Page 97 of Sweet Nightmare

His expression softens as soon as I thank him. Minho isn’t staff.

Not to me.

Staff come and go. Minho stays. Through the ugly days, the long nights, and the shit I’d rather forget.

The man is family.

A loud throat-clearing interrupts us.

I close my eyes for half a second.

Of course. The princess is still here.

I turn back to her. “The estate has two wings.”

One pale eyebrow lifts. “How generous.”

“The east wing is yours. Mine is on the opposite side. Stay out of it.”

Artemis studies me for a moment before her lips curl into something resembling a smile. But there’s nothing remotely warm about it.

Jesus Christ. Does this woman even know how to smile like a normal human being?

I’ve read enough about her to know she’s practically infamous for never smiling in public. Now I understand why.

That expression belongs to a predator deciding whether to play with its food.

“Trust me,” she says sweetly. “You’re safe.”

Goddamn.

I already dislike her. A lot.

“Goodnight, princess.”

She doesn’t blink. “Goodnight, Khaos.”

A beat passes before she adds, “I’m Artemis.”

As if I don’t fucking know. The whole world knows her name. The Ice Princess. Figure skating’s golden girl. The woman who could sneeze in the wrong direction and make international headlines by breakfast. Exactly the kind of celebrity I avoid.

Not because I dislike famous people. I’m one of them.

I dislike people who’ve never had to fight for a seat because their family owns the fucking table.

Artemis Volpe grew up surrounded by wealth, security, opportunity, and people who probably said yes before she finished asking.

I grew up learning how to disappear when adults started asking questions.

Two different worlds.

Two different lives.

Two different fucking planets.

And yet, as I look at her, something about her makes me feel shit I don’t want to.

It’s not attraction.