Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFHJQY1EZABV27GDNY0JH7

The knock came at half past eight, just as Rory was settling in with a cup of tea and the last chapter of her constitutional law textbook. She frowned at the interruption, marking her page before padding to the door. The peephole revealed nothing but a distorted blur of movement. "Who is it?" she called through the door. "It's me," came the muffled reply. Rory's heart stuttered in her chest. She knew that voice. After three years, she'd recognize it anywhere. She fumbled with the locks, her hands suddenly clumsy. Three deadbolts slid back with metallic clicks, and she pulled the door open to find Lucien Moreau standing in the hallway, looking like he'd stepped out of a men's fashion magazine rather than a dingy East London corridor. He was dressed in one of his charcoal suits, the fabric tailored to perfection, his platinum blond hair slicked back as always. But there were shadows under his heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—that she didn't remember from before. "Lucien," she said, her voice coming out steadier than she felt. "What are you doing here?" He held up a bottle of wine, the dark glass catching the hallway light. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. May I come in?" Rory hesitated. The last time they'd seen each other, she'd been crying, mascara running down her face as she told him it was over. He'd tried to stop her, but she'd been too hurt, too angry. She'd left his flat in Mayfair and hadn't looked back. Now here he was, standing on her threshold like no time had passed at all. She stepped aside. "Sure. Come in." The flat was small, cluttered with books and scrolls that spilled from every surface. Ptolemy, Eva's tabby cat, raised his head from his spot on the couch to regard the intruder with suspicious yellow eyes. "Nice place," Lucien said, though his gaze lingered on the stacks of legal textbooks. "You're still studying law?" Rory busied herself finding a corkscrew. "I never stopped. Pre-law at Cardiff, remember?" "I remember everything about you, Rory." The words were soft, almost lost as she wrestled with the stubborn cork. When she finally extracted it, she poured two glasses without meeting his eyes. They sat on opposite ends of the small couch, the wine between them like a fragile bridge. Rory took a sip, the merlot dark and rich on her tongue, and finally looked at him properly. "What happened to you?" she asked. Lucien's expression shuttered. "What do you mean?" "You look... different. Worn around the edges." He smiled then, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Three years will do that to a person." "Three years since I left," Rory clarified. "Since I walked away because you wouldn't give me a straight answer about who—what—you really are." The amber eye flashed, just for a second, and Rory knew she'd struck a nerve. Good. Maybe now she'd finally get some truth. Lucien set his glass down on the cluttered coffee table. "I told you, I'm a fixer. I work in information. That's the truth." "But not all of it," Rory pressed. "There's something you're not telling me, Lucien. Something big." He leaned back against the couch cushions, his posture deceptively relaxed. "Does it matter? You made your choice. You left." "I left because you were keeping secrets!" The words burst out of her, sharper than she intended. "You'd disappear for days, come back with blood on your cuffs, and when I asked where you'd been, you'd give me that same smile and say 'work.' I couldn't live like that, Lucien. I deserved better." The amber eye darkened, swirling with emotion Rory couldn't name. "And I deserved better than you walking out without giving me a chance to explain." "Explain what? That you're involved in something dangerous? That you might not come home one night?" Rory's voice cracked. "I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it." Lucien reached for her then, his hand hovering just shy of her arm. "Rory, if you'd only—" The words cut off as the front door burst open. Eva stood there, keys in hand, her mouth falling open at the scene before her. "Oh. My. God." She looked from Rory's flushed face to Lucien's tense posture. "Am I interrupting something?" Rory scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking over the wine bottle. "Eva! I thought you were working late." "Shift got cancelled." Eva's gaze sharpened as she took in the expensive suit, the bottle of wine, the charged atmosphere. "And you are?" Lucien rose smoothly, extending a hand. "Lucien Moreau. An old friend of Rory's." Eva's grip was firm, her eyes never leaving his face. "Eva Chambers. Rory's roommate." "Pleasure." Lucien's smile was charming, but there was something guarded in his expression now. Rory cleared her throat. "Lucien was just leaving." "Were you?" Eva asked, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Lucien's gaze flicked to Rory, something unspoken passing between them. "Actually, I was hoping Rory might join me for dinner. There's a new French place that opened on Regent Street. I'd love her opinion on the authenticity." Rory's heart raced. Dinner? With him? After everything? She opened her mouth to refuse, but the words stuck in her throat. Seeing him again, feeling that familiar pull, remembering how his hands felt on her skin, how his voice sounded when he whispered her name— She couldn't do it. She had to be strong. "I can't," she said finally. "I have to study." Lucien's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, a subtle withdrawal. "Of course. Another time, perhaps." He moved toward the door with fluid grace, pausing only to retrieve his cane from where he'd leaned it against the wall. The ivory handle caught the light as he turned back to her. "It was good to see you, Rory. Take care of yourself." And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him. Rory stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. Eva's voice cut through the silence. "Well. That was intense. Want to tell me what that was about?" Rory sank back onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "He's my ex." Eva's eyes widened. "The infamous Lucien? The one you never talk about?" "The one I never talk about," Rory confirmed. "Because?" "Because he broke my heart." The admission came out softer than she'd intended. "Because he wouldn't give me all of him, and I couldn't settle for half of someone I loved." Eva sat beside her, her expression gentle. "Do you still love him?" Rory closed her eyes, remembering the way Lucien had looked at her, the way his hand had almost touched her arm. "I never stopped." "Then maybe it's time you had that conversation you never got to finish. Before he walked out that door." Rory's eyes snapped open. "What conversation?" "The one where you demand the truth. Where you give him a chance to explain instead of assuming the worst." Eva's voice was firm. "You left because you were hurt and scared. But Rory, real love means being brave enough to face the hard things together." Rory thought about Lucien's shadows, his secrets, the way he'd almost reached for her. Her heart ached with possibilities. "Maybe you're right," she said slowly. "Maybe it's time I stopped running." She reached for her phone before she could second-guess herself, pulling up Lucien's number. Her thumb hovered over the call button. "What are you going to say?" Eva asked. Rory's lips curved into a small, determined smile. "I'm going to ask him to dinner. Properly this time. And I'm going to make him tell me everything." She pressed call.