He looks away, jaw tight, then back at me. “Because I couldn’t stop, not after I met you.” The admission is low, nearly lost beneath the hum of the broken radiator. “You made me remember things I thought I’d buried.”
I let the silence stretch. “If I finish my story, it’s not to make you a villain, Lukyan. It’s to show the truth.”
He huffs a bitter laugh. “You think anyone wants to hear that?”
“I do.” The words are soft, but I mean them. “Maybe that’s enough.”
He leans forward, elbows on the desk, eyes searching my face. For a moment, I see a man on the edge of surrender, hungry for connection, terrified of it at the same time.
“You could ruin me,” he says.
“I could save you,” I whisper, not sure if I mean it or just want to.
He stands, moving closer, every step measured. He stops in front of me, hands braced on either side of my chair, his presence overwhelming, the old danger alive in his eyes. But there’s something else now, something I know he won’t let anyone else see.
“Careful, Clara,” he murmurs. “There are lines you can’t uncross.”
I tilt my chin up, letting him see the defiance and the hope in my gaze. “I crossed them the first time I let you touch me.”
He smiles then. It’s a real, weary smile, all teeth and pain and longing. “God help us both.”
He leans down, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath. For a heartbeat, I think he’ll kiss me. Instead, he pulls back, voice barely more than a rasp. “Finish your story, but know this—no one ever gets out unchanged.”
As I leave his office, my legs shaking, I realize it’s not just his world that’s changed me. It’s him.
I’m not sure I ever want to go back.
***
That night, the mansion feels different.
Dinner is served as always, dishes placed with quiet efficiency, the hush only broken by the clink of cutlery and the soft tread of servants moving in and out.
Something has shifted between us. I feel it in the air, charged and uncertain.
We eat in silence. Lukyan sits at the head of the long table, his posture as rigid as ever, arm still bandaged beneath the sleeve of his black shirt.
His eyes never leave me—not in the way that once made me shrink, but in a way that makes me burn. I sense him studying every gesture, every bite, every flicker of expression. For a long time, I keep my gaze on my plate, but eventually, I look up.
His eyes are intense, unreadable, as if he’s seeing something in me no one else has. I hold his gaze. My chest aches with the tension. I realize, slowly, that I’m no longer afraid of him—not in the old way, not in the way I was when he was only a rumor, a monster, a threat behind every locked door.
What scares me now is how easily I’m beginning to understand him.
I see the exhaustion in his posture, the guilt in the set of his jaw, the quiet care that has crept into his every action since the night he bled for me. I see a man who is violent, yes, but also fiercely loyal, desperate for connection, aching for forgiveness that no one—not even himself—will give.
After dinner, I drift onto the balcony, the air cool and fragrant with rain. The garden below glistens, washed clean by the storm. I close my eyes and breathe, letting the hush settle over my shoulders, letting the city lights blur into something softer.
I don’t hear him at first, but I sense him—an unmistakable gravity, the soundless way he moves. When he speaks, his voice is barely more than a murmur, so close I feel the warmth of his breath against my neck.
“Understanding me,” Lukyan says, “means belonging to me.”
I turn slowly, heart in my throat, and find him standing close—closer than anyone else would dare, close enough that our shadows blend together. I search his eyes, expecting threat, but find only a promise: steady, unwavering, dark as night and just as full of possibility.
For a moment, the balcony is the only world that matters. The city fades. The guards and the servants and the old rules—all of it slips away. All that remains is him and me, suspended on the edge of something we can neither name nor deny.
My pulse races, not with fear, but with anticipation. I should look away, say something clever, draw a line he cannot cross. Instead, I hold his gaze, feeling the bond between us settle deeper, a tie that is both terrifying and irresistible.
“What if I don’t want to belong to anyone?” I whisper, breath shaky.
