The air in Lucian Vaelthorne's chambers felt heavier than usual. The candlelight flickered against the deep mahogany walls, stretching long shadows across the velvet carpeting. A storm rumbled in the distance, soft yet insistent, a whisper of something coming. Something inevitable.
Lilith hesitated at the doorway, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeve. She had been summoned late, an unusual request from Lucian—one that made her chest tighten with unease. He never called for her at this hour. Not like this.
Her heart beat against her ribs as she stepped inside, her boots making barely a sound against the polished floor. She could feel it immediately. The shift. The air was thick, pressing down on her, as if the room itself was suffocating under the weight of something unseen.
And then she saw him.
Lucian stood near his desk, posture straight, controlled. One hand rested on the edge of the polished wood, the other holding a folded letter between his fingers. His grip was tight, knuckles white, yet his face was eerily composed. Too composed.
It wasn't until she looked closer that she noticed it—his eyes. They weren't the cool, calculating silver she was used to. No, they burned with something deeper, something unreadable. Red rimmed the irises, barely contained beneath the surface.
Not anger. Not yet. But something close.
"Come here, Lilith."
She stilled.
He never called her by her full name.
Not since the day they had first met, when she had stumbled into his world with wide eyes and too much trust. He had always called her Lili. Even when he was annoyed, even when she frustrated him beyond words—Lili.
Never like this.
Her steps were measured as she crossed the room, every part of her body on high alert.
She stopped just short of his desk, fingers twitching at her sides.
Lucian didn't move, didn't blink, didn't look at her the way he normally did—with quiet curiosity, with reluctant affection hidden beneath layers of ice.
Instead, he lifted the letter, extending it toward her.
"Read it."
Lilith's stomach twisted.
She reached for it hesitantly, her fingers brushing against his. His skin was warm—warmer than usual, like fire simmering just beneath the surface.
She unfolded the parchment, smoothing it between her hands. The script was sharp, precise. Unfamiliar.
She read the first line silently, her pulse skipping.
"To His Highness Lucian Vaelthorne,"
A chill ran down her spine.
"Aloud."
Her gaze snapped up to his.
His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a command, pressing against her like a vice. She swallowed, throat tight, then lowered her gaze back to the paper.
Her voice was steady when she began.
"To His Highness Lucian Vaelthorne," she repeated.
"It pains me to inform you of your fiancée's disloyalty. She has betrayed your bond in the worst way possible, carrying the child of another while intending to claiming it as yours."
Her breath hitched.
The ink blurred before her eyes.
"You have always been honorable. Do not let a half-blood disgrace your name."
A beat of silence.
Then another.
Lilith forced herself to lift her gaze.
Lucian was staring at her. Through her.
She had seen him angry before. Frustrated. Cold. But this was different. This was quiet devastation.
His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering beneath his skin. The letter crinkled in her trembling hands.
His voice, when it came, was almost too soft.
"Do you have anything to say?"
Her lips parted. Nothing came out.
Because in that moment, she knew.
It didn't matter what she said. He had already made up his mind.
And for the first time in her life, Lilith felt the terrifying weight of something she had never expected from him.
Doubt.
The room felt smaller, the space between them a fragile thread stretched too thin.
Lilith's chest ached, a sharp, twisting pain that burrowed deep. He had to know—he had to see the truth in her eyes. But when she looked at him, really looked at him, she saw nothing but devastation wrapped in fury.
Her voice barely carried between them.
"Lucian, I swear to you—"
"Swear to me?" His laugh was sharp, bitter, cutting through the air like a blade. His hand ran through his hair again, but this time, it wasn't to steady himself. It was restless, angry. His fingers curled into a fist at his side.
He turned away suddenly, pacing, his breath sharp. "I never—" He stopped, exhaling hard. "I never pushed you. Never forced you into anything."
"I know." Her voice was a whisper, but he didn't seem to hear it.
"I fucking respected you, Lilith. I waited. I thought—" He stopped again, his breath catching. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to grab something, hold something, but there was nothing but empty air between them.
Lilith took a careful step forward. "Lucian, please just listen—"
His head snapped up. His silver eyes burned red now. The color bled through like wildfire, inch by inch. His horns pushed through his hair, slow and deliberate, curling back from his temples.
And suddenly, she felt it.
His power surged. It pressed against her, an invisible force that made her stomach tighten, made the air too thick to breathe. He had always been strong, but now? Now he felt untouchable.
"You're lying to me." The words weren't shouted. They weren't even loud. But they hit harder than a scream ever could.
Lilith's heart stumbled, then fell.
"Lucian, it's not what you think."
He moved before she could finish, closing the space between them in an instant. She had no time to react. No time to flinch.
His hand lifted—not to strike, but to grab her wrist. His fingers wrapped around her skin, tight, unyielding. Not painful, not yet, but his strength hummed beneath his grip.
"Then tell me what the fuck I'm supposed to think, Lilith!"
The last thread of his restraint snapped. His horns gleamed under the candlelight, his breath sharp, his aura so suffocating she felt her knees weaken.
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Because she saw it now—he wasn't just angry. He was hurt.
And somehow, that made it so much worse.
The room felt too small, the air too heavy. The only thing Lilith could focus on was his grip on her wrist—not painful, not bruising, but tight enough to make her heart pound.
Lucian's breathing was uneven now, ragged, his fingers trembling where they touched her skin. He wasn't thinking anymore. The anger, the heartbreak, the betrayal—it had swallowed him whole.
"Say something." His voice was hoarse, barely controlled. "Say anything, Lilith."
She opened her mouth, but what could she say?
The truth? That she had no idea why this was happening? That she was just as confused, just as blindsided? That she was terrified of losing him, even as he pushed her away?
None of it would matter. He wouldn't believe her.
"Let me go, Lucian." Her voice was softer than she intended, and that made something flicker in his eyes—something almost like hesitation.
Almost.
But then he let out a sharp breath and released her like she had burned him. He stepped back, putting distance between them.
"I can't fucking look at you right now."
The words hit harder than his grip ever could.
Lilith's throat tightened. "Lucian—"
"Just go." His voice was lower now, but the exhaustion seeped through. His horns were still visible, his body tense, but his energy was dimming.
Like all his fire had burned out at once.
She should have fought harder. Should have forced him to listen. But instead, her feet moved before her mind could stop them.
She turned. Walked toward the door. Reached for the handle.
But before she stepped through, he spoke again.
"I meant what I said."
She froze.
"Don't fucking come back."
Lilith closed her eyes. Breathed.
Then she stepped into the cold, the door shutting behind her.
And this time, she didn't think she would ever be warm again.