Starlit Throne - Chapter 2: The Offer

English version

Rating: M/E
Genres: Romantasy | Sci-Fi | Slow Burn | Space Opera | Fated Mates

Summary:
Cassia Harper thought her biggest struggles were making rent, keeping up with Brighton’s fashion scene, and selling enough handmade crafts to help her family. But when a mysterious, brooding soldier-for-hire with pointed ears crashes into her life, everything changes.

Her past isn’t what she thought. The father she barely remembers wasn’t just some distant traveler and the pin she wears every day? Not just an antique!

Now, with assassins on her trail and a protector who refuses to claim her (even though the tension between them is scorching), Cassia has to decide: will she run from her destiny or rise to it?

Expect:
🔥 Slow-burn with intense tension (and several many very hot payoffs 😏)
🐺 Cosmic pointed-eared protector (who knows she’s his mate but refuses to act on it... at first)
👑 Galactic politics
🌌 A space opera filled with action, smut & drama
🛸 Brighton, UK meets the stars

If there was one thing I hated more than running out of money, it was knowing James Harper had a "brilliant" idea to fix it. My cousin had the kind of schemes that made people shake their heads and mutter why are you like this?—but sometimes, just sometimes, his crazy ideas actually worked.

"Cass," he said, sliding into the chair across from me at our tiny kitchen table. His eyes gleamed. I knew that glow. It meant trouble. "What if I told you there’s a way to make a cheeky ten grand, and all you have to do is lie on a medical bed for an hour?"

I stared at him, mid-bite of my sad budget-friendly toast. His brown hair seemed to tell me it was a bad idea. "I’d tell you to kindly get out before I throw this very dry piece of bread at your face."

James grinned, completely unfazed. "I’m serious, Cass. There’s a clinic in town running a genetics research study, and they’re paying top-tier money for participants. We’re talking stupid money, Cass. It’s just a couple of health checks, a small sample, and boom—easy cash."

I arched an eyebrow. "Sounds sketchy. What kind of research?"

"Something about tracking genetic markers in populations? Science stuff. The point is, it’s legit."

I wasn’t convinced. "If it’s so easy, why haven’t you done it yet?"

James leaned back, hands behind his head. "Oh, I am. But see, they have this thing where if you refer someone else, you get a bonus. I scratch your back, you scratch mine." He wiggled his eyebrows. "C’mon, Cass. You know you need the money."

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. Brighton wasn’t cheap, and between rent, bills, and my side gigs, I was barely holding it together. Plus, I needed to help mom. 10K was tempting. Really tempting.

I sighed. "Fine. I’ll go check it out. But if I get kidnapped by a secret government lab, I’m haunting you."

"That’s the spirit!" James clapped his hands. "Tomorrow at noon, I’ll send you the location."

The next day, I stood outside the clinic, already regretting every life choice that had led me to this moment. The building didn’t look like a dodgy back-alley operation—it was sleek, modern, and unsettlingly pristine. Usually NHS buildings are less pristine and have a bored receptionist. This one was too perfect. The glass doors slid open soundlessly, revealing an eerily quiet reception area that smelled of antiseptic and something faintly metallic.

I hesitated. A voice in the back of my mind told me to turn around and walk away, but ten grand was ten grand.

Steeling myself, I stepped inside, my trainers squeaking against the polished floor. A receptionist with a stiff, too-perfect smile handed me a tablet to sign in. I hovered over the keyboard for a second before typing in a fake name: Emily Frost. My personal act of rebellion—Emily was the name of a girl from school who used to make fun of my secondhand clothes.

A nurse called me back for an "orientation session." The place felt more like a high-tech lab than a normal medical office. There were no friendly posters about flu shots, no old magazines lying around. Just sleek surfaces and the hum of machines in the background. The NHS isn’t like this. You usually have tons of posters and there’s always someone waiting before you have to go in… I was questioning myself so hard, yet I couldn’t just go… Ten grand.

A woman in a white coat gave me a vague speech about genetic research, population health studies, and medical advancements. None of it really stuck. What stuck was the security door in the back, the one where two men in suits led a nervous-looking woman inside—and the fact that I was the only one who seemed to notice.

Something in my gut told me this place wasn’t right. And that’s when I saw them.

A man and a woman stood near a side corridor, talking quietly. The man’s skin had a strange, slightly iridescent quality, like pearlescent oil slicking under the bright lights. The woman’s eyes were too reflective, like liquid metal.

I didn’t even think. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture.

"Miss Frost?" The nurse’s voice snapped me back. "Would you like to proceed to your health screening?"

My heart pounded. I forced a smile. "Actually… I think I changed my mind. I’m not comfortable with this."

The nurse frowned but nodded. "Of course. You’re free to leave."

I practically bolted out of there.

I didn’t think about the clinic for the rest of the day. Whatever had freaked me out, I chalked it up to my overactive imagination. Something about the place had left me uneasy, but the moment I stepped outside, the memories had started slipping away—like a dream dissolving the second you wake up.

That night, sprawled on my bed, I mindlessly scrolled through my phone—and stopped cold.

The picture.

I stared at the screen. The iridescent-skinned man. The woman with metal eyes. I had seen them.

A chill ran down my spine. Why did it feel like I was remembering something ancient, something buried?

I squinted, trying to pull the memory into focus, but it was like grasping at mist. The clinic. The induction. Something happened. But I could barely recall any of it.

I didn’t remember taking this photo.

And that’s when I knew—I wasn’t supposed to.

I shivered, gaping. Fear running through my veins. And then, I remembered my lousy cousin James. What did he get me into?

I ran to the living room, waving my phone at James. "I’m not doing it. And you shouldn’t either. Something is wrong with that place."

James, who was busy stuffing his face with chips, frowned. "What are you talking about?"

I shoved the phone at him. "Look at this. I saw them at the clinic. But I didn’t even remember taking the picture until now. Doesn’t that freak you out?"

James squinted at the screen. "Huh. That’s… weird." He clicked his tongue, then shrugged. "Whatever. Maybe it’s some sci-fi tech experiment. Who cares? They’re still paying."

"James, don’t do it."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved me off. I should have known that meant he’d do it anyway. And I should have known that he also would include me in to get more cash.

A week passed. Then, James casually dropped a bombshell.

"Hey, by the way," he said, stretching his legs standing up from the sofa, hair ruffled and looking like he hadn’t slept for a year, "I might’ve sent in a sample of your hair. No big deal."

I froze. "You WHAT?!"

"Relax. You were already in the system, and you changed your mind, but I figured—why waste it? Free money, right?" He grinned, completely unaware of the slow, growing horror on my face. "You’ll thank me when the check clears."

I felt my stomach twist. My chest felt tight. Panic clawed its way up my throat.

I had seen those people. Hadn’t I?

And they weren’t human. Were they?

Without another word, I shot James a killing look and I grabbed my coat and stormed out, barely hearing James call after me. My hands were clammy, my breath shallow. My legs carried me through the winding streets of Brighton until I reached the seafront, the salty wind whipping against my skin.

I needed air.

I needed to figure out if I was delulu or if something much, much worse was happening.

And, for some reason, I felt I needed to do it fast.

Glossary - Chapter 2

1. Cheeky – Playfully impudent or irreverent. (Atrevido, descarado de forma juguetona.)

2. Sketchy – Suspicious or questionable. (Sospechoso, dudoso.)

3. Bolted – Ran away quickly. (Salir corriendo rápidamente.)

4. Gutted – Deeply upset or disappointed. (Muy disgustado o decepcionado.)

5. Clammy – Damp and slightly sweaty. (Húmedo y sudoroso.)

6. Fuzzy – Unclear or blurry. (Borroso, poco claro.)

7. Delulu – Slang for being delusional. (Engañado, fuera de la realidad.)

8. Eerie – Strange and frightening. (Misterioso y aterrador.)

9. Pristine – Clean and flawless. (Impecable, limpio.)

10. Unfazed – Not disturbed or surprised. (Imperturbable, indiferente.)

11. Reckless – Careless and without caution. (Imprudente, temerario.)

12. Hesitated – Paused before doing something. (Dudó antes de hacer algo.)

13. Grinned – Smiled broadly. (Sonrió ampliamente.)

14. Blurry – Unclear, out of focus. (Borroso, poco claro.)