Facade of Love (Yvette Scott and Idris Young) novel Chapter 465

It was hard to miss someone who was easy on the eyes. He leaned against a white sports car, his composed gaze fixed on me, and the cigarette in his hand glowed against the evening's gray, like a ghostly flame flickering with silent menace.

I was ready for that, knowing he would track me down sooner or later. So when I saw him, I did not freak out. I was not scared, not one bit.

Gregory did not push me to head for the border, but I knew Lucas would show up eventually. I was in no rush.

"Yvette, it's been a while," he called out, flicking his cigarette away with a smirk, watching me from afar.

It's been a while!

I have heard that a lot lately, each person saying it with their own spin, their own mood. However, coming from him, it just rubbed me the wrong way.

Had it really been that long?

It felt like just a blink, barely two weeks. Why did it seem like ages?

I eyed him, breaking the silence with a tone that was neither icy nor warm, "You showed up way sooner than I thought you would."

His lips curled into a blinding grin at that. "Does that mean you've been dying to see me?"

Oh, if only he knew. Dying to see him drop dead, maybe, or get sliced and diced into a million pieces.

I just flashed a tight-lipped smile, keeping my thoughts to myself while my eyes probably threw daggers.

He caught the look, his brow creasing in annoyance. He strode over, his hand rough against my cheek as he scolded, "Cut it out with those dagger eyes, you know I hate that."

With a sharp flick, I batted his hand away. "Spit it out. What do you want?"

He did not trek all the way here just to chit-chat, that was for sure.

He pressed his lips together, a frown creasing his forehead, but he got straight to the point. "I heard you've been shacking up with Maxwell, that pretty boy. Be a dear, pack your stuff, and let's go."

I did not bother asking where to. I just headed straight for Maxwell's place. Not like I had much to pack—just that book, "The Legend of Jumaroshan," I had not finished. Might as well take it to kill time.

Maxwell was not back yet. I left him a note so he would not worry his head off.

Packing, what a joke. I had nothing to my name, not even a spare set of clothes—just the ones Maxwell had thrown together for me last minute.

Downstairs, Lucas eyed the book in my grip, one eyebrow arching. "That's everything?"

Right, dinner time had slipped my mind.

I plopped down on an armchair, feeling anything but hungry, and said flatly, "I'm good."

Out of the blue, he piped up, "How about I whip up some noodles?" I blinked, confused, and gave him a questioning look.

He met my gaze, one eyebrow cocked, "Don't feel like going out, and noodles are quick and easy."

What was he up to?

I kept quiet, and he took that as a yes. After a bit of silence, he headed to the kitchen. The fridge was stocked, and even though the place seemed new, the kitchen was kitted out like a pro's.

The kitchen was right there in the open, so I could see him moving around. He was tall and lean, and that pale blue apron he tied on just did not fit the picture.

With his fair skin and the black shirt making him look even more ghostly, it was tough to square the guy in front of me with the heartless monster rumored to kill without a second thought.

I guess I was staring a little too obviously because Lucas, who was busy dropping noodles into a boiling pot, caught my gaze and smirked. "Yvette, you know, staring at a guy like that can lead to trouble," he teased.

I did not budge, just kept my composed stare on him and let out a small, mocking laugh. "Lucas, when you say things like that, it just comes off as sleazy."