Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 510

Chapter 510: ’Handmade’

"Have you been looking for me, perhaps?"

Hendrix’s tone was teasing, touched with a kind of smug charm that made Florian want to groan. The faint tilt of his lips made it even worse—he looked flattered.

Florian’s jaw tensed, his fingers curling against his sleeves. He wanted to scowl, but the sheer audacity of Hendrix’s expression already had him grinding his teeth.

Hendrix chuckled, a low sound that grated against Florian’s nerves. "Now, don’t look at me like that, please. It’s going to hurt my poor, aching heart."

Florian’s arms crossed tight over his chest, the movement deliberate, defensive.

His voice sharpened as he cut back, "Seriously, I need answers. You suddenly appear in my life, telling me about a past life, and then you just vanish into thin air? Of course I’ll be looking for you."

’This is how the original Florian would probably react right?’

Though, frustration really did simmer beneath his ribs, heavy and hot. It wasn’t just Hendrix’s arrogance—it was the timing.

Hendrix always seemed to show up when Florian least expected him, tugging at threads he had barely begun to understand.

And then—gone. Like smoke slipping through his fingers.

And what infuriated him most was that Hendrix had been useful. The moment Florian realized that, the man had disappeared, as though fate itself was mocking him.

Still, Florian couldn’t deny the truth: Hendrix had done his job.

He had made Cashew forget everything about the "first life," about the truth that the original Florian had died. Because of that, Cashew had returned to being himself again—lighter, happier, free from that crushing burden of knowledge.

But that didn’t excuse everything.

Hendrix moved closer, his steps unhurried, deliberate, as though he knew Florian wouldn’t flee. The air seemed to tighten with every footfall, and yet Florian remained seated, spine stiff against the chair’s back.

He refused to give Hendrix the satisfaction of seeing him retreat.

When Hendrix finally lowered himself onto one knee before him, the sight was jarring—regal poise bent low, his expression softened in apology.

"My apologies," Hendrix murmured, voice low, steady. "I didn’t mean to disappear all of a sudden. But I know my brother can be... sensitive, since his return."

Florian’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in the depths of his gaze. "...Do you know where he has been all this time?"

Hendrix’s shoulders lifted in a lazy shrug, but his eyes gleamed knowingly. "I have no idea. But judging by how he looked... doesn’t seem good, does it? The fact that he didn’t kill me, nor attack me on the spot—didn’t that trigger warning alarms?"

Florian’s breath stilled for a moment.

That was true.

Heinz’s lack of reaction that day had unsettled him, even more so because Heinz had never hidden his hatred toward Hendrix.

The silence, the restraint—it was almost worse than an open strike.

’Now that just makes me more curious about where he was all this time.’

Hendrix leaned just slightly closer, his words heavy with implication.

"And besides," he added, "I had to return to my manor to fetch my mother. She’s here now, in the palace, for your birthday. She’s actually looking forward to meeting you."

Florian froze, every muscle locking in place.

’Monica’s here? He brought Monica?’

His stomach dropped.

Is Hendrix insane?

"In this palace?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "Y-Your mother... your mother?"

The repetition spilled out unbidden, shock stealing his composure.

Monica had never appeared in the novel—not once. Not even mentioned during Hendrix’s execution.

She was a ghost in the story, absent, untouchable.

Besides Anastasia, Monica only haunted the narrative.

And now... she was here?

Hendrix’s smile didn’t waver; in fact, it softened. He nodded. "Considering her brother is attending, I thought it proper to bring her as well. And of course, I wanted her to meet you, since I’ve told her so much about you."

Florian’s fingers curled into his lap, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands.

’Seriously? He’s out of his mind.’

As much as he wanted to appreciate Hendrix’s unwavering loyalty to the original Florian, wasn’t this going way too far?

And yet... it was almost fitting. Hendrix’s obsession bordered on a devotion that matched the original Florian’s eccentricities.

Perhaps that was why they fit together in a twisted kind of way.

His words trailed off with a sigh. It was too much. Too many strings tangled at once, and all of them ready to snap if pulled the wrong way. This is bringing a whole mess I really, really don’t want to deal with.

Florian blinked at him, incredulous. "That’s your reasoning? You seriously think that’s enough?" His voice cracked, disbelief mingling with anger.

’What is Hendrix’s game? Seriously? What is he even planning?’

"You..." Florian’s voice wavered, shock threading through every syllable. He knew instantly. Hendrix wasn’t merely showing them—he was gifting them.

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