Elara Wynn

I walked back into the restaurant slowly. Inside, the manager and waitstaff were already gone. Only Cassian remained, lounging casually with his phone on his lap. The food on the table was barely touched.

I sat beside him. Cassian pushed a bowl of porridge in front of me.

“Eat this first. Your stomach’s still too weak—don’t want you running to the bathroom again,” he said.

My eyes drifted to the steak glistening with oil on the plate. I licked my lips, hoping for a ...