Anastasia finished her slice of cake, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and stood.
Without a word, she grabbed a few more things—a selection of chocolates, another small piece of cake, a fruit cream, and a tart.
Malvor watched her with rapt attention, chin propped on his hand as if she were performing the most fascinating act he'd ever witnessed.
She sat back down, completely unbothered by him, reading as she sampled her new selections.
Malvor, of course, took this as an opportunity to launch into another completely fabricated tale.
"Ah, Annie darling," he sighed dramatically, lounging back in his seat, "I see you're enjoying the fruits of my labor. Quite literally, actually."
She didn't look up.
"You see, that chocolate? Those pastries? They come from my world. A world of rolling cocoa hills, where rivers flow with molten caramel and mountains are made of spun sugar."
He gestured as if painting the scene in the air.
"I toiled endlessly in those fields, harvesting each cocoa bean by hand, sweat glistening on my perfectly sculpted form—"
Anastasia bit into a piece of chocolate.
"—Day and night, I worked, my tears salting the caramel rivers, my blood staining the sugar plains—"
She sipped her water.
"—The people of the land cried out, 'Malvor, oh mighty and selfless one, you must rest! 'But no, I said, 'Not until my Annie sweetpea has her dessert!'"
She finished the last of her tart, stood, and—to his absolute delight—grabbed another plate.
This time, she selected a variety of things, but one stood out: A glowing purple gelatinous substance that pulsed faintly as she set it down.
Malvor grinned.
"Hmm. Brave."
Anastasia ignored him, flipping another page as she methodically worked through her new selections.
He continued, undeterred.
"The cocoa trees, Annie lovebug, were particularly temperamental. I had to sing to them, you see—"
She picked up a piece of chocolate.
"—A very specific, very ancient hymn—"
She sipped her water.
"—A song that could only be performed at twilight under the glow of the caramel moon—"
And then—without hesitation, without fanfare—she picked up the glowing purple slime with her fork, took a bite, and...
Moaned.
Malvor stopped speaking.
No, correction—his entire brain short-circuited.
His mouth hung open, his entire body physically malfunctioning as his mind completely abandoned him.
What! What in the hell! What in the actual, cosmic, divine, transcendent hell was THAT?!
The sound had been innocent. Thoughtless. Pure, genuine enjoyment.
But it wrecked him.
His brain flatlined.
A thousand thoughts tried to form, none of them coherent.
Had she—? Was she even—? What just—?
Anastasia, oblivious to his absolute downfall, took another bite, chewing thoughtfully.
"Hmm," she mused. "That's really good."
Malvor physically had to restart himself.
He snapped his mouth shut, sat up straight, and gripped his own knee to stabilize reality.
He cleared his throat.
"I—I know," he managed. "Obviously. That was… intentional."
She took another bite, her absolutely devastating bright blue eyes scanning her book as if nothing had happened.
Malvor inhaled sharply.
This—This—This was dangerous.
"Annie! What in the actual flames of hell was that?" Malvor sputtered, his brain finally managing to reboot after its catastrophic failure.
Anastasia, in all her insufferable, infuriating, completely unbothered glory, turned another damn page.
And then—shrugged.
She SHRUGGED.
"Bloody hells, woman!" he all but shouted, gesturing wildly. "That damn noise you made!"
She finally looked up, meeting his gaze with those impossibly blue eyes. Calm. Detached.
"What noise?"
Malvor gawked at her.
"Oh, oh, oh, Annie, my Little Orphan Annie," he drawled, voice dripping with melodrama, "going to play coy now?"
She shrugged again.
INFURIATING. WOMAN.
His hands clenched into fists. His jaw ticked. His entire divine being vibrated with unprocessed frustration.
And then—he growled.
Freaking growled.
A low, irritated, completely undignified sound that rumbled deep in his chest before he could stop it.
Anastasia blinked, tilting her head slightly.
"Did you just—"
"No," he snapped, cutting her off, straightening his perfectly tailored suit as if that could somehow restore his dignity. "Absolutely not."
Her lips twitched.
Oh.
Oh, she was enjoying this.
Malvor inhaled through his nose, recalibrating his entire existence.
He was a god. A GOD. A chaos god! He had unraveled empires, caused celestial wars, shaped reality itself with nothing but a whim!
And yet.
This woman.
This entirely mortal woman.
Had just shrugged him into a meltdown.
No. This was not over.
Malvor took a slow, steady breath, smoothing his hands down the lapels of his perfectly tailored suit.
Regain composure. Maintain dignity. Be the bigger deity.
Once he felt sufficiently less feral, he exhaled, forcing himself into a relaxed, lazy sprawl across the couch.
"Annie spice cake," he purred, voice light and teasing, "what are you reading?"
Without looking at him, she lifted the book, showing him the cover.
A very popular romance novel.
His grin exploded across his face.
"Ahhh, yes," he drawled, tilting his head as if studying an ancient artifact. Then, shifting ever so slightly, he threw her a look so smug it should have been illegal.
"Callista Wildfire?" Malvor's voice was a playful mockery. "I can only imagine how emotionally intelligent those male leads must be. Do they talk in circles about their feelings for pages on end, or is it a more… succinct affair?"
Annie smirked, her gaze still fixed on the book. "Callista Wildfire," she said, unbothered, "writes bestsellers with amazing strong female leads. The men? They understand emotions, unlike someone I know. Plus, her story spice level is chef's kiss—exactly how I like it."
Malvor raised an eyebrow, the smile still tugging at his lips. "Oh, so I'm lacking in the emotional intelligence department now, am I?"
"Just a tad," she teased back, her voice light and sharp. "It's called 'empathy,' you might want to look it up."
Malvor made a dramatic show of feigning shock, before lounging back further on the couch. "I do believe I've read a Callista Wildfire novel or two, actually—just under a different name."
Annie glanced up, momentarily distracted. "What?"
Malvor's grin only widened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh yes, darling. Let's just say, Callista has a very familiar flair for the dramatic."
Annie's brows furrowed in confusion as she tried to process this bit of information. Malvor, however, seemed far too pleased with himself to elaborate.
"So, remember me teasing you about me being like the men in your books?"
Anastasia didn't reply, but that was fine, because when had that ever stopped him?
"Well, my darling Annie, I wasn't exaggerating. In fact," he lifted a single finger, twirling it idly in the air, "I am a very popular topic of writing. There are entire genres written about me!"
One of her perfect eyebrows lifted.
Beautiful encouragement if he ever saw it.
He grinned. "Yes, yes," he continued, shifting dramatically, "I am the object of many lovers' stories, the inspiration behind passion, desire, intrigue—"
With a flick of his wrist, a book appeared in his hand.
A romance novel.
With his face on the cover.
Anastasia looked at it.
Looked at him.
Then looked back at the book.
And laughed.
Hard.
Malvor beamed as she dissolved into genuine, full-bodied laughter, something she clearly hadn't expected from herself. Her head tilted back slightly, her shoulders shaking, completely unguarded for once.
And damn it all, it was perfect.
The sound did things to him.
But more than that—he won.
"Ahhh," he sighed happily, tapping the book against his knee. "I do love being right."
Anastasia shook her head, still catching her breath, wiping at the corner of her eye. "You're insufferable."
"And yet," he teased, waggling his brows, "you're still here."
She rolled her eyes, but—she picked up her book again.
And he knew.
He knew she was still smiling.