Veiled (Sons of the Atlas Book 1) by SeRaya

Author:SeRaya [SeRaya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-03-27T00:00:00+00:00

1 Grandmother (Korean)

2 Grandfather (Korean)

CHAPTER 23

AZARA

“I kissed him.”

I did rather more than that, but saying I’d nearly had sex with the man I could barely tolerate just a few months ago didn’t quite slip off the tongue as easily.

Nakia’s dark brows shot up, her words faltering into a stunned silence. She’d been going on about the latest issue of The Gilded Truth where it had come to the author’s attention that the beloved Prince Anthony, the heir apparent to the British throne and who’d just gotten engaged to his long-term girlfriend, had kept a secret bank account to funnel hush money to his mistress who was currently with child.

The repetitive mention of the scandalous secret affair combined with the fact that I’d spent the past week replaying the images on a loop since I didn’t have work to distract me made it impossible to keep a lid on my own Pandora’s box. I’d been holding onto it for a little over two weeks now and if I went any second longer, I would burst.

“You did what?” Nakia said, blinking repeatedly as if she couldn’t believe me.

“I kissed the hot doctor,” I repeated, louder this time and using the nickname they’d given Michael so I wouldn’t have to say it again.

Her eyes widened even further and shame crept up my neck. My hands came up to cover my face, mortified by my confession.

The sound of something clattering on the floor snapped our attention to where it came from. Hazel stood in the middle of the modern kitchen with her mouth hung open. She’d been making brownies and her whisk was now laying on the floor, the front of her silk pajama top covered in the chocolate batter.

All three of us were over at Nakia’s place for our monthly get-together. Hazel had just come back from Belize, where she had been for the last three weeks on her honeymoon, so we’d opted to stay in instead of our usual night out. She’d insisted on making it a themed-night, hence the over the top sleeper sets we were each wearing.

“When was this?” she said, abandoning her task and rushing to take a seat in the vacant velvet high chair next to me.

“Two weeks ago,” I grumbled into my palms.

She slapped my arm. “And you’re just telling us now?”

“Oi,” I yelped, grabbing the spot where she’d struck me. “You didn’t have to hit me. And I am telling you now,” I said, emphasizing the last word by mimicking her offended tone.

I could have texted them about it since we messaged each other almost daily in our group chat, but I’d deleted the thread each time. I’d even debated telling them at all, since I’d spent the last two weeks convincing myself that what happened between Michael and I didn’t mean anything.

That it was just a silly indiscretion, and come daylight, I’d come to my senses and realize it could—should—never happen again.

But why, even after successfully avoiding him as much as possible since that night, could I still remember it so vividly.

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