Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMHDJNX3ZH784GQF61BW95

Rory pulled open the door, her expression guarded. There on her doorstep stood Lucien, the Frenchman, dressed impeccably in a tailored charcoal suit, his platinum blond hair slicked back. The silver head of his ivory-handled cane glinted in the dim light of the hallway. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of the past hovering between them like a palpable thing. Rory's heart thudded against her ribs, memories flashing through her mind — Lucien's molten amber and coal-black eyes, the sensual curve of his lips, the electric charge that had crackled between them. And underneath it all, the hurt and betrayal that still stung. "Lucien," she said at last, her voice carefully neutral. "What are you doing here?" He gave her a rueful smile, one hand resting on the head of his cane. "I…" He hesitated, uncharacteristically uncertain. "I had to see you, Laila." Rory flinched at the old nickname, a spike of pain lancing through her. Only Lucien had ever called her that. "It's Rory," she corrected quietly. "What do you want?" Lucien's mismatched eyes searched her face, expression troubled. "I...I'm not sure," he admitted. "I just — I couldn't stop thinking about you." He paused, gaze dropping briefly. "About us." Rory's fingers tightened on the doorframe, unease coiling in her stomach. "There is no 'us,' Lucien. Not anymore." The words hurt to say, but she forced them out, unwilling to let herself be drawn back in. Lucien's brow furrowed. "I know that. I just..." He shook his head, frustration flashing across his refined features. "Can I come in? Please?" Rory hesitated, warring with herself. Every instinct urged her to shut the door in his face, to shut him out of her life for good. And yet... She could still feel the phantom touch of his hands on her skin, his lips claiming hers with a desperate hunger. The connection between them had been electric, undeniable — and its loss still ached, a dull, persistent throb in her heart. With a resigned sigh, she stepped back, opening the door wider. "Fine. Come in." Lucien's shoulders slumped slightly in relief, and he followed her inside, his gaze sweeping over the cramped flat. Rory caught a glimpse of his expression — a strange mix of wonder and sorrow — before he turned to face her, the ivory head of his cane tapping lightly against the worn wooden floorboards. "This is..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right words. "Cozy." Rory arched a brow. "Polite way of saying it's a mess." She gestured vaguely at the cluttered space, from the stacks of books and scrolls piled haphazardly on every surface to the overflowing bookshelves lining the walls. "It's Eva's place, not mine. I'm just...crashing here for a bit." Lucien's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of concern in their depths. "Is everything all right?" Rory shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "It's complicated." She crossed her arms over her chest, putting up a subtle barrier between them. "What do you want, Lucien?" He held her gaze, expression earnest. "I want to apologize." The words came out soft, almost pained. "For how things ended between us. I — I never meant to hurt you." Rory's breath caught in her throat, memories of that night flooding back in vivid detail. The hurt, the betrayal, the shattered trust. "It's a little late for apologies, don't you think?" Lucien winced, his grip tightening on the head of his cane. "I know. I know that, and I'm sorry. I was...I was afraid, Laila. Afraid of what I was feeling, afraid of what it could mean." He shook his head, eyes glimmering with regret. "That's no excuse, I know. But I hope you can understand." Rory felt the familiar sting of tears, her throat constricting. "Understand?" she echoed, her voice trembling slightly. "How am I supposed to understand when you just...vanished? No explanation, no goodbye — nothing." She swallowed hard, blinking back the tears. "You broke my heart, Lucien." His expression crumpled, and he reached out as if to touch her, then seemed to think better of it, his hand falling back to his side. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, the words heavy with emotion. "I never meant for that to happen. You have to believe me." Rory's gaze dropped to the small crescent-shaped scar on her wrist, a relic of a childhood accident. She ran her thumb over it absently, the familiar motion soothing. "I wanted to believe you, Lucien," she admitted softly. "I wanted to trust you, to believe that what we had was real. But after what you did..." She shook her head, meeting his gaze again. "How can I ever trust you again?" Lucien's eyes searched her face, desperation and longing etched in every line of his features. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't know if you can. But I have to try, Laila — Rory. I have to at least try to make things right." Rory's heart ached at the raw sincerity in his voice, the vulnerability she saw in his eyes. She wanted, more than anything, to believe him, to let herself be drawn back into his orbit. But the memory of that night, the pain and betrayal, was still too raw, too vivid. "I'm sorry, Lucien," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just...I can't do this. Not again." She turned away, unable to bear the disappointment in his gaze. "Please, just go." For a long moment, Lucien was silent, and Rory could feel the weight of his stare on her back. Then, with a soft sigh, he moved towards the door. She heard the creak of the floorboards, the tap of his cane against the wood, and her heart sank. "I won't give up, Rory," Lucien murmured, his voice tinged with a quiet determination. "I still care about you. More than you know." The door opened, then closed, and Rory was left alone, the echoes of his words lingering in the silence.