CHAPTER 210: BIG PLANS

Chapter 210

Poppy

I can’t believe it.

I actually forgot about Felix.

I guide him toward the bed—my new bed, with the upgraded mattress and soft bedding that doesn’t scratch my skin or creak when I shift. It smells faintly of lavender oil and cedarwood polish now. Luxury. Clean. Quiet.

There are perks to being friendly with a predator like Daphne. Okay, maybe "friends" is a reach. I may have mentioned my roommate in passing—and with one swipe of her hand and a flash of annoyance, the girl was gone. Reassigned to a different dorm, my room completely redone the next day.

Seriously, if this is what she can do for me with a mutteredcomplaint, what is she doing for Nima?

New plan: don’t just fake being friends with Nima. Actually be her friend.

Felix sits down beside me, hesitantly, his weight pressing into the mattress like he’s unsure he belongs here. I pour him a glass of water—yes, my room has a proper table and pitcher now—and hand it to him.

He accepts it wordlessly, his eyes trailing across the small space, noting everything.

The neatly stacked books. The soft throw blanket. The snack tray on the table. The silence that doesn’t echo with anyone else’s breathing.

"Seems like there’s been changes here," he says, his tone neutral.

I shrug, casual. "Well, seems like there are perks to being in the good graces of a high-class noble."

His jaw shifts slightly, but he just hums. "I see."

He reaches for the tray and picks up one of the treats, holding it between his fingers. "Are these... imported bloodrootgrapes?"

I chuckle, brushing invisible lint from my thigh. "The very same. Apparently, they’re grown in mineral-rich soil from the eastern cliffs. Good for hair shine and digestion."

He pops one into his mouth, and I offer him the glass again.

He takes a sip, places it aside.

I shift closer, smooth and practiced, and reach for his shirt. The buttons are familiar territory. My fingers work one loose, then another, exposing a sliver of golden skin beneath. My nails drag just slightly as I move.

His chest rises once—then halts.

"This isn’t what I’m here for, Poppy," he says, his voice quiet.

I roll my eyes. Of course it isn’t.

But that doesn’t stop my hand from traveling lower, to the very obvious hardness between his legs. I cup it gently, press my palm against the heat.

"Sure," I whisper, my voice dipped in sweet disbelief.

I lean in and kiss him.

His mouth responds, hesitant. Delayed. Like a reflex he hasn’t had time to question yet. But he’s kissing me back.

He pushes me onto the bed—my new bed, freshly made with the finest sheets I’ve ever owned. For someone who wasn’t here for this, he’s suspiciously enthusiastic.

Wait.

My bed?

New sheets?

Oh hell no.

"Wait," I say, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back.

He looks surprised, brows lifting as he sits up. "What?"

"I’m not messing up my bed," I say, already slipping off the edge. "I don’t have attendants to do my laundry, Felix."

I drop to my knees on the soft rug, flicking my tail with practiced ease as I lean forward, palms bracing me on the floor.

"Don’t act like we haven’t done it in worse places," I purr, glancing over my shoulder. "Or are we above the floor now, Mr. Leonhart?"

He chuckles, low and rich, and the sound of his belt coming undone follows.

"Never."

I feel him move behind me, that predator grace, slow and sure. His hand slides along the curve of my spine, then down—until it grabs my tail and gives it a firm tug.

"Ow," I say, for show.

"Quit lying," he murmurs, his voice hot against my ear. "We both know you’re not in pain."

I laugh, breathy, letting my head fall forward as he settles behind me. We know each other too well. Every angle. Every sound. Every weakness.

He’s too big. He always is. But the burn, the ache, is the kind that curls my toes.

Pleasure in the pain.

The way he moves is confident, practiced—like this is the one place he knows who he is. Inside someone. Claiming them.

And me? I pretend it’s love. For just a second.

Because if I pretend hard enough, I might convince myself he’s still mine.

Even if I know deep down...

He’s not.

Not really.

Not anymore.

***

Daphne

I’m scanning the field trip accommodations when the scent of uncertainty drifts in. Subtle. Familiar. A twitch of nervous energy that scrapes the air like a dull blade.

Not mine.

Another bunny enters—hesitant steps, clutching her bag too tightly.

Poppy.

She doesn’t say anything as she walks in, just lowers herself onto the single guest chair by the wall like it might bite her. Smart girl.

I take my time finishing the note I was scribbling before lifting my eyes to her.

"I see someone had a visit from a little lion last night," I say lightly, like I’m commenting on the weather.

Her gaze snaps up, narrowed.

"Don’t look at me like that," I continue, lips curling. "He was clearly marking his territory. Have you seen your neck?"

Her hands fly to the bruised skin, covering the evidence as if that will somehow erase it.

Poppy, my sweet Poppy.

[Affection Level: 65%]

Down from seventy.

Probably not because of anything I’ve done. Quite the opposite. I make small efforts—tiny gestures, little shifts of convenience and luxury. Things her darling Felix either forgets or never thinks to provide.

I’m not subtle. I don’t want to be.

I want her to notice the contrast though.

I’m genuinely curious.

Will the affection level drop even lower?

I stretch lazily, flipping the page of the accommodation file again.

I’m looking forward to this field trip.

I have something big planned.

That’s when my bunny walks into the room.

Right on cue.

I toss the notes aside without a second glance. It doesn’t matter now—not when she’s here.

My full attention shifts to her, like it always does.

She pauses at the door, ears twitching, shoulders stiff—but not frozen. Not like before. She flinches at the weight of my gaze, but she doesn’t bolt.

Progress.

I’m glad she’s no longer a shivering mess every time I look at her.

But I’m also... sad she’s not a shivering mess anymore.

It’s complicated.