Chasing His Kickass Luna Back
Chapter 211

Abby

The knock on the door interrupts my pity party, and for a split second, I debate

whether or not to even answer it.

But before I can make up my mind, the door creaks open and I catch the sight in

the vanity mirror—Karl, his blue surgical mask lowered, his brown eyes shining

and a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Karl?” My voice trembles. Seeing him makes my guard lower, and I can feel my

shoulders relax. “I saw you in the audience, and I—”

He steps further into the room, letting the door close softly behind him. “I bought

a ticket secretly. I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to surprise you,” he says,

Enter title…

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his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I feel a smile spreading across my l*ps. “Thank you. But…” I pause, taking in his

appearance. “What’s with the surgical mask?”

Karl chuckles and tugs on the blue mask. “This? Don’t take it the wrong way, but

I didn’t want anyone recognizing me. I’m supposed to be an Alpha, you know?

Not hanging out in my ex-wife’s city and helping with her restaurant.”

I nod, recalling one of our first discussions when he came to help me. Even

most of the staff at the restaurant doesn’t know about our history.

“You were fantastic out there, Abby,” he says, taking another step closer. “And

that last thing you said about the staff? It was really touching.”

Warmth spreads through me at his words, the tenderness in his voice acting like

a balm on my raw emotions. “Thank you. I didn’t expect you to be in the

audience. It means a lot that you’re here, Karl.”

He starts to walk over, probably to hand me the bouquet, but then he notices.

The red-rimmed eyes, the streaked makeup—undeniable signs of tears.

Instantly, the flowers drop to the floor, abandoned, and he’s in front of me in two

strides. His hands grip me by both arms, his eyes searching my face.

“Abby, what happened? Why are you crying?” Concern fills his eyes, shadowing

the happiness that was just there a moment ago.

For a moment, I consider sticking with my initial impulse to downplay everything.

I know Karl, and I know how he’ll react if he finds out what Daniel said.

“It’s nothing,” I say, taking a step back. But the way Karl looks at me, with such

heartfelt concern and confusion, breaks down my feeble barriers.

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He steps closer, the air between us thickening, charged with a mix of emotions.

“Nothing doesn’t make you cry, Abby. Please, tell me.”

My eyes dart around the room—past Karl, to the wilted flowers on the floor, to

the empty chairs—as if they might offer some form of escape. But in the end, it’s

the look in Karl’s eyes that makes me break down.

“It was Daniel,” I finally admit, my voice no more than a whisper. “I overheard

him talking about me, saying that I’m not a real chef, just a fangirl and a

homemaker who relies on male chefs to get by.”

Karl’s face hardens. “He said what? That’s ridiculous!”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t know. Is it really? Or don’t you think that he

might be onto something.

“Abby, listen,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking my cheek. “You are one of the

most talented, passionate chefs I know. Don’t let anyone convince you

otherwise.” Content belongs to Draмanоvеls.com

His words should be comforting, and they are, but they also unleash a flood of

feelings I’ve been holding back.

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