LUCIAN
She knew.
Not everything. Not yet.
But the way her father had touched her—possessive, calculated, testing—Lucian could tell she had figured out enough to be afraid.
Good.
Fear kept people sharp. Kept them alive.
But not her.
Aurora Sinclair wasn't supposed to be afraid.
Not of him.
Not of anything.
And yet, when she had walked out of that house this morning, her body had been coiled tight with tension, her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag as if it were the only thing keeping her standing.
Lucian had watched her from across the street, leaning against his bike, one boot propped against the curb, arms crossed.
She hadn't seen him.
She never did.
But he saw her.
Every single second.
She was fragile in a way that had nothing to do with strength.
She didn't break.
She endured.
And that was worse.
Because broken things could be put back together.
But something that refused to shatter?
That was a different kind of ruin.
The kind that burned from the inside out.
He exhaled, the scent of asphalt and city smog thick in the morning air as he flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot.
He had work to do.
---
AURORA
The weight of her father's words lingered long after she left the house.
Someone was asking about you.
She had played it off, kept her face blank, her voice smooth, but inside, her pulse had been a war drum against her ribs.
She knew who it was.
She had felt his presence even when she couldn't see him.
That night in the alley. The way he had whispered her name.
Like he had known her long before she had ever seen him.
Like he had been waiting.
She pulled her coat tighter around herself as she walked across campus, her boots clicking softly against the pavement.
Her father hadn't punished her for it.
He didn't need to.
The threat had been there, woven between the lines of his carefully chosen words.
And her mother—
Aurora swallowed, shoving the thought away.
There was no point in thinking about it.
Her mother never stopped anything.
She only watched.
Just like always.
The air felt thick, pressing down on her as she stepped into the library, the scent of old paper and ink curling around her like a memory.
This was the one place she could breathe.
The one place she could be alone.
Or so she thought.
Because the moment she turned the corner into the quietest row, she felt it.
A shift in the air.
A presence.
She froze, her pulse spiking as her eyes darted up—
And landed on him.
Sitting in the farthest corner, back to the wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee.
Not a stranger.
Not entirely.
She had seen him before.
The man from the alley.
The one who had spoken her name like it belonged to him.
His gaze met hers the second she looked at him, dark and unreadable.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just watched.
Aurora's breath hitched.
Because there was something different about seeing him in the daylight.
At night, he had been a shadow, a whisper of danger in the dark.
But here—
Here, he was real.
Too real.
His presence took up all the space, made the world feel smaller.
Made her feel smaller.
But she refused to cower.
Instead, she lifted her chin and stepped forward.
His eyes flicked over her, slow and deliberate. "You're braver than I thought."
Her stomach twisted, but she kept her voice steady. "And you're exactly what I thought."
He smirked. "Oh? And what's that?"
"Dangerous."
His amusement deepened, but there was something sharper beneath it.
Something that told her she wasn't wrong.
"Smart girl." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "So tell me, princess. If I'm so dangerous, why did you come closer?"
She hesitated.
Because she didn't know.
Because she couldn't explain why she was standing here instead of turning around.
Why, despite the warning bells in her head, she couldn't walk away.
The man studied her, as if he could see the war waging inside her.
And then he did something that made her stomach drop.
He reached into his pocket—
And pulled out a key.
Her key.
Aurora's breath lodged in her throat as he dangled it between his fingers.
"You should be more careful with your things." His voice was almost amused, but his eyes—
His eyes were a promise.
Her body went ice cold.
Because she had never lost her key.
She had never even taken it out of her bag.
Which meant—
It wasn't lost.
It had been taken.
And the only question now was when he planned to use it.
---
LUCIAN
She looked like she was going to run.
Smart girl.
But she didn't.
She stood there, her fingers curling around the strap of her bag, her breaths shallow but controlled.
She was scared.
And yet, she was still.
Unmoving.
Unyielding.
Lucian's lips twitched.
Resilient.
Just like he had thought.
He leaned back, slipping the key into his pocket.
"I'll see you soon, sweetheart."
Her breath hitched, but she didn't say a word.
She didn't have to.
Because whether she wanted to admit it or not—
She already knew.
There was no escaping him.
And the game had only just begun.