Third Person's POV
"I won't touch you. This is just to keep up appearances in front of Veronica," Cliff said in a low voice. His pheromones carried a tinge of helplessness, as if he surrendered to fate. His wolf eyes flickered with a dull light, like an extinguished campfire.
Vanya glanced between the bed and the sofa, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.
Turning to Cliff, she said firmly, "Then you're sleeping on the sofa!"
Her words carried an undeniable authority, her pheromones laced with a warning.
A flash of loneliness crossed Cliff's eyes, like a deserted wolf.
But he still replied softly, "Okay."
Obediently, he moved the pillows from the double bed to the sofa, his movements gentle as if not to disturb Vanya. He found a thin blanket and gently covered himself.
His pheromones carried a hint of pine, a sign of his barely contained emotions.
Seeing his compliance, Vanya returned to bed. Her voice held a chill. "At night, we'll keep our distance. You can't come within three feet of me."
Her silver-blue pupils glinted coldly, like frost on an ice field.
"Okay," Cliff responded, his voice devoid of emotion, as if acknowledging a routine order.
"Besides Veronica, we'll live separately. No interference in each other's lives," Vanya continued, her tone unwavering.
"Okay," Cliff agreed mechanically, his voice cold and detached.
This was the first night they'd spent under the same roof.
Vanya felt uneasy and tossed and turned all night.
At dawn, Cliff had already gotten up, returned the pillows to their place, and attempted to cover Vanya with the blanket.
As his hand hovered above the quilt, Vanya suddenly grabbed his wrist.
Cliff froze, like an iced-over river.
He looked up to see Vanya's eyes brimming with caution, which stung him like needles.
His cedar pheromones rippled slightly, his wolf claws slightly retracting, as if to ward off the feeling of being distrusted.
"I just wanted to cover you properly," Cliff explained softly, his voice tinged with helplessness.
Vanya snapped back from her tension.
Having experienced her past life, she felt nothing but coldness and fear toward Cliff—he had stood by as she died on the operating table, which was no different from murder in her eyes.
Her grip loosened slightly, her pheromones carrying a complex undertone.
"Sorry, I just..."
Before she could make an excuse, Cliff interrupted, "Get up. Veronica's already prepared breakfast."
His voice carried a faint tenderness, like a breeze sweeping away morning dew.
Vanya was puzzled—Jenny usually wouldn't be here this early. How did Veronica manage to prepare breakfast?
At that moment, a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Vanya said, her voice carrying a hint of authority—a wolf's instinct to mark her territory.
A fresh-faced maid stood in the doorway, appearing to be eighteen or nineteen. Her innocent and pure demeanor gave an impression of simplicity.
Vanya understood—this was the "crisis-inducer" Veronica had arranged.
Cliff ignored the maid and draped a robe around Vanya's shoulders.
His action were gentle and natural, as if habitually considerate.
Vanya glanced at the maid, who quickly lowered her head in apparent embarrassment, as if she'd witnessed something she shouldn't have.
This innocent act bore a resemblance to Melinda.
Veronica must have known Cliff's preference for Melinda's type and deliberately chosen someone similar.
"What's your name?" Vanya asked, her voice edged with scrutiny, her pheromones carrying a faint aura.
"L-Luna Vanya, I'm Genevieve," the maid stammered, her posture still decent despite her nervousness.
Her voice was as soft as a valley breeze, trembling with tension.
Vanya nodded. "I don't eat breakfast this early. From now on, only Jenny prepares my meals. Got it?"
"Madam Todd has given Jenny a long leave. May I know what time you usually have breakfast? I can prepare it in advance," Genevieve said, her head slightly bowed, her voice tinged with pleading.
Vanya fell silent for a moment—Veronica usually liked Jenny. It seemed she was determined to create this sense of crisis.
She smiled. "Eight o'clock."
"Understood," Genevieve stepped aside, her figure looking slender in the morning light.
After freshening up, Cliff emerged from the bathroom and approached Vanya. "I'll go downstairs with Veronica."
"Alright." In public, they maintained the facade of a married couple. Vanya didn't act overly distant.
Downstairs, Veronica frowned upon seeing Vanya hadn't descended. "Still not up?"
Her voice carried a hint of displeasure, her pheromones edged with sourness.
"It was me who let her sleep in," Cliff interjected—knowing Veronica disliked a Luna's laziness.
Genevieve couldn't help but glance at Cliff. Earlier, it was Vanya who chose not to come down.
A flicker of confusion crossed her eyes, like a valley shrouded in mist.
Veronica sneered. "Now that she's the Luna, she's putting on airs? Forgotten how she once ingratiated herself with me?"
Her voice dripped with sarcasm, her pheromones sharp and stinging.