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One Step At A Time
Huling Na-update:
2025-08-27 18:05:34
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Charlotte: Fated to the White Dragon What Do I Lack?
(Evelyn’s POV) I stand rooted to the spot, my eyes widening as the scene before me sinks in. For a split second, I think perhaps I’ve misread the situation. Maybe it's a trick of the light, or a fleeting hallucination. But no. There she is. Lottie, my best friend. Arms wrapped shamelessly around Ruiz, as though she owns him, as though she’s entitled to drape herself over him like that. And after swearing on the heavens, with all that wide-eyed innocence, that nothing was going on between them. Now here she is, clinging to him like nothing else matters. My heart shatters in a million pieces. Lottie’s never been a whore, which makes this far worse. Is all this just a performance to infuriate me? A calculated plan designed purely to rip me open, to strip away whatever dignity I’ve got left? A mix of emotions surge within me. Rage, shock, and above all, that suffocating blow of betrayal. I bite down hard on my lower lip, the bitter taste of hurt mixed with blood stings my tongue. She
Charlotte: Fated to the White Dragon Just A Taste
(Damon’s POV) Charlotte’s mind's gone somewhere far from Uncle’s rambling, eyes glued to her phone. I don’t need to ask who’s on the other end. I can already picture the smug face of that uniformed pretty bastard. And it just irritates. It fuckin' scrapes along my bones, and sets my teeth on edge. I want to wrap my hands round his throat and keep squeezin’ ‘til the light dies in his eyes, ‘til I can feel his last breath seep between my fingers. The thought alone stokes something low and molten in me. I’m not even over the half-breed bit yet, and here I am, seething like a caged hound. Fuck, this is so infuriating. And the fact that I even care? That’s another thorn in my side. And Uncle is watchin' me out the corner of his eye, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. I give him a hiss as a warning, but he carries on enjoying his private joke. Let him laugh. He’s in the ring with me whether he knows it or not, and the bout’s barely begun. And that Luciano. Charlotte's nerve t
Charlotte: Fated to the White Dragon The Slur
I whip round to Damon, hissing out the words. “I thought you said you weren’t a Dreil.” He just lifts a shoulder, lazy as you like. “Well, I’m technically not one.” “Then why the nickname?” Mr. Black stays quiet, his long fingers idly stroking the cockatoo’s crest, eyes glimmering like he knows something I don’t. Damon doesn’t even move as he responds. “Uncle just likes takin’ the mick,” he says, cool and detached. “Ignore him.” “Ohh…” I mutter, turning back away, though my curiosity’s gnawing. “If you’re not a Dreil, then what exactly are you?” The air stills, thickening with this tense silence. But before either of them answers, my phone pings. I glance at it. It's a message from Evelyn. I let it go dark again. Now's not the time for stories. Mr. Black finally breaks the silence, his voice deep as it hums through the room. “His mother’s a Dreil. Her brother, too. So the blood runs in him, but that does not make him one.” “That still doesn’t explain what happened at m
Charlotte: Fated to the White Dragon One Step At A Time
The air turns cold in an instant. And I can feel it creeping into my bones. Mr. Black’s smile dies immediately the words leave my mouth, leaving only the sharp lines of his face and those dark eyes on me. Damon doesn’t flinch, but I catch the way his fingers tighten round his mug, subtle as a twitch. His grey gaze slides over me, slowly assessing, like he’s weighing up the fallout before it happens. The cockatoo tilts its head, letting out this faint, questioning click, and I feel my chest lock up. For half a second, I stop breathing. Brilliant. I’ve probably just gone and asked the one question I was never meant to. Still, I've been really curious about it all, ever since Luke brought it up. I did stupidly promise that I was gonna help him, and I need information to do that. “Woah, woah there, darling,” Mr. Black cuts in sharply, leaning forward so his shadow falls over the table. His voice still carries that smooth elegance, but there’s a warning folded neatly inside it. “No
Charlotte: Fated to the White Dragon Tell Me, What Do You Want To Know?
I clock the fella straight off. He's tall, broad-shouldered, middle-aged, and there’s somethin' in his face that rattles a memory buried deep in my head. It’s there, right on the edge of recall, but it can't seem to surface. The man’s stood with the grey cockatoo perched boldly on his shoulder, its beady eyes flickin’ about like it’s sussin’ the whole room. He’s dressed in a white turtleneck snug under a long brown coat that brushes his knees, with a sleek black trousers pressed on his legs. There’s a softness to him, but it’s laced with a quiet warning you’d be daft to ignore. Gentle, yet he carries this menacing hum under the skin, same way thunder lurks behind a summer sky. Same feel as Damon. I open my mouth but the words trip over each other. “I–I’m… uh, I…” Before I can finish, Damon’s arm snakes across my shoulders, his palm resting there, firmly protective. Or possessive, I can’t tell. “Her name’s Charlotte,” he says, his voice is steady but it carries this lazy
Charlotte: Fated to the White Dragon This Is Jasmine
“Lottie!” Evelyn squeals, her voice carryin' across the hospital foyer like the chime of a bell. She’s bouncing towards me before I can even process what she’s doin' here. Her sundress is flaring with each light step, her blue eyes glintin' like summer. For a moment, she’s exactly like before we had that massive row: open and glowing; and her warm smile could melt an iceberg. Even though we’ve been speakin' here and there since she popped by the coffeehouse, a bit of me still can’t believe that she’s dropped the grudge entirely. Evelyn’s truly sweet, the type to just forget a wound and forgive an idiot like me. I can’t help but grin. I slip my hand out of Damon’s and throw my arms wide just as she dives into me. We meet in a proper warm hug, both of us chuckling like we’re sixteen again. She leans in, her lips brushing my ear as she whispers, “Don’t forget your promise.” I pause for a beat. Promise? My brain scrambles through my memories. Did we actually make one? Or is
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