AI ---
The door swung open with a *creak *—too loud in the dead silence of the flat above Silas’ bar. A gust of cold air rushed in, carrying the sharp tang of rain and something sharper: the scent of expensive cologne, the kind that clung to skin like a promise.
“You’re late.”
The voice was smooth, polished, the kind of accent that slid between words like oil between gears. A hand, long-fingered and too elegant for this part of town, rested on the doorframe, fingers curled just enough to suggest restraint. Or perhaps it was just the way he held himself—always poised, always in control.
Rory didn’t look up from the takeout bag she’d just set on the counter. “You’re early.”
A pause. The air between them thickened, charged . Then, the slow, deliberate click of the door closing behind him.
“Lucien.”
The name tasted like ash on her tongue. She kept her back to him, fingers tightening around the plastic handle of the bag. The takeout from Golden Empress—Yu-Fei’s favorite—was still warm, the steam curling just enough to make her stomach growl. She hadn’t eaten since lunch.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
His boots made no sound on the linoleum. Close. Too close. The scent of him—leather, something citrus, the faint metallic tang of the cane he never let her forget—filled her lungs.
“Neither are you,” he said, voice dropping just low enough to vibrate against her skin. “But here I am.”
Rory exhaled through her nose, a sound that was half-laugh, half-frustration. She turned, finally, and the sight of him stole her breath.
Tailored charcoal suit, the lapels just sharp enough to make her fingers itch to undo them. Platinum blond hair slicked back, the way it always was, like he’d spent an hour in front of a mirror perfecting the illusion of effortlessness. One hand still rested on the doorframe, the other—*God *, the other—clasped the ivory cane, the blade hidden beneath the polished wood a promise she’d never forget.
“What do you want, Lucien?”
His lips quirked, just once, a ghost of a smile. “The same thing I always want, Rory. You.”
The words hit her like a slap. She should’ve been offended . Should’ve thrown something at him. Instead, her pulse jumped, betraying her.
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” He stepped forward, close enough that she could see the faintest flecks of gold in his amber eye, the way the black one seemed to swallow the light. “Because the last time we spoke, you were the one begging me not to leave.”
Her fingers twitched toward the scar on her wrist, the one that had been a reminder of his touch for years. She flexed them into a fist.
“That was different.”
“Was it?” He tilted his head, just slightly , the way he always did when he was amused . “Or was it just easier to pretend you didn’t like it when I was gone?”
Rory’s jaw clenched . She should’ve walked away. Should’ve called the police. Should’ve done anything but stand here, breathing him in like a fool.
“You’re not here to make nice,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “What do you want?”
His gaze flicked to the takeout bag, then back to her. “Dinner.”
“With me ?”
“With you.” The word was a promise, a threat. “I’ve been watching you, Rory. Delivering for Golden Empress. Working your little job. You look tired.”
She scoffed, but her chest ached at the admission. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. “You’ve been running. And running burns you out.”
Rory’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “I don’t need your help.”
“No.” His voice dropped, rougher now, like he was fighting something. “But you need *me *.”
The words should’ve made her flinch. Should’ve made her step back. Instead, her body leaned into the space between them, as if drawn by some invisible thread.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stubborn.” His fingers twitched toward her, just an inch away from brushing against her wrist. “But I like that about you.”
Rory’s breath hitched. She should’ve pulled away. Should’ve done something. Instead, she found herself reaching up, her fingers closing around his wrist before she could stop herself.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
His thumb traced the crescent scar on her wrist, the one that had been there since she was a child, the one he’d never asked about. “Remembering.”
Her pulse hammered in her throat. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” His voice was a velvet rasp. “You’ve been carrying it for years. Let me help you carry it.”
Rory’s breath came faster. She could feel the heat of him, the way his body was angled just so, like he was waiting for her to make the first move. She should’ve been terrified . Should’ve been furious. Instead, all she could think about was the way his fingers felt against her skin, the way his gaze locked onto hers like he was memorizing every detail.
“You’re a liar,” she said, voice barely above a whisper .
“Am I?” He leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips. “Or are you just afraid to admit you’ve missed me ?”
Rory’s heart pounded in her chest . She should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve done something. Instead, she found herself closing the distance between them, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was desperate , hungry.
Lucien groaned, his hands cupping her face, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “God , Rory.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his suit jacket. “What now?”
His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Now? Now we eat. And then we talk.”
Rory’s stomach growled, betraying her. She pulled away, just slightly , and Lucien’s grin widened.
“Hungry, are we?”
She shot him a look, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m always hungry when you’re around.”
His laugh was low, dark, and full of promise. “Good.”
He reached for the takeout bag, his fingers brushing against hers as he pulled it toward the table. Rory watched him, her pulse still racing , her body still humming with the aftershocks of his touch.
“You’re going to regret this,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction .
Lucien’s gaze flicked to her, sharp and assessing. “I don’t think so.”
He pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to sit. Rory hesitated, then took the seat across from him. The table between them felt like a chasm, but the air between them was thick with something else—something electric , something dangerous.
Lucien opened the takeout bag, pulling out two cartons of dumplings. The scent of soy sauce and garlic filled the air, making her stomach growl again.
“Yu-Fei’s dumplings,” he said, nodding approvingly. “I see you’ve been keeping up your standards.”
Rory picked up a dumpling, taking a bite. The flavors exploded on her tongue—spicy, savory, just the way she liked them. She swallowed, then looked up at Lucien, who was watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
“What?” she asked, though she knew exactly what he was thinking .
“You’re beautiful when you eat.”
Rory’s cheeks flushed. She took another bite, chewing slowly , savoring the moment. The silence between them was thick, charged , full of unspoken words and promises.
Lucien reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers as he took a dumpling from her carton. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of them.
“You’re still stubborn,” he murmured, his voice rough with something she couldn’t name .
“And you’re infuriating,” she shot back, but her smile betrayed her .
Lucien’s lips quirked, just slightly . “Infuriating, but worth it.”
Rory’s breath hitched. She should’ve been angry. Should’ve been furious. Instead, she found herself leaning in, her lips brushing against his in another kiss, quick and desperate.
Lucien groaned, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. The table rattled beneath them, the takeout cartons forgotten as they lost themselves in the moment.
When they finally pulled apart, Rory’s chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Lucien’s gaze was dark, intense, his fingers still tangled in her hair.
“You’re trouble,” she whispered.
“And you’re mine,” he murmured back, his lips brushing against hers once more before pulling away .
Rory’s heart pounded in her chest . She should’ve been terrified . Should’ve been furious. Instead, she found herself leaning into him, her body pressing against his, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his suit jacket.
“What now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper .
Lucien’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Now? Now we eat. And then we talk.”
Rory’s stomach growled again, betraying her. She pulled away, just slightly , and Lucien’s grin widened.
“Hungry, are we?”
She shot him a look, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m always hungry when you’re around.”
Lucien’s laugh was low, dark, and full of promise. “Good.”
He reached for the takeout bag, his fingers brushing against hers as he pulled it toward the table. Rory watched him, her pulse still racing , her body still humming with the aftershocks of his touch.
The table between them felt like a chasm, but the air between them was thick with something else—something electric , something dangerous.
Lucien opened the takeout bag, pulling out two cartons of dumplings. The scent of soy sauce and garlic filled the air, making her stomach growl again.
“Yu-Fei’s dumplings,” he said, nodding approvingly. “I see you’ve been keeping up your standards.”
Rory picked up a dumpling, taking a bite. The flavors exploded on her tongue—spicy, savory, just the way she liked them. She swallowed, then looked up at Lucien, who was watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
“What?” she asked, though she knew exactly what he was thinking .
“You’re beautiful when you eat.”
Rory’s cheeks flushed. She took another bite, chewing slowly , savoring the moment. The silence between them was thick, charged , full of unspoken words and promises.
Lucien reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers as he took a dumpling from her carton. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of them.
“You’re still stubborn,” he murmured, his voice rough with something she couldn’t name .
“And you’re infuriating,” she shot back, but her smile betrayed her .
Lucien’s lips quirked, just slightly . “Infuriating, but worth it.”
Rory’s breath hitched. She should’ve been angry. Should’ve been furious. Instead, she found herself leaning in, her lips brushing against his in another kiss, quick and desperate.
Lucien groaned, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. The table rattled beneath them, the takeout cartons forgotten as they lost themselves in the moment.
When they finally pulled apart, Rory’s chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Lucien’s gaze was dark, intense, his fingers still tangled in her hair.
“You’re trouble,” she whispered.
“And you’re mine,” he murmured back, his lips brushing against hers once more before pulling away .
Rory’s heart pounded in her chest . She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, the way his body was still pressed against hers, the way his fingers were still tangled in her hair.
“What now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper .
Lucien’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Now? Now we eat. And then we talk.”
Rory’s stomach growled again, betraying her. She pulled away, just slightly , and Lucien’s grin widened.
“Hungry, are we?”
She shot him a look, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m always hungry when you’re around.”
Lucien’s laugh was low, dark, and full of promise. “Good.”
He reached for the takeout bag, his fingers brushing against hers as he pulled it toward the table. Rory watched him, her pulse still racing , her body still humming with the aftershocks of his touch.
The flat seemed smaller, the air thicker, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Lucien’s gaze never left hers, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the tabletop, each one sending a shiver down her spine .
“You’re not leaving,” she said, more a statement than a question.
Lucien’s lips twitched. “I don’t think so.”
Rory exhaled sharply , her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “You’re going to regret this.”
“Am I?” His voice was a purr, low and dangerous. “Because the last time I checked, you were the one who couldn’t stay away.”
She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was wrong. But the words died in her throat as his gaze locked onto hers, dark and unyielding.
“You always were a liar,” she muttered, though her voice lacked conviction .
Lucien’s grin was slow, deliberate. “And you always were a fool for me .”
Rory’s breath hitched. She should’ve been furious. Should’ve been terrified . Instead, she found herself leaning forward, her fingers brushing against his wrist, her thumb tracing the faint scar that ran along the inside of his forearm—the one she’d given him, years ago, in a moment of reckless passion.
“What now?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper .
Lucien’s fingers twitched, his gaze dropping to where their hands met. “Now?” His voice was rough, strained. “Now we finish what we started.”
Rory’s pulse jumped. She should’ve been afraid. Should’ve been cautious. Instead, she found herself nodding, just slightly , her fingers curling around his wrist, pulling him closer.
Lucien’s breath hitched. His gaze locked onto hers, dark and intense, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer still.
“Now?” he repeated, his voice a growl . “Now we burn.”
And just like that, the world narrowed down to the two of them, the table between them forgotten, the takeout cartons abandoned. The only thing that mattered was the heat of his touch, the way his lips brushed against hers, the way his body pressed against hers, the way his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer still.
Rory’s breath came in ragged gasps. She could feel the heat of him, the way his body was angled just so, the way his fingers were still tangled in her hair, the way his gaze never left hers.
“Now?” she whispered, her voice barely audible .
Lucien’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Now we start again.”