Page 68 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
She rests her forehead to mine, whispering, “Don’t let go.”
“Never,” I swear.
Later,they wheel in a pedestal just for her: Morganite roses sculpted from crystal fruit, petals glowing softly like dawn-star constellations. Each stem curved perfectly, bathed in holographic moonlight. Wrapped in celloglass, perched on a silver plinth. No card on top—but I know what’s coming before it arrives.
Ruby’s hands tremble as she picks one up. She smells it first—honeyed citrus, faint rose, and something metallic underneath. She glances at me, uncertain.
A drone delivers the message: a slim holo-card materializes in her hand. I hover. My senses flare up—respond, Rekkgar. But I force stillness.
Ruby reads it in silence. Eyes widening.
She murmurs, voice wavering, “’Your cosmic allure and chef’s passion light the universe. Yours, A.’” Her voice cracks onthat last word. The petals slip from her fingers. Metal clinks on floor.
A hush settles in the dome, even non-related teams pause. All eyes flick toward us. I swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat.
“Show them, love,” I whisper, sliding her shield—her rolled-eye grin—and her composure slides back on.
But I note the tremor in her breath. And it kills me that we’re standing in this lighthouse of public adoration—together—while some golden prince offers romance in the same breath he’s preparing to judge her.
I want to snatch the roses, tear them to shards. But I stay silent. Because if I pull her away publicly, it’ll reveal everything. It’ll prove he matters to me. And I won’t give him that victory.
Back in our suite,I sit near the window—shoulders bowed forward, arms folded on the sill—watching the spinning planet drift below through the viewport. Ruby circles in front of me, placing the crystal roses in a vase. She touches each petal with slow reverence, arranging them in halo of moonlight.
Footsteps behind her. She stiffens.
She turns to me, eyes searching. “You’re not mad?”
I glance up, glare softening to apology. “I’m… concerned.”
She thinks. “It’s a peace offering,” she says. “Compliment.”
He wants to be a fan.
Could it be that innocent?
A vein tightens at my temple.
“How do I know that?” I ask. “He’s emperor. He plays games.”
She sets the vase on the table and walks to me. Nervous warmth flickers in her face. “Rekkgar…I can decide if it’s harmless.”
She reaches up and cups my cheek. Her thumb brushes the scar, smooths it. She kisses my fingers when they fall there.
“I won’t let it endanger us,” she says softly. “But he’s not you.”
The recognition in her voice cracks something open inside. And I realize that’s the problem—I’ve let him becomeus.
I exhale hard. She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine again.
“Ruby…” I start, then carefully: “I should have confronted him already.”
She shakes her head. “Not every challenge needs a fight.”
I close my eyes, tasting iron on my tongue. “But I… I need to know where the line is. If he’s crossing it.”
She tips her head: “He gave you a chance to intervene.”
I lift my hands, searching hers. “I… hesitated.”
