LUCIAN'S P.O.V.
I sat at my desk, my fingers drumming absently on the polished wood as I tried to piece together the chaos that had become my life. Teresa, my wife—glowing, fierce, and exasperated—paced the room like a caged tigress, muttering sharp remarks under her breath. She was infuriatingly beautiful and utterly unapproachable.
Luke sat in the far corner, trembling as he clutched a rosary he had somehow conjured out of nowhere, muttering prayers in a voice tinged with desperation. Every so often, he'd glance at his glowing hands, and I could swear I heard him whisper, "Lord, don't let me be a demon."
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "What am I supposed to do?" I muttered, not really expecting an answer.
Rylan, lounging against the wall with a self-satisfied smirk, chimed in, "What if Serena knows something Elizabeth doesn't?"
I shot him a glare. "We're not bringing her into this."
