Claimed By The Mafia Rogue King (Snow and Cupid) novel Chapter 267

Chapter 267

Chapter 267

Snowflakes

M

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I am exhausted beyond words when I get home that night, emotionally drained, physically spent. All I want is to collapse into bed and let sleep swallow me whole. But as I ease the car into the estate and pull up the driveway, I slow to a crawl.

Lights are on inside the house.

My pulse jumps.

I alight slowly, keys already in hand, eyes locked on the front door. The lock isn’t shattered. No sign of forced entry. No broken glass. No footprints in the snow leading anywhere suspicious.

Still goosebumps rise sharp and sudden along my arms. My heart leaps into my throat.

I open the door quietly, almost soundlessly and step inside.

Right there, in the living room, seated at the dining table under the soft glow of the pendant light… is him.

Cupid.

I go completely still. Cold rushes through me like ice water.

It’s only been a few weeks since I last saw him, yet it feels like lifetimes. He sits in silence. Before him is a small cake. Simple. Chocolate. One candle already lit, flame steady and low.

“You arrived late,” he murmurs.

The sound of his voice, low, calm, familiar snaps the moment into reality. This isn’t a hallucination. He’s here.

“Yes… I… I drove Sera home,” I manage, biting my lower lip. My voice sounds small, uncertain. I don’t know what to do with my hands.

He nods once, slow, acknowledging.

“You should come cut the cake. Have a bite.” A pause. “I suck at singing. Forgive me I won’t sing a happy birthday to you.”

A small, involuntary smile tugs at the corner of my lips despite everything.

I walk closer, slow, careful, almost afraid the vision will shatter if I move too fast.

I cut the cake, small slice, careful not to destroy it. I take the first bite, rich, sweet, grounding then offer him a forkful.

He pauses, eyes flicking from the cake to me then leans forward and accepts it.

“Happy birthday, Snow,” he says softly.

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17:48 Wed, Feb 18

Chapter 267

The love in his eyes is quiet, sincere, unguarded.

“Here.”

He slides a small, wrapped present box across the table.

My heart blooms sharp, sudden, painful in the best way.

“Thank you,” I whisper, fingers brushing his as I take it.

(17)

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I want to lean over. Want to kiss him. Want to crawl into his lap and bury my face in his neck and pretend the last few weeks never happened.

But I don’t.

What happened that night still lingers between us like smoke. I know Cupid is not a man who forgets. Not a man who forgives easily. Not when the wound is this deep.

“You should take your bath,” he says. “I’ll keep the rest of the cake in the fridge for later. How about that?”

I nod, relieved, grateful.

“Thank you.”

I walk quietly to my bedroom and close the door only to freeze.

Cupid is here.

In my house. In my space.

I rush to the closet, eyes falling on the lingerie I bought weeks ago on impulse. Black lace. Delicate straps. The kind of thing I’d wear if I ever got brave enough to ask him to forgive me.

Tonight feels like the perfect night.

I set the gift boxes on the bed. Sera’s, Eshan’s, Cupid’s and then check my phone when it chimes.

Pinky Pic.

Happy birthday to you Snow. Merry Christmas too. I am short of words and I am sorry. Stay strong and never forget 1 will stand behind you no matter what. Love you.‘

I blink, swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

Mirena may have chosen her path, but Pinky is still here. Still mine. And that’s enough.

I smile, small, real and walk into the bathroom.

The bath takes longer than usual. Hot water loosening muscles I didn’t realize were locked tight. When I finally step out, wrapped in a towel, I pause before the closet again but then I didn’t put on the lingerie. Not tonight,

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18

OIG

III

17:48 Wed, Feb 18 M.

Chapter 267

(17)

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Cupid is definitely still mad at me. I reach to dress slowly, comfy. Then a simple silk robe over it, loose, easy to slip off.

The silence in the house is sweet now, charged.

I wonder what to expect from him.

With a soft sigh, I step back into the living room.

He’s standing before one of the framed pictures I hung on the wall, his own face staring back at him from a candid shot I’d taken from his website.

From behind, he looks devastating. Broad shoulders, quiet power radiating even in stillness.

I want to wrap my arms around him from behind. Press my cheek to his back. Breathe him in.

But I don’t. Not yet.

“You know this is copyright infringement,” he says quietly, turning to face me.

His eyes sweep over me. slow, deliberate, taking in the robe, the bare legs beneath, the way my hair is still damp at the ends.

“The pictures are for sale.”

I smile sadly, soft.

“When you left… I realized I didn’t even have a single picture of you. So I went to the website. Took some. I know it’s copyright… but you won’t sue me, will you?”

He smiles shortly, fleeting, then walks to the couch and sits.

“Not really. No.”

I try to smile back, but the silence that falls between us is suffocating. Awkward. Heavy with everything unsaid.

I walk over, sit on the same couch, leaving one careful cushion of space between us.

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