eyes widened.
My pulse stopped.
And for the first time since meeting Dylan—
I had absolutely no idea what to say.