Aurora didn't move.
She told herself to.
To step back. To run. To do anything other than stand there, staring up at a man who had no right to know her name.
But her body refused to obey.
Not because of fear.
Fear was familiar. It lived inside her bones, had been stitched into her skin from the moment she was old enough to understand that love—real love—was something her parents could never give.
No, this was something different.
Something colder.
Something darker.
A slow, creeping awareness that coiled low in her stomach, warning her that this man was dangerous.
More dangerous than Richard.
More dangerous than the unseen monster waiting for her at the end of whatever deal her father was making behind closed doors.
And yet, she still wasn't afraid.
Not the way she should be.
Not the way she had been taught to be.
Because for the first time in her life, she wasn't the one being hunted.
She was the reason someone had come.
She was the reason someone had stayed.
And for reasons she couldn't begin to understand—he was looking at her like she was already his.
She inhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. "How do you know my name?"
His lips curved, slow and deliberate, like he was amused she had the audacity to ask.
But he didn't answer.
Instead, he took a step closer.
Aurora stiffened, but she didn't move away.
His head tilted slightly, the dark strands of his hair catching in the dim glow of the streetlights. "You've been looking over your shoulder all day."
A statement. Not a question.
He knew.
Of course, he knew.
She had felt him before she had even seen him, but now she knew it wasn't just paranoia.
It wasn't in her head.
It was real.
He was real.
She forced herself to hold his gaze. "And yet, I didn't see you."
A shadow of approval flickered through his expression.
He liked that she had noticed.
He liked that she paid attention.
"I didn't want you to."
The words were calm. Casual.
Like they weren't disturbing.
Like they weren't an admission of something far more sinister than just watching.
Aurora's fingers curled into her palm. "Why are you following me?"
His smirk deepened. "Why do you think?"
Her pulse thrummed against her throat.
She didn't know.
She didn't want to know.
Because the moment she did, she wouldn't be able to ignore it.
Wouldn't be able to pretend that this was something she could walk away from.
Something she could escape.
She took a breath, steadying her voice. "I don't know you."
He exhaled a quiet laugh, low and edged with something that sent heat curling down her spine.
"No," he murmured. "But you will."
The certainty in his voice made something in her chest tighten.
She needed to get away from him.
She needed to leave.
Now.
She shifted, preparing to step back, when his hand shot out—gripping her wrist before she could move.
His fingers weren't rough.
They weren't cruel.
But they were unyielding.
Like iron wrapped in silk.
A touch that was both a warning and a promise.
Her breath caught, her body tensing on instinct, but he didn't tighten his grip.
Didn't hurt her.
Instead, his thumb brushed over the delicate skin of her wrist, the movement slow. Precise.
And then, his gaze dropped—fixing on the faint bruises just above the cuff of her sleeve.
The ones she had carefully hidden.
But not carefully enough.
Aurora yanked her arm back, her chest tightening as she put space between them. "Don't touch me."
For the first time since their encounter, something flashed in his expression.
Something sharp.
Something that felt too much like anger.
Not at her.
At what he had seen.
His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking once before he exhaled slowly. Controlled.
He didn't apologize.
Didn't offer empty words.
Instead, he took a step back, as if acknowledging the boundaries she was desperately trying to maintain.
For now.
But he didn't leave.
And she knew—he wouldn't.
Not yet.
Not ever.
Not until whatever this was had run its course.
Or burned her alive.
---
Lucian watched her go.
Watched the way she forced herself to walk away without turning back, even though he knew she wanted to.
Even though she felt him.
She was too careful, too aware for someone who had been raised in the illusion of wealth and safety.
And that told him everything he needed to know.
She wasn't naïve.
She wasn't oblivious.
She had already learned what most people never did—monsters wear the faces of the people closest to you.
He let out a slow breath, his fingers flexing at his sides, his gaze dropping to the lingering warmth on his skin.
The shape of her wrist.
The ghost of her pulse against his fingertips.
She was fragile, but not weak.
Soft, but not breakable.
And she had no idea what the hell to do with a man like him.
Good.
Because he knew exactly what to do with a girl like her.
Lucian turned, his movements slow and unhurried as he walked toward his bike.
She had questions now.
She was unsettled.
Conflicted.
And that was what he wanted.
Because the moment she started thinking about him—wondering about him—it was over.
Aurora Sinclair didn't know it yet.
But she had already lost.