Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 124

I miss those days, miss what we were. The regret hits me like a ton of bricks, settling heavy in my chest. It’s a regret that’s been there for too long, lurking in the shadows even when I was too stubborn to acknowledge it.

Finally, after another hour and a half of driving, the towering trees give way to the familiar entrance of my estate. I haven’t been here in a few months now, but it feels just as familiar as ever; especially with Abby beside me.

I throw her a quick glance, hoping that I don’t see any glimmer of doubt in her eyes. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she says, though I catch a note of uncertainty in her voice.

I pull into the driveway, the old mansion coming into view. Before I can even cut the engine, the front door swings open. Gerald, our family butler for as long as I can remember, steps onto the porch. His face lights up when he sees me. “Mr. Karl!” he exclaims, shuffling out. “How nice to—” But then, his face falls the moment his gaze lands on Abby.

“Miss… Abby? What are you doing here?” he asks, a thinly veiled note of disapproval coloring his words.

“Hello, Gerald,” Abby replies, her tone neutral. “I’m just visiting.”

“Hmm,” he mutters, and though he says nothing more, his eyes say it all. Maybe I should have mentioned it beforehand. But hell, if he has a problem with Abby being here, that’s his issue to deal with, not ours.

I reach for her bag, but she’s already grabbed it. “I got it,” she says, our fingers brushing for a moment. Electricity shoots up my arm, and I have to resist the urge to pull her closer.

“Shall we?” I gesture toward the entrance.

She nods, stepping onto the cobblestone path that leads to the door. I catch up to her and we walk side by side, the tension palpable but not entirely uncomfortable. She glances around, taking in the towering oaks, the sprawling garden she once adored, the manor itself. There’s a wistfulness in her eyes that tugs at my heart.

Once inside, she continues to look around, this time at the grand staircase, the antique chandeliers, the aged paintings of our ancestors adorning the walls. All the things that make this place more than just a house. It’s a home. It was her home, too, once upon a time. Maybe it will be her home again.

“You okay?” I ask as we ascend the stairs. Her room—the master bedroom, and I’ve decided to take the guest room—is right at the top of the stairs.