“You know, I notice a lot of things.” He shrugs, too casually. “And I’ve known you long enough to know what you are. The type of person you are.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “So—what’s the deal with the kid?”
“Don’t fucking call him a kid,” I grit, glare sharp enough to cut. “He’s an adult.”
Viktor raises both hands in a mock surrender. “Relax. He just looks young. Too young. Too… innocent.”
My jaw tightens, “He’s twenty.”
Viktor doesn’t miss a beat.
“And you’re twenty-nine.” He leans back, letting the words hang in the air between us. “That’s a good nine years, Sasha.”
I exhale, sharp and slow, setting my club down harder than I should before taking a seat beside him. Of course, I’ve thought about it. The age gap. The fucking optics of it all. But every time it slips away, because when I look at him, I don’t see numbers. I don’t see years. I see him. And never, not once, have I seen a child.
I don’t even know if Lucas knows my age. Don’t know if he’s thought about it. Does it bother him? Would it? Does he look at me and wonder the same way I do?
“I’m not saying you’re a creep,” Viktor continues, his tone shifting softer, more measured. His hand clasps my shoulder,grounding, irritating. “I just never pictured him for you. He looks… fragile. Too soft. Too breakable. And you—” his eyes cut into mine, steady, unyielding “you don’t do fragile.”
My throat works, but I don’t say anything.
“I just want to know what’s going on in your head,” he presses. “That look you gave him at the exhibition… it wasn’t subtle, Sasha. Anton saw it too. You were locked on him like he was the only person in the room.”
I hesitate. The words don’t come easily. I’m not used to explaining myself. Most people don’t deserve explanations. But even as I try to shape the thought, I realize I don’t have one.
Because there is no logic. No strategy. No plan.
I think of the way Lucas carries himself—with that quiet, hesitant grace that doesn’t ask for notice, but somehow draws it anyway. The way he meets my gaze, steady and unflinching, even when I can tell it costs him something. Every step he takes feels measured, every glance calculated, like a person trying not to trigger invisible tripwires. But he faces me. Even when it would be easier to look away, he doesn’t.
That… defiance, small as it is, burns like a stubborn flame. And it intrigues me.
“I find him…” I pause, rolling my wrist as if to loosen the word before I let it out. “…interesting.”
Viktor barks out a short laugh, tilting his head. “Interesting? That’s a first. I’ve never heard you say that about anyone.”
I glance at him, voice low, certain. “I know.”
He studies me for a beat, then shakes his head with a crooked grin. “So let me guess, you don’t just want to fuck him and be done with it?”
“No.” My answer is immediate: “I don’t.”
And that’s the truth.
I’ve fucked people—mostly women. Easy, casual, forgettable. A few men, too. Four, maybe five? They blurtogether, the difference meaningless. It’s never about them. Never better, never worse. Just control. Just sex. I don’t linger. I don’t chase. I don’t stay long enough to care about the faces, the names, the details.
Even Vera, who hung around for years, was a convenience. A habit. Something to fill the space when it suited me. I never bothered to name it, to define it, because what was there to define? I don’t date. I don’t attach. People are temporary. Replaceable. They exist in my world for as long as they’re useful or as long as I feel like it.
That’s who I am. That’s how I’ve always been.
But Lucas…
The first time I saw him, I didn’t think about sex. Didn’t think about peeling him out of his clothes or pinning him under me like I would with someone I found attractive. I just… stared, like some idiot who forgot how to breathe. He was beautiful, yes—but not the kind of beauty that shouts. His was softer. Louder in ways he doesn’t even realize. A type of beauty that sneaks past your defenses before you can close the gates.
But it wasn’t just his face, or his hair, or the freckles I caught in the light. It was the way he looked at me. He was afraid, of course he was, but it wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t the wide-eyed horror I’ve seen before on others. He didn’t see me as a monster. He just… saw me.
And something about that look lodged itself under my skin. It made me want to protect him, which is not in my nature. Protect him from the world, from the cruelty of people I know too well… but also protect him from me. From the parts of me that can’t be softened. The parts that eat people alive.
“You think he finds you interesting, too?” Viktor asks, cutting into my thoughts.
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes against the bench. I glance down. The name on the screen makes my pulse tick faster, subtle but there. Lucas.
