Aurora didn't sleep that night.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake the feeling of him—the stranger in the alley, the voice that had slid over her skin like smoke.
"You should go home, Aurora."
The way he said her name had unsettled her. Not with the condescending familiarity of her father's associates or the distant politeness of her professors.
No, this was different.
This was possession.
And worse—recognition.
Like he already knew her.
Her hands curled into the silk sheets, knuckles aching from the grip. The room was cold, but her skin was still too warm, her pulse refusing to settle.
Who was he?
And why did it feel like he had just marked her?
---
Morning came too quickly.
Aurora forced herself out of bed, slipping into the persona her father had crafted for her—perfect, untouchable. A doll in designer clothes.
She barely made it down the grand staircase before she saw him.
Richard Sinclair stood in the foyer, buttoning his cufflinks, his presence suffocating even from a distance.
Her body tensed on instinct.
"Father," she greeted carefully.
He didn't respond at first, just studied her with that assessing look that always made her feel like a commodity. A product he was preparing to sell.
Then—a smirk.
"You're up early," he said, adjusting his watch. "I was beginning to think you'd grown lazy."
Aurora forced a neutral expression. "I have class."
"Mm." He stepped closer, trailing his fingers along the sleeve of her blouse, inspecting.
She fought not to flinch.
"A shame," he murmured. "I would have liked for you to meet someone."
Her stomach twisted.
Meet someone.
She kept her voice steady. "Who?"
Richard's smirk widened. "No one of consequence. Yet."
Something cold settled in her chest.
He was playing his games again—dangling just enough information to make her question, to make her fear.
But she wouldn't let him see it.
"Maybe next time," she said smoothly, stepping back. "I wouldn't want to be late."
She didn't wait for his response.
She left before he could trap her.
---
Lucian watched from across the street.
She looked different in daylight.
The same sharp jaw, the same haunted eyes, but in the sun, she almost looked… untouchable.
Almost.
He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, following her movements with practiced ease.
She didn't know it yet, but she was his now.
He had decided the moment he saw her—bruised, silent, standing in the ruins of a house that had never been a home.
Richard Sinclair's property.
But not for much longer.
Lucian wasn't a man who shared.
And he sure as hell wasn't about to let anyone else get to her first.
---
Aurora felt the stare before she saw him.
A presence—unshakable, consuming.
She turned her head slightly as she walked, scanning the street, the buildings, the passing cars.
Nothing.
And yet, the feeling didn't leave.
It wasn't paranoia.
It was instinct.
She inhaled slowly, forcing herself to keep moving. If he was watching, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of fear.
She had lived under a monster's roof for too long to cower now.
But as she entered the university gates, the sensation finally faded, like a phantom disappearing into the fog.
And somehow, that was worse.
Because it meant that whoever he was…
He was choosing when to let her feel him.
And that was a game she had no idea how to play.
---
Lucian leaned against his motorcycle, watching her disappear into the crowd of students.
She was good.
She didn't falter, didn't panic. But he saw the way she knew.
She felt him.
And that only made him want to push further.
Aurora Sinclair didn't run from danger.
She confronted it.
Good.
Because Lucian wasn't leaving anytime soon.