Page 15 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
I realize I’m staring.
He notices.
“Your turn,” he says.
“What?” I ask.
“Ask something normal.”
I blink. “Ijustasked something normal!”
He smirks — a real expression, not a leer or a grin — just a smirk that tells me he’s impressed by something about me I’m still trying to figure out.
“Fair,” he says. “Then — what scares you?”
I freeze.
Not because it’s abadquestion, but because it’s so… direct. Unfiltered. Honest. And I’m not used to that.
Most people filter. They smile. They nod. They offer vague psychological platitudes that mean nothing and tell youeverything.
But him?
He just asks.
“Whatscaresme?” I repeat, tasting the words.
I glance at my glass. The last of my Solar Flare is gentle light fading on a sunset sky. I realize my chest feels oddly lighter than it has in weeks.
“Losing control,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t blink.
“You like being in control,” he observes.
I shrug—just a little. “I have to. Otherwise this company collapses on me like a dying star.”
His eyes are steady. “Control is an illusion.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Something about the way he says it makes sense — not comforting, not reassuring — justtrue.
Maybe chaos isn’t the opposite of order.
Maybe chaos is just… freedom we haven’t learned how to use yet.
Our appetizers arrive — artfully arranged cubes of something I don’t want to identify yet somehowloveon instinct. I bring one to my mouth and find it tastes like salt and dawn and something sharp I can’t name.
“I didn’t expect tonight,” I say, mouth half-full.
“Whatdidyou expect?” he asks.
“A long meal with someone who makes me regret life.”
His laughter rumbles deep—far deeper than before, like an undertow beneath a river’s surface.
“I regretmostof my life,” he says, “but rarely in good company.”
Something in the way he says it stirs… curiosity. Not fear. Not caution.
