The Monster at My Feet novel Chapter 21

Sylvie said thank you sweetly.

Tears still welled in her eyes, making her smile look like a dew-kissed peach blossom, delicate and alluring.

The man took a step back as if he’d been burned.

His back was practically pressed against the wall.

In a rush to rinse her eyes, she didn't notice much else. She hurriedly turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face for a good while.

Eyes squeezed shut, she groped around the sink for a paper towel. After fumbling for a moment, her fingers brushed against something warm and dry.

As her fingers closed, she grabbed the towel, but through the fabric, she felt the long, slender joints of someone's hand.

The other person pulled back instantly. Sylvie froze for a second, then mumbled another "Thank you."

When she finally gathered herself and looked over, she was surprised to find him still there. He hadn’t made a sound, and she assumed he had already left.

The tall man stood in the darkest corner, his eyes half-lowered.

One hand was hidden behind his back, the other hanging by his side, fingers curled into a tight fist.

The shadows from his tousled hair obscured his eyes, but his clenched jaw made it obvious he was in a terrible mood.

The young woman blinked and offered a sincere apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize this area was off-limits."

Someone had tried to kick her out earlier, but the bodyguard in black had vanished.

The man took a deep breath. On his unnaturally pale skin, the faint blue veins on his neck stood out in stark relief.

He didn't say a word.

It was as if he was forcibly suppressing his temper, pushed to the absolute limit of his patience and ready to snap at any second.

The rumors were right—he really did seem like an unstable psycho.

Driven by a sudden impulse, Sylvie took a step closer. "You don't look so good."

The man retreated another step, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud.

He seemed even more agitated. His chest heaved violently before he finally forced out a hoarse command.

"Get out."

His voice was stiff and freezing cold.

Sylvie gave a pitiful pout. "Alright. But thank you anyway."

She waved at him. "Bye."

She turned and walked away.

Silence fell over the room.

Caspian's head spun.

The hand hidden behind his back was the one she had just touched.

Only then did he carefully pick up the towel she had used, brushing his thumb reverently over the damp paper.

He finally let himself replay every second of what had just happened.

She looked so beautiful in that dress.

Her eyes were the color of warm amber.

Why had she been crying? Was she terrified when he chopped off that guy's fingers?

She was breathtaking—his perfect, innocent little moon.

Nothing in this rotten world was worthy of her, least of all him.

Had he sounded too harsh just now?

She must have wanted to get away from him as fast as possible.

He wanted to see her.

He needed to see her.

A violent shudder racked his body at the thought. He snapped his head up, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

He had been in the abyss for so long that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't even fake looking normal.

He was just cold, pale, and repulsive.