Chapter 7: The Most Correct Choice

Bonnie's POV

"Mr. Nova, you can't be serious." I fought to keep my body from trembling. "Neither Dream Galaxy Cocktail nor my reputation carries enough commercial value to warrant a personal visit from someone like you — let alone a buyout offer."

Nova shook his head. "Ms. Layla, you seem to have a rather unclear picture of yourself. Let's start with Dream Galaxy Cocktail. Its real value lies in that substance inside it — the one that neutralizes alcohol. My team has analyzed it. Whatever that compound is, it doesn't match any known element in existence."

My pupils dilated. A cold wave of dread crashed through me.

Of course. How had I never thought of this? If anyone noticed that something from another world had slipped into circulation here, what was waiting for me could be complete and utter ruin. I'd let the money blind me — and now it was too late for regret. I had to find a way to protect myself.

My mind shifted into a gear I didn't know it had, sharper and faster than it had ever run before. The words came almost before I'd finished thinking them.

"Mr. Nova, the fact that you came to me directly suggests your team has already tried to source this compound elsewhere and failed. Right now, I'm the only person in the world who has it." I kept my voice steady. "You're a successful businessman. I don't think you'd be foolish enough to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs."

Nova smiled. He leaned in close, reached up, and tucked a loose curl of my blonde hair behind my ear. The cool tips of his fingers grazed my cheek, and a shiver ran all the way through me.

"Ms. Layla, don't be nervous. I have absolutely no ill intentions toward you. I'm simply here to propose a partnership — mutually beneficial, for both of us. Will you give me that chance?"

I knew I had no real choice. I had to say yes, and I had to sell the impression that I had a substantial, ongoing supply of raw material. Because if word got out that there was only one stone, even if Nova meant me no harm, there was no guarantee someone else wouldn't come along to take it — and quietly remove the inconvenience standing in their way.

I let out a slow breath and extended my right hand.

"Of course. Looking forward to working together, Mr. Nova."

"Likewise." He took my hand in a single, unhurried shake. "Ms. Layla, I'll make sure you understand that agreeing to this today is the single best decision you will ever make."

He produced a contract and handed it to me. I read it carefully — and then my jaw dropped.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven — seven zeros. Nova, this is a million dollars. You cannot be serious."

I'd completely forgotten to add the honorific.

Nova laughed softly and shook his head. "Not only am I serious, this is only the opening figure. I expect you'll keep surprising me, and the numbers will reflect that. Layla."

I signed in something of a daze and received the wire transfer almost immediately. When I moved to step out of the car, a wave of dizziness hit me without warning. My knees buckled.

Nova caught me before I could fall — his hand closed around my arm, broad and sure, and the warmth of his palm spread through me like heat through thin glass.

I steadied myself against his grip. He withdrew his hand just as quickly, composed and unhurried as ever. But I was still thinking about that brief, fleeting contact, the warmth of it lingering in a way I couldn't quite shake.

"Are you all right?" He studied my face with open concern. "You've gone very pale."

I came back to myself and gave him an apologetic shake of my head. "I'm fine. I probably just haven't eaten enough today — low blood sugar."

"Low blood sugar." Nova's brow creased. "Are you dieting, Layla? I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but — your figure is genuinely sexy. You don't need to."

I blinked. "Sexy? You actually think that? Not — fat and ugly?"

He looked genuinely surprised. "Fat and ugly? Where on earth did that come from? If your figure weren't attractive, why would so many men be so relentlessly drawn to you?"

He leaned closer, took my hand, and gently guided it — pressing my own palm to my body, his hand resting over the back of mine, following the same path.

As my hand moved across the curve of my chest, his fingers followed, a light, deliberate pressure through the fabric of my clothes.

"Look," he said, his voice low and unhurried. "Your chest is this full and perfectly shaped, your waist pulls in at exactly the right line, the soft curve of your stomach is exactly the proportion it should be —"

It was barely a touch, just his fingers grazing over me through my clothes, and yet my whole body shook with it. The air inside the car had grown unbearably warm. My eyes blurred at the edges, and Nova's beautiful face swam in and out of focus.

"Yes…"

His voice poured into my ears like something slow and liquid, and something inside me finally clicked into place. I didn't show my face online. I had no particular talent, no impressive family background. And yet those men pursued me with that kind of desperate, burning intensity — because my body drew them in. That was why. That was all it was.

Which meant Catherine and the others had been tearing me down out of pure spite. I was attractive. I had always been attractive.

The realization moved through me like a current. My whole body felt suddenly, vividly alive, and I was almost certain my eyes were shining.

Nova's mouth curved. He looked at me with something that read like quiet approval. "Of course. If you want to take care of your health, the sensible thing is to look at your eating habits — rebuild your daily meals from a nutritional standpoint, not a punishing one."

He picked up his phone, tapped the screen a few times, then looked up with an easy smile. "I've just contacted my personal nutritionist and lifestyle coordinator. They'll put together a customized meal plan for you and check in on your health on an ongoing basis."

I shook my head quickly. "That's really not necessary, you don't have to —"

Nova closed his fingers gently around my wrist, stopping me.

"When it comes to anything involving you," he said, "I will never find it too much trouble."

The rest of it passed in a haze I couldn't fully reconstruct afterward — only the warmth of his palm, and the color of his eyes, that deep and particular blue.

I climbed out of the car. Nova rolled the window down and fixed me with a look that could only be described as deliberately devastating.

"One more thing — the way you said my name just now, without the 'mister'?" He tilted his head, a slow, wicked glint in his eye. "You sounded impossibly sweet. I'd like you to keep doing that. Just Nova. Always."

Before I could find a single word to answer with, he said au revoir and the car pulled away.

I pressed the back of my hand to my burning cheek. The man was dangerously, almost unfairly charming. Even if he hadn't been half as clever as he was, a face like that alone would have made him a star.

---

By the time I got back to Doomsday Nightclub, the rush had already thinned out. A glance at the time told me we were nearly at closing. The last guests filtered out, the staff packed up and headed home, and I sat alone at the bar, trying to settle my thoughts.

It felt like I'd swallowed something delicious with poison at its core. A million dollars on the first move meant Nova took this partnership seriously — very seriously. But what happened when the stone ran out? There were no visitors from the other world lately, no way to source more of the blue crystals, and even if the contract carried no explicit penalty clause, the last thing I wanted was to end up on the wrong side of the most ruthless predator in the financial district.

What was I supposed to do?

I was still turning it over when the wind chimes above the door rang out.

A strikingly beautiful man stepped inside, dressed in the formal court attire of a medieval European noble — structured, ornate, impeccably fitted. His eyes were a deep, vivid crimson, the pupils slit like a cat's, and there was something about them, something that pulled at you, like standing at the edge of a whirlpool and being unable to look away.

"Lovely lady," he said, and his voice was something out of a classical concert — perfectly modulated, almost musical in its clarity. "Would you mind telling me where I am? I found a door inside my castle — one that didn't belong to the original architecture, and far too grand to ignore. I opened it and stepped through, and here I am." He tilted his head slightly. "Can you explain what's happening?"

That voice, impossibly, did exactly what nothing else had managed to do all evening — it smoothed away the knot of anxiety sitting in my chest.

I smiled and answered. "You're at Doomsday Nightclub. I'm the owner — Layla. Welcome. I've been expecting someone like you."

"Oh?" His crimson eyes narrowed with curiosity. "Another world, you say. So Ms. Layla and this establishment don't belong to Elmir?" He paused, then inclined his head in a small, graceful nod. "Forgive me — I haven't introduced myself. My name is Helparos Tepes. Helparos will do."

I studied him for a moment, genuinely curious. "Are you a vampire?"

He moved. Not walked — moved, the way a shadow moves when the light shifts, and between one breath and the next he was directly in front of me. His right arm hooked around my waist, lifting me with effortless ease, and I was pressed against his chest before I'd processed that he'd crossed the room at all. He bent his head, caught my chin between his fingers, and his thumb traced a slow, deliberate path across my lips.

"So you're curious about vampires, are you?" His voice dropped to something low and private, meant only for me. He lowered his head further until his mouth rested against the curve of my neck, and I felt the sharp, unmistakable press of fangs against my carotid artery. "All you have to do is nod. I'll bite down, and give you the first embrace — eternal life and beauty that will never fade. Yours to keep."