Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPADVWBR3TWVFGWDRPNAWZ

Rory stood at the small kitchen counter, her hands immersed in sudsy water as she scrubbed a batch of takeout containers that had piled up in the sink. The faint sound of sizzling from the small frying pan on the stove mingled with the rich, spicy aroma of the curry that lingered in the air, a familiar comfort in her cramped flat. She was halfway through a second container when a loud, unexpected knock jolted her from her focus. The sound pulsed through her chest, and the moment of silence that followed felt impossibly heavy. No one ever dropped by unannounced. With her heart thrumming, she wiped her hands on a dishrag and glanced at the door, her mind racing through a parade of possible visitors. Eva was at work, and Silas had no reason to stop by. Could it be the landlord? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d barged in without warning. As she approached the door, apprehension coiled in her stomach. She hesitated, taking a breath to steady herself. Maybe if she waited long enough, whoever it was would go away. But the knocking came again, more insistent this time. With a reluctant exhale, Rory turned the knob and opened the door. Standing there, framed in the hallway light, was Lucien Moreau. Dressed to perfection in a tailored charcoal suit that hugged his lean form, he looked every bit the polished city dweller. The slicked-back platinum hair glimmered under the single overhead light, and those strikingly mismatched eyes—one amber, one black—met hers with an intensity that made her forget to speak. The air thickened between them, a strange blend of unresolved tension and the familiar spark that had always danced in the shadows of their complicated history. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, her heart racing with a cocktail of emotions that she had thought she had buried. “Lucien,” she finally managed, leaning against the doorframe as though it were the only thing anchoring her to this moment. "What are you doing here?" His lips curled into a slight, enigmatic smile. “I thought it would be prudent to drop by and see how you’re faring.” His voice was smooth, cultured, each word carrying the weight of his French heritage. Seeing him here, now, brought back flashes of their last meeting—a tangled mess of accusations and broken trust. She shifted on her feet, an unwilling participant in the flood of memories. “Prudent? Or was it curiosity?” “Why not both?” he quipped, eyes glimmering with mischief. The serious undertone in his voice betrayed a deeper truth, but Rory barely needed to prod to find it. She stepped back, deliberating whether to invite him inside. “You can go ahead and come in if you’re looking for a place to stand on ceremony.” He took her tacit invitation, sidestepping into the narrow flat, and Rory quickly closed the door, shutting out the chill of the hallway. “Nice place you’ve got,” he said, glancing around the cramped expanse cluttered with books and takeaway menus. “It’s home.” She looked away, avoiding the intensity of his gaze as it swept over her collection of books and knick-knacks that told more about her than she had ever been willing to admit. “What brings you back to my—what did you call it?—humble abode?” He chuckled softly, a sound that dripped with nostalgia. “It was never about the place, Rory. Always about the person.” He lingered on the word, and for a moment, she felt the weight of its significance settle in the space between them. Rory busied herself with the frying pan, turning off the heat, more to gather her thoughts than to attend to her cooking. When she looked back, he had moved closer, leaning slightly against the worn edge of the counter. “I was in the neighborhood,” he continued, an edge of sincerity creeping into his tone. “Thought it best to see you, to check in.” “Just like that?” she scoffed, crossing her arms again. “You show up after everything, and it’s no big deal?” “It is a big deal,” he said, a shadow flickering across his features. “You think I would come here if it weren’t? You know I respect your space. What happened between us—” “Was complicated,” she finished for him, her voice dropping to a whisper. He nodded, a muscle tightening in his jaw. “You didn’t want to see me again. I had to accept that, but I also could not ignore the fact that something was—what would you say?—left unfinished.” “Unfinished,” she echoed, feeling the sting of that word settle heavily in her chest. The hurt, the betrayal, the secrets woven between them had never truly unraveled. They sat there like the dusty scrolls lining the shelves, dusty but irrevocably present. “What do you need from me, Lucien?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt. “Answers,” he replied, his gaze unflinching. “Closure.” Rory leveled him with a hard look, her heart thundering. “Closure? You think that’s what we need? After you lied to me? After I put myself on the line for you?” The tension wrapped around them, heavy as a storm cloud. Lucien stood straight, the confidence and elegance she remembered so vividly in him now tempered with something more raw and honest. “I never meant to hurt you, Rory. I thought I was doing what was best.” “Best for whom?” The edge in her voice grew sharper. “You? Or me?” He took a step closer, invading her space, the air between them sizzling with tension. “Both. I was trying to protect you from the world I come from, a world I thought you’d never want to step into.” “If you’d only let me decide what I wanted!” she spat, her frustration rising alongside the heat in the room. “You don’t get to make choices for me, Lucien. That’s where you went wrong.” “I know that now,” he said, his voice low. “And I’m here to admit it, to understand what your life really is like. I want a chance to talk. Can we do that?” Rory inhaled deeply, trying to steady the whirlpool of feelings inside her. The man in front of her was not the dangerous enigma she had once known; he was a flawed individual standing bare and vulnerable. “So you came all this way to make amends?” “Yes, plus,” he added with a faint smile that threatened to crack through the tension, “I’m curious about your life now. What you’ve been doing above a curry house. It’s… charming.” Rory couldn’t help the hint of a smile that crept onto her lips. “Charming? Is that the best you can do?” “An understatement,” he replied, his voice softening with the slightest hint of warmth. Something shifted in her, an ache she hadn’t recognized before. “You might want to tread carefully with compliments after all that happened.” “Or make up for it in earnest.” His expression grew serious again. “I wouldn’t blame you for shutting me out. I deserve that. But…” He stepped back slightly, giving her space. “I’d rather be here, in this cramped flat, asking questions than anywhere else.” Rory studied him, the flicker of something unspoken glimmering in the air around them. Could she let him in again? The thought made her stomach flutter, a feeling both thrilling and terrifying. “Sit,” she said finally, pulling out a chair at the small kitchen table, feeling like she was taking a leap into uncertainty. “If we’re going to do this, we might as well do it right.” Lucien offered a light chuckle, grateful and relieved, settling into the chair with an ease that comforted her, at least a little. As they began to navigate the words between them, Rory felt the tension ebb, replaced by the cautious hope of beginnings anew. She had unfinished business with Lucien Moreau, and whatever the future held, she was willing to untangle it—together.