AI ---
The door creaked open before the deadbolt could even click into place, swinging inward with a force that sent the framed poster of *The Great Wave off Kanagawa * crashing to the floor. Glass shattered like a scream, and the scent of burnt wiring filled the air as the light flickered —once, twice—before plunging the flat into darkness.
"Fucking *brilliant * timing," a voice hissed, sharp as a blade dragged across a table. "You could’ve at least warned me you were bringing a live wire."
A hand—cold, calloused—closed around Rory’s wrist, yanking her back just as the ceiling light exploded in a shower of sparks. The flat smelled like ozone and old sweat, the kind that clung to someone who’d been running for hours. "Lucien," she breathed, voice rough with something between relief and irritation . "You’re *not * supposed to be here."
His fingers tightened, not in pain, but in warning. "Neither are you."
The words hung between them, heavy as the weight of the cane he’d dropped beside the door. It lay there, ivory handle gleaming under the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through the broken window, the blade inside it catching the light like a promise. "You’ve got five minutes," he said, voice low, measured . "Then I’m leaving. And you’re coming with me."
Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat. She should’ve known better than to assume he’d stay away. Should’ve known he’d show up like this—unannounced, unapologetic, with that same infuriating certainty that he could walk into any room and own it. "Five minutes for what?" she demanded, jerking her wrist free. "A lecture? A lecture about *not * breaking into my flat?"
His lips twitched, just once, like he was fighting a smile. "No. A lecture about *not * being an idiot."
She stepped back, putting space between them, but the flat was too small. The air between them crackled, thick with the kind of tension that didn’t need words. "You’re the idiot," she shot back . "You’re the one who *let * me think you’d moved on."
Lucien exhaled through his nose, a sound that was almost a laugh. "Darling, I *never * move on." His gaze flicked to the mess around them—the shattered frame, the flickering lights, the way her breath came a little too fast. "But you? You’re the one who decided to play hero."
Rory’s fingers twitched at her sides. "I didn’t—"
"Don’t." His voice cut through her . "Don’t lie to me. I know what you did. I know you went to Eva’s. I know you *told * her."
The name hung in the air like a curse. Eva. Her childhood friend. The one person Rory had trusted enough to spill everything—about the night Evan had broken her wrist, about the way he’d made her feel like she was nothing but a mistake. About the way she’d run, and how she’d never looked back.
Lucien’s jaw tightened. "You think she’s the only one who can fix things?"
Rory’s chest ached. "She’s the only one who *listens *."
"She’s the only one who *understands *?" His voice dropped, sharp as broken glass. "Or is that just because she’s the only one who’s ever *seen * you cry?"
The words hit like a punch to the gut. She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "That’s not —"
"Isn’t it?" He took a step closer, close enough that she could see the faint scar along his jawline, the one she’d never asked about. "You think I don’t know what it’s like to have someone you trust turn on you? To have them *betray * you?"
Rory’s breath hitched. She knew that look . Knew the way his eyes darkened, the way his voice dropped to something raw and dangerous. She’d seen it before—the night he’d walked into the Golden Empress, the night he’d saved her from Evan’s wrath. The night he’d kissed her like he was drowning and she was the only air left in the world.
And then he’d left.
Just like that.
No explanation. No goodbye.
Just silence .
And now he was back, standing in her flat, breathing the same air as her, like he’d never left at all.
"Lucien," she whispered, her voice breaking . "What do you want from me?"
His gaze locked onto hers, unflinching. "The truth."
She should’ve known better than to ask.
---
The flat smelled like old books and cheap whiskey, the kind Eva kept in the back of her cupboard for "emergencies." Rory had spent half the night curled on the floor, Ptolemy the cat curled against her side like a living shield, while Eva had paced back and forth, muttering about "foolish girls and reckless men."
Lucien had been the reckless one that night.
The night he’d shown up at the Golden Empress, his cane propped against the counter like a threat, his suit rumpled like he’d been running. He’d found her in the back, wiping down the tables, her hands shaking from the adrenaline of the day’s deliveries. He’d told her Evan was looking for her. That he’d been asking questions. That he wasn’t just some ex—he was dangerous.
And then he’d kissed her.
Not like a goodbye. Not like a hello.
Like a promise.
And when he’d pulled back, his lips swollen, his breath hot against her skin, he’d said three words that had shattered her:
*"You’re mine ."*
She’d laughed. A sharp, bitter sound. "You don’t even know me."
He’d smiled, slow and dangerous. "I know enough."
And then he’d walked out, leaving her standing there, her heart pounding , her head spinning, her wrist still aching from the scar Evan had left.
She’d run.
---
Lucien’s voice cut through her memories like a blade. "You’re thinking too hard."
Rory blinked, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. "I’m not —"
"Liar." His voice was low, rough. "You’re always thinking. Always *planning *. But this? This is the one time you need to stop."
She swallowed hard. "And do what?"
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room like a promise. "Breathe."
She didn’t.
Instead, she met his gaze, her own eyes burning with something she couldn’t name. "You’re not here to save me."
His lips quirked. "No. I’m here to *punish * you."
Rory’s breath hitched. "For what?"
"For trusting her." His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "For thinking she’s the only one who can fix you."
She should’ve known better than to ask.
---
The flat was a mess. Broken glass crunched underfoot, the scent of burnt wiring thick in the air. Rory’s fingers twitched, her pulse hammering in her throat. "You could’ve at least warned me you were bringing a live wire."
Lucien’s lips twitched. "I prefer to keep my surprises."
She exhaled sharply , her fingers curling into fists. "You’re *not * supposed to be here."
His gaze locked onto hers, unflinching. "Neither are you."
The words hung between them, heavy as the weight of the cane he’d dropped beside the door. It lay there, ivory handle gleaming under the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through the broken window, the blade inside it catching the light like a promise.
Rory’s breath hitched. She should’ve known better than to assume he’d stay away. Should’ve known he’d show up like this—unannounced, unapologetic, with that same infuriating certainty that he could walk into any room and own it.
"You’ve got five minutes," he said, voice low, measured . "Then I’m leaving. And you’re coming with me."
Rory’s fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. "Five minutes for what?"
His gaze flicked to the mess around them—the shattered frame, the flickering lights, the way her breath came a little too fast. "A lecture about *not * being an idiot."
She should’ve known better than to ask.
---
The door creaked shut behind them, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty corridor. The flat above Silas’ bar was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against your skin like a second breath. Rory’s fingers trembled as she fumbled for the light switch, the flicker of the bulb casting long shadows across the walls.
Lucien didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just stood there, like a statue carved from stone and shadow, his gaze locked onto hers.
Rory swallowed hard. "You’re not leaving."
His lips twitched. "No."
She exhaled sharply , her fingers curling into fists. "Why?"
His gaze flicked to the cane propped against the door, the blade inside it catching the light like a promise. "Because you’re *mine *."
The words hung between them, heavy as the weight of the past.
And then he was moving, stepping closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room like a promise.
Rory’s breath hitched. "You don’t even know me."
His lips quirked. "I know enough."
And then he kissed her.
Not like a goodbye. Not like a hello.
Like a promise.
And when he pulled back, his lips swollen, his breath hot against her skin, he said three words that had shattered her:
*"You’re mine ."*
She should’ve known better than to ask.
---
The kiss was over before it had really begun, his lips brushing hers like a ghost, his breath hot against her skin. Rory’s fingers twitched, her pulse hammering in her throat.
Lucien stepped back, his gaze locking onto hers, unflinching. "You’re thinking too hard."
She exhaled sharply , her fingers curling into fists. "I’m not —"
"Liar." His voice was low, rough. "You’re always thinking. Always *planning *. But this? This is the one time you need to stop."
Rory’s breath hitched. "And do what?"
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room like a promise. "Breathe."
She didn’t.
Instead, she met his gaze, her own eyes burning with something she couldn’t name. "You’re not here to save me."
His lips quirked. "No. I’m here to *punish * you."
Rory’s breath hitched. "For what?"
"For trusting her." His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "For thinking she’s the only one who can fix you."
She should’ve known better than to ask.
---
The flat was a mess. Broken glass crunched underfoot, the scent of burnt wiring thick in the air. Rory’s fingers trembled as she fumbled for the light switch, the flicker of the bulb casting long shadows across the walls.
Lucien didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just stood there, like a statue carved from stone and shadow, his gaze locked onto hers.
Rory exhaled sharply , her fingers curling into fists. "You’re not leaving."
His lips twitched. "No."
She swallowed hard. "Why?"
His gaze flicked to the cane propped against the door, the blade inside it catching the light like a promise. "Because you’re *mine *."
The words hung between them, heavy as the weight of the past.
And then he was moving, stepping closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room like a promise.
Rory’s breath hitched. "You don’t even know me."
His lips quirked. "I know enough."
And then he kissed her.
Not like a goodbye. Not like a hello.
Like a promise.
And when he pulled back, his lips swollen, his breath hot against her skin, he said three words that had shattered her:
*"You’re mine ."*
She should’ve known better than to ask.
---
The door slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty corridor. The flat above Silas’ bar was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against your skin like a second breath.
Lucien’s voice cut through the silence , low and dangerous. "You’re coming with me."
Rory’s fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. "Where?"
His gaze locked onto hers, unflinching. "Somewhere safe."
She exhaled sharply , her fingers curling into fists. "I don’t need—"
"Shut up." His voice was low, rough. "You’re coming with me. Now."
And then he was moving, stepping closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room like a promise.
Rory’s breath hitched. "You’re not the hero."
His lips twitched. "No. I’m the *villain *."
And then he kissed her again, his lips hot and demanding, his hands gripping her waist like he was afraid she’d disappear.
When he pulled back, his breath hot against her skin, he said three words that had shattered her:
*"You’re mine ."*
She should’ve known better than to ask.
---
The flat was a mess. Broken glass crunched underfoot, the scent of burnt wiring thick in the air. Rory’s fingers trembled as she fumbled for the light switch, the flicker of the bulb casting long shadows across the walls.
Lucien didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just stood there, like a statue carved from stone and shadow, his gaze locked onto hers.
Rory exhaled sharply , her fingers curling into fists. "You’re not leaving."
His lips twitched. "No."
She swallowed hard. "Why?"
His gaze flicked to the cane propped against the door, the blade inside it catching the light like a promise. "Because you’re *mine *."
The words hung between them, heavy as the weight of the past.
And then he was moving, stepping closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room like a promise.
Rory’s breath hitched. "You don’t even know me."
His lips quirked. "I know enough."
And then he kissed her, his lips hot and demanding, his hands gripping her waist like he was afraid she’d disappear.
When he pulled back, his breath hot against her skin, he said three words that had shattered her:
*"You’re mine ."*
She should’ve known better than to ask.
The door slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty corridor. The flat above Silas’ bar was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against your skin like a second breath.
Lucien’s voice cut through the silence , low and dangerous. "You’re coming with me."
Rory’s fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. "Where?"
His gaze locked onto hers, unflinching. "Somewhere safe."
She exhaled sharply , her fingers curling into fists. "I don’t need—"
"Shut up." His voice was low, rough. "You’re coming with me. Now."
And then he was moving, stepping closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room like a promise.
Rory’s breath hitched. "You’re not the hero."
His lips twitched. "No. I’m the *villain *."
And then he kissed her again, his lips hot and demanding, his hands gripping her waist like he was afraid she’d disappear.
When he pulled back, his breath hot against her skin, he said three words that had shattered her:
*"You’re mine ."*