He tries to offer me another pastry, but I shake my head. He pouts—a fake, exaggerated one, but it disappears the second he stuffs the pastry into his mouth and groans again, eyes closing with bliss.
“The place is still pretty new,” I continue, glancing at him, “quiet and cozy too.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” he says, licking a bit of glaze off his thumb. “I’ll check it out. Is it far from my apartment or school?”
“No,” I say. “Just a few minutes’ drive.”
He nods thoughtfully, then gives me that shy smile that always manages to undo me.
“Thank you for getting these for me, my love.”
“You’re welcome, krasivy,” I reply softly.
He leans back in his seat, still nibbling at a pastry.
“Where are we going, by the way?”
“I already told you,” I say, hiding a small smile. “It’s a surprise.”
He groans softly. “Your surprises are so hard to predict.”
When I turn into the gated community where my family lives, I see his brows lift in surprise. He sits a little straighter, peering out the window as though trying to piece it together.
“Are we visiting your mom?”
I shake my head, keeping my expression neutral. He huffs, a quiet sound of mock impatience, but the small pout forming on his lips gives him away.
I drive past my parents’ estate without slowing down, and I can feel his eyes on me again—curious, searching, soft. He doesn’t ask this time, maybe realizing I won’t tell him, and when I drive past Viktor’s family estate where Tyler works, he lets out a dramatic sigh and slouches in his seat. I laugh under my breath, watching him out of the corner of my eye.
After a few more minutes, I turn up the hill and stop in front of a tall black motor gate. Lucas lifts his head, eyes narrowing in curiosity as the gate slowly opens.
“Alex…” he starts cautiously, but I only reach for his hand and squeeze it once.
The car glides up a curved driveway lined with towering palm trees, and a beautiful garden surrounds it.
From the corner of my eye, I see him turn toward the window, his lips parting slightly, his expression shifting from confusion to awe.
The car slows to a stop in front of a soft cream-colored Mediterranean-style mansion, the light catching its smooth walls, terracotta roof tiles, soft archways, and tall windows framed by dark iron balconies.
Two large planters filled with green palms flank the short set of stairs leading to the entryway, where a stone fountain trickles softly in the center. Everything about the place feels calm, beautiful, and peaceful, like the kind of place meant to be home and waiting to hold memories.
Lucas turns to me, utterly baffled, “Who owns this? Who are we visiting?”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and glance at him, my chest tightening at how innocent his confusion looks.
“You’ll see,” I say quietly, then step out of the car.
I walk to his side and open the passenger door. He’s still sitting there, looking unsure, his brows furrowed like he’s trying to piece it all together. I unbuckle his seatbelt and extend my hand to him. He hesitates for a second before taking them, eyes flicking between me and the house. His fingers are slightly cold, but they tighten around mine as we walk up the steps together. The sound of the fountain fills the silence between us.
When we reach the front door, I open it and gesture for him to go in first. He enters cautiously, and the soft click of the door closing behind us seems to echo louder than it should. Lucas stops just inside the foyer, his breath catching as he looks around.
The space is bright and empty, with high vaulted ceilings and pale marble floors that catch the evening sunlight throughthe tall arched windows. There’s nothing in the house yet, no furniture or sound except our breathing, but somehow it already feels alive, like it’s been waiting for this moment.
“It’s empty…” He says as he turns to me, his voice breaking the silence, brows knitting in confusion. “Alex, why are we in an unfurnished mansion?”
I walk toward him slowly. My heart is racing, but I keep my voice steady as I cup his cheeks, my thumbs brushing against his skin. His eyes—those soft, brown eyes that have seen both hell and healing—search mine like he’s trying to read the answer before I even say it.
“It’s ours,” I say quietly.
