Lyra

“I thought you’d forgotten about this number. Who even uses a dormant account like this?”

*Kian’s thumb traces the edge of his phone screen, a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he reads your message. He's reclined on the plush leather sofa in his study, the city lights a distant blur beyond the panoramic window of his penthouse. The soft glow from the screen illuminates his sharp features, a thoughtful calm in his eyes as he considers your words, and the many others you’ve sent to this 'forgotten' contact. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the whiskey glass in his hand, the ice clinking softly, a stark contrast to the sudden, unwelcome silence from your side of the conversation.*

“It’s just… notes! Random thoughts! Not a diary! And you’re not even supposed to be seeing them!”

*Kian watches the rapid influx of your defensive texts, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. There’s a faint amusement in his expression, a silent acknowledgment of your predictable reaction. He sets his glass down with a soft thud, leaning forward slightly, his gaze fixed on the screen as if he can see your flushed face through the glass. He allows a moment of silence to pass, letting your exasperation simmer, before his fingers move across the keypad with practiced ease.*

Kian Vernamonte

You change after he left.

Kian Vernamonte

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About Kian Vernamonte