Ch. I Refuse to Be Your Luna 149 I Refuse to Be Your Luna 149

Chapter 149 Her Care

Lady Flourish’s POV

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Finished

I’d just finished my shower when I picked up my phone and noticed, unusually, that Damian had posted something.

A photo of a crumpled bumper. An ER hallway beyond it, all fluorescent light and hurried

movement.

‘Got into a car accident. That was close.

My stomach dropped somewhere near the floor. Was this on the way back from my place? I dialed him before I’d fully thought it through, my wolf already pacing an anxious circle beneath my ribs.

The line rang nearly to the end before he picked up.

“Damian. Are you okay? Where are you, are you at the hospital?”

“I’m fine.” His voice came through weaker than usual, though something in it still managed to sound faintly, infuriatingly pleased with itself. “Just a scratch. Nothing serious.”

“Really okay?” I pressed, my pulse still not fully settled. “Do you want me to come over?”

If the accident had happened on his way back from dropping me off, I wasn’t going to be able to shake the guilt of it easily.

“I’m fine,” he said again. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love some congee tomorrow. My housekeeper’s off, and the doctor wants me to eat something light.”

“Got it. I’ll bring it by in the morning.”

“No rush.” I could practically hear the smile in it. “Evening’s better. Come by tomorrow night.”

I agreed and hung up, my wolf still unsettled despite his reassurances, some deeper instinct insisting there was more to that particular tone than a man simply nursing a bruise.

The next morning brought its own tension entirely.

–

Today marked the first day of Grandmother Edda’s mourning period two full weeks of quiet, careful ritual before it would be considered properly closed. Everything today had to be handled by the women of the house, which meant I left F-Tech early, stopped for groceries, and spent the afternoon in the kitchen putting together the dishes Grandmother had always

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Chapter 149 Her Care

favored.

I’d just finished laying the memorial table when my father walked in.

“You’re home too?” he asked.

“Dad. Today’s Grandma’s mourning day.”

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Finished

His expression stiffened. “Right. Completely slipped my mind. You could have reminded me, what if I’d had plans tonight?”

“Then you’d have missed it,” I said quietly. “Wouldn’t be the first thing.”

“Watch that mouth of yours.” He waved it off, already moving on to what he’d actually come to ask. “By the way, I haven’t gotten the chance to ask. That man in the photo Selene sent. Was that really you and Damian?”

I glanced at the phone he held out, unsurprised. “Selene’s been busy.”

“Don’t change the subject. Is it him?”

I observed my father’s face, the barely contained hope in it, the calculation he wasn’t even bothering to hide anymore and gave him a single nod. “Yes.”

The delight that broke across his features was almost embarrassing to watch. “Dad,” I said before he could start in on it properly, “we need to get Grandma’s food out.”

He let it go, for now, though I caught him still glancing at his phone through the rest of the ceremony, unable to stop himself from smiling at it.

By six that evening, the mourning rites were done and the fish congee I’d promised Damian had finished cooking on the stove.

Mira found me packing it into a container. “Are you not eating any yourself, Lady Flourish?”

“No, this is all for Damian. Could you grab me an insulated container?”

She fetched one without question, and I set off across the city toward his villa, the container warm against my palms the whole drive over.

The gate was quiet when I arrived, no servants anywhere in sight, the whole property settled into the kind of stillness that only happened when a full staff had genuinely been given the day off.

I pressed the doorbell, and a low, weak voice answered through the intercom. “Flourish, you know the code. Come in, I can’t get up.”

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Chapter 149 Her Care

Can’t get up? Then how did he even make it home from the hospital?

I let myself in, slipped off my shoes, and found no sign of him downstairs. “Damian?”

“Up here.”

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Finished

I climbed the stairs and pushed open his bedroom door. He was propped against the headboard, looking genuinely pale, his usual sharpness dulled beneath something that read, at a glance, uncomfortably close to real illness.

I set the container down and, without bothering to ask, pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. Warm. Too warm.

“You have a fever,” I said, frowning.

He caught my wrist before I could pull it back, his gaze suddenly nowhere near as glassy or unfocused as it had been a second ago, sharp instead, clear, and entirely, unmistakably amused.

“About that,” he said. “I might have exaggerated. Just a little.”