Lucien walked toward her, his steps slow and quiet, as if approaching a sacred thing. When he reached the couch, he lowered himself to a squat beside her sleeping form. She was curled up in an uncomfortable angle, her arm tucked beneath her cheek, her legs slightly folded.
Unable to keep his hands to himself, he lifted one hand and gently tucked a loose strand of her long hair behind her ear. He lingered a second longer than necessary, letting the silky texture glide between his fingers. It was soft, delicate… like she was.
His eyes moved over her face, drinking her in. The fan of her long lashes cast faint shadows across her cheeks. Her small, nose twitched just slightly as she breathed in. But it was her lips that made his throat tighten—a perfect, plush pink, parted just enough to reveal a hint of vulnerability she would never let him see when awake.
Then his gaze lowered to her neck.
His eyes darkened.
There, pulsing gently beneath pale skin, was the steady throb of her heartbeat. The scent of her blood—warm, alive—was almost maddening. A temptation so exquisite it made his fangs ache.
He wondered, not for the first time, what she would taste like. Sweet, he imagined. Wild. Addictive.
But not now. Not when she was defenseless. Not when she'd finally stopped fighting the world around her, even if only in sleep.
His voice dropped to a whisper only the walls would hear.
"If we hadn't wasted so much time... we wouldn't be here like this."
Carefully, his hand moved to her foot. As he slipped the first shoe off, his fingers brushed lightly against the soft inside of her ankle. A flicker of heat went through him, but she didn't stir.
He removed the second shoe with the same tenderness.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he slid his arms beneath her—one behind her back, the other under her knees—and lifted her in a bridal carry, her body curling against him instinctively.
He carried her to the bed, placing her gently on one side of the vast mattress. The blankets whispered as he pulled them over her form, tucking her in like she was something rare. Precious.
Lucien stood still for a moment, just watching her. That same, unbearable pull gripped his chest.
With a low breath, he rounded the bed and slid into the space beside her. Not too close—just close enough to hear her breathing, to feel her presence.
There was a time he might've had a woman like this and only thought of desire. But with Kelsey, it was different. It always had been, and he hated that he almost lost control when she was always near, a part of him craved her so bad_ so bad that when he touched her, he wanted more, he desired to become one with her. He wanted her to feel the same tug, to open her heart to him and let her in.
He knew that she would eventually give in, but it was maddening to have her so close, yet so far.
As his thoughts continued to become a roller coaster, kelsey turned her face towards him. So harmless. So beautiful with her guard down.
His eyes moved to look to the ceiling and covering his eyes with his arm, he finally closed them.
~~~
The night slowly faded into morning, the silver hue of dawn bleeding gently through the sheer curtains. The city outside remained quiet, resting under a thin veil of morning mist. Inside, the room was still except for the soft sound of synchronized breathing.
Lucien had been awake for a long while, though his eyes remained closed. He lay still—effortlessly so—his body relaxed, but his mind alert. Vampiric senses made slumber optional, and this morning, he chose to simply listen.
The change came like a ripple in still water.
First, the subtle shift in her heartbeat. Faint, but unmistakable. Her pulse fluttered faster, signaling awareness. Then came the change in her breathing—more conscious now, slightly uneven—as though she were adjusting to unfamiliar surroundings.
He didn't open his eyes. Not until he felt the air stir and heard the faint rustle of the blankets as she slid off the bed with urgency.
When he did finally open them, his gaze met hers—those brown eyes ablaze with fury.
There was a moment of silence.
She looked betrayed. Violated. As if waking up in his bed had somehow stripped her of something she'd been trying desperately to hold on to.
Lucien didn't flinch.
Instead, he offered her a slow, dark smile.
"How was your first night…" he said, voice deep—gravelly and dangerously calm, like a storm threatening just beneath a still sea. Then he added with a mocking edge, "...on your husband's bed?"
The word husband felt like a branding iron between them.
As he threw the blankets off and sat upright, his toned form casting a lean shadow, Kelsey moved—angrily. She stalked around the bed, her jaw clenched tight, her hands balled into fists.
He rose to his full height, facing her.
Then—
"Slap!"
The sound tore through the still air like a crack of thunder. Her palm had met his cheek with such force, her own body jolted from the impact.
Lucien froze.
His head had barely turned with the blow, but it had landed. And it stunned them both.
He stood there, holding his cheek, his face losing all trace of playfulness. The smirk vanished, replaced by a dangerous stillness. His obsidian eyes locked with hers— unreadable, dark, and burning just beneath the surface.
Kelsey's chest rose and fell rapidly. Her breathing was uneven now, her heart racing—not from fear, but from the aftermath of what she'd done.
She hadn't planned to strike him. But waking up in his bed after making it painfully clear she wanted nothing to do with sharing a space with him had pushed her beyond her limits.
She had chosen the couch. Deliberately.
And yet—there she'd been… sleeping beside the very man she wanted to resist.
The air turned heavy.
Suddenly, she wasn't so sure she had made the right choice.
Lucien didn't say a word. Not a growl. Not a threat.
That silence was worse than rage.
Then—buzz…buzz…
The sharp sound of his phone sliced through the tension.
Still holding her gaze, he reached into his phone on the bedside table and retrieved the device, and with the cold efficiency of a man used to detaching from chaos, he answered it.
"Yes."
His tone was clipped. Controlled.
Without another glance, he walked away.
The door opened. He stepped out.
And it clicked shut behind him.
Kelsey stood frozen, her arm trembling slightly, her breath still uneven.
Panic seeped in like cold water under a locked door.
She darted toward the entrance, hands fumbling against the door handle. She tried to open it.
But it didn't move.
She yanked harder, twisting it, pushing, pulling. It didn't even rattle. The lock was solid—just like last night.
Her lips parted, and her whisper broke out, laced with regret.
"Oh God… what have I done?"
Alone now, sealed inside a stranger's world would called a prison, Kelsey was left to stare at the unmoving door—feeling the weight of what just happened settle into her bones.