It didn't take long for Lucien to reappear—now fully dressed, though nothing like the pristine, tailored suits she had seen him in. He had swapped them for something far more casual: a plain black t-shirt that hugged his lean, muscular torso, and loose, stay-at-home drawstring pants in the same inky shade.
It seemed as if black was a colour specifically meant for him.
The low collar of his shirt revealed the top of the tattoo that coiled along his neck. Another inked pattern danced along his left forearm, partially hidden by the sleeve. It was the first time she truly noticed them_ ink that somehow made him look even more dangerous... and even more unreasonably good-looking.
Still standing where she had remained this entire time, Kelsey couldn't bring herself to sit.
Lucien's dark eyes caught hers, and he offered a lazy smirk. "You don't have to be so stiff. You can sit on the couch, unless you don't mind about the bed."
His voice dipped just slightly at the word bed, and she scowled at him, but exhaustion was already settling in her limbs like wet cement. Without a word, she made her way over and sat delicately on the edge of the long velvet couch that faced the bed.
Lucien looked at her for another moment, his gaze unreadable, then turned to the door. "I'll have someone bring food for you. In the meantime,"_ he paused and glanced over his shoulder, lips tilted in a subtle, maddening curve_ "feel free to pick a side of the bed you'd prefer."
Before she could reply, he was already gone.
The moment the door clicked shut, she sprang to her feet and rushed to it. She twisted the handle_ but nothing. It didn't budge. The door was locked from the outside.
Her stomach twisted. Now she really regretted not grabbing her phone during the chaos.
Letting out a frustrated breath, she stepped back, slowly taking in her surroundings. It was the first real look she gave the room.
It was massive—easily bigger than her apartment—with a high ceiling, tall windows veiled by sheer black drapes, and a minimalist elegance that oozed quiet power.
She walked toward a door across the room, towards the bathroom.
The lights flickered on as she entered, revealing a luxurious space with black marble floors, a modern rainfall shower, and golden fixtures. Everything gleamed. She caught her reflection in the mirror—eyes dull, hair frizzy from stress, lips slightly parted as if in mid-breath.
She looked tired. Disoriented. Like a woman caught in a life she never asked for.
Sighing, she splashed cold water on her face, then stepped out. Another door caught her eye. She moved toward it cautiously, opened it—and found herself on a private balcony.
The wind kissed her face, lifting her hair gently as she stepped forward. The city lights stretched out beneath her like stars had fallen and settled on earth. Glass rails lined the balcony, offering an uninterrupted view of the skyline.
It was stunning. But she couldn't enjoy it. Not like this.
Her hands gripped the railing, her thoughts a tangled mess, until she heard a knock behind her.
Startled, she turned and reentered the room just as the door creaked open.
A young woman in uniform stepped in, head slightly bowed. "Good evening, ma'am," she said gently, placing a silver tray on the table near the couch. "Your meal, as requested."
With that, the young woman left the room.
The smell of the warm food filled the air_ savory, rich, and inviting—but Kelsey didn't move toward it. Not yet.
She stood there for a moment, motionless, as the rich aroma from the tray curled its way to her nose and hit her empty stomach like a punch. Her belly gave a low, traitorous growl in response.
Cautiously, she stepped forward and lifted the silver cover. Her eyes widened the moment she saw the contents: buttery lobster tails glazed in garlic herb sauce, a delicate saffron risotto that shimmered gold beneath the soft lighting, and roasted vegetables carved into perfect little shapes like something straight out of a royal banquet.
There was even a small dessert bowl—creamy tiramisu dusted with dark chocolate shavings.
It was the kind of meal she'd only ever seen in magazines or on glossy screens. Something served in fine restaurants where people never worried about bills.
For a second, she hesitated. Pride warred with hunger. But hunger won.
Dropping onto the couch like her body had finally claimed its rights, she picked up the silverware and began to eat. First slowly… then with more fervor. She tried to act unfazed, as if this wasn't the best thing she'd tasted in years. But once she started, there was no stopping.
She devoured everything until her stomach gave a satisfied ache, the kind that reminded her she was, for now, safe—at least physically.
Leaning back against the couch, she let the tray sit on the low table in front of her, eyes roaming the lavish room. Her gaze skipped over the heavy drapes, the crystal chandelier overhead, the deep charcoal walls... and then landed on the king-sized bed.
She stared at it for a moment.
Just the thought of sharing that space with Lucien made her entire body stiffen.
No, she told herself. She'd had enough invasions for one night.
Shifting sideways, she curled up at the end of the couch and let her head rest against the armrest. The velvet was soft against her skin, and despite its stiffness, sleep began to pull her under with merciless speed.
Her breathing evened out. Her arms tucked beneath her cheek. Her chest rose and fell gently with each breath.
Not long after, the bedroom door opened quietly.
Lucien stepped inside, now holding a glass of something amber in color, the scent of expensive whiskey following him. His steps halted the moment he saw her—fast asleep, curled on the edge of the couch like a child who hadn't meant to stay too long.