When the Universe Listens

Chapter 9

Worth Celebrating

Rhea barely made it out of the client’s office before dialing his number.

“Lucian,” she said breathlessly the second he answered. “They approved everything. And I mean everything. They said it’s one of the strongest concepts they’ve seen this quarter.”

He chuckled. “Let me guess—the combo pitch with the dual-message rollout?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Your integration idea? That was the turning point. They loved how clean it was—how it pulled emotion without being over-designed. Lucian, I could kiss you.”

“I’ll consider that a formal thank-you,” he teased, his voice thick with pride. “Seriously—congrats, Rhea. You earned this.”

She exhaled, still stunned. “I can’t believe it. I really needed this win.”

“Then let’s celebrate,” Lucian said. “You free tonight?”

She hesitated just long enough for the pause to say everything.

His voice dropped a note lower. “Come over. I’ll cook.”

“Lucian…”

“Steak. Medium rare. Red wine. Rain on the windows. Music. No pressure—just celebration.”

Rhea closed her eyes for a second.

God, she wanted that.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Just for a while.”

Lucian’s apartment was stunning, but never showy—industrial elegance softened with scattered books, dark wood floors, and warm lighting. The space smelled faintly of cedar and something familiar: him.

But tonight, it felt different.

Personal.

Hers.

Her heels clicked gently as she stepped inside, her eyes catching the low lights in the kitchen, the flicker of candlelight by the island counter, the playlist humming something low and instrumental in the background.

Lucian looked up from the stove, wearing a fitted black tee and grey drawstring pants. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing forearms lined with veins and tiny burn freckles from years of cooking.

Rhea blinked.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “This is dangerously domestic.”

He grinned over his shoulder, flipping the steak in the pan. “I clean up well.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

His jaw flexed slightly as he concentrated on the skillet, the steam rising around him. He moved with practiced ease—pinching salt, sliding butter over the sear, plating like a chef without a shred of ego.

“You’re unreal,” she muttered.

Lucian looked up. “Say that again?”

“Nothing,” Rhea said quickly, cheeks pink. “Just… steak smells great.”

He smirked but didn’t press it.

“Grab a seat,” he said. “Dinner’s five minutes out and your wine’s already breathing.”

She walked to the kitchen island, her fingers trailing over the polished surface. “Lucian… seriously. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” He handed her a napkin and a smile. “You light up when you’re proud of yourself. I like that look on you.”

She sat, heart tapping against her ribs. “Thanks. Really.”

Dinner was somehow simple and sensual all at once. The steak was perfect, the wine just bold enough to warm her blood. Conversation flowed the way it always did with Lucian—playful, sharp, just enough flirtation beneath the surface.

At one point, she cut a piece of meat and held it out for him.

Lucian arched a brow. “You’re feeding me now?”

“Test bite,” she said smoothly.

He leaned forward, lips brushing her fingers as he took it.

Her pulse jumped.

“Verdict?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

Lucian swallowed slowly, eyes steady on hers. “You’d make a dangerous date if we were pretending.”

“I’m not pretending,” she whispered before she realized she said it.

His hand reached for her wine glass, but his fingers brushed hers instead. Neither of them moved.

“You’ve been glowing all evening,” he murmured. “I can’t tell if it’s the pitch high or the candlelight.”

“Maybe both,” she said. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

He didn’t smile.

Instead, he reached out—slowly—and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Gentle. Reverent. The kind that didn't demand anything, only offered.

Rhea froze, her breath caught somewhere between surprise and something warmer.

She turned toward him—instinctively.

Their faces were close. Breath-close.

Lucian didn’t move at first. He simply looked at her. Like she was art. Like he’d waited a lifetime just to be near enough to breathe her in. His gaze flicked, once, from her eyes to her lips, and lingered.

Then—slowly, cautiously—he leaned in again.

His lips brushed the corner of her mouth, featherlight. Not quite a kiss. More like a promise waiting to be spoken.

Rhea’s pulse stuttered. Her skin tingled beneath the stillness.

Lucian didn’t pull away. He shifted slightly, brushing his mouth across her cheekbone, trailing lower—his breath warm against the shell of her ear.

The slightest shiver ghosted down her spine.

His lips barely grazed her jawline, her collarbone, lingering as if memorizing it. And then, in a hush of a moment, he pressed a whisper of a kiss just beneath her ear. Not urgent. Not asking. Just being there—present, reverent, unspoken.

Rhea exhaled—slow and shaky—as the air between them tightened. Her fingers curled slightly where they rested on the edge of the counter, the world tilting in the quiet.

Lucian didn’t go further. But his closeness, the warmth of his breath against her skin, the way his voice dropped when he finally spoke—it all unraveled her.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, “how easy it is to forget the rest of the world when you’re this close.”

And Rhea, goosebumps rising on her arms, couldn’t help but think the same.

Lucian cleared his throat and stood. “Dance with me.”

She blinked. “There’s no music.”

“There will be,” he said, tapping his phone. A soft song bloomed from the speakers, and her chest tightened when she recognized it.

Beneath Your Beautiful.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“And you’re breathtaking,” he said, offering his hand. “Let me prove it.

-

“I’m terrible at this,” Rhea giggled, a frown tugging at her lips as she missed another step.

Lucian caught her hand and held it gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes never leaving her face—the very face that had melted his defences the day he met her. “Step on my feet.”

Rhea hesitated, then followed his lead, placing her feet gently on top of his, careful not to press too hard. Together, they began to sway, her balance trusting his.

Lucian wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer. He lowered his head until his lips brushed her ear, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin. It wasn’t just a scent—it was memory, warmth, and longing. From this night onward, it would be his favourite fragrance in the world.

Then, with a voice as gentle as falling rain, he began to sing softly:

“Would you let me see beneath your beautiful?

Would you let me see beneath your perfect?”

Each note he whispered stirred something within her that she’d tried so hard to bury—the desire to be seen, fully, without judgment. Her throat tightened, her hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt, and for a heartbeat, she allowed herself to believe—to believe that maybe she deserved something softer.

She opened her eyes again. Lucian was already watching her, his gaze stripped of pretense, full of sincerity and something unspoken—a plea. Slowly, without words, Rhea leaned forward. And as if their hearts had rehearsed this moment a thousand times, Lucian met her halfway.

The kiss was delicate—tender at first. But soon, it deepened, pulled by a gravity neither of them could resist. Their hands explored one another hesitantly, then more urgently, chasing a closeness they weren’t sure they should feel.

Lucian’s fingers traced lazy circles along her spine, not demanding, just memorizing. “I wish I could bottle this moment,” he whispered. “So I can live in it on days you’re not here.”

Rhea felt something inside her crack. She opened her eyes, pulling away slightly to look at him. His gaze caught hers—not hungry, not impatient—but aching. Quietly aching.

She reached up and cupped his face, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. “Lucian…” she started, then faltered.

He leaned into her touch. “You don’t have to explain. I know this isn’t simple.”

Rhea’s lip quivered. She didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not here.

But her heart was a kaleidoscope of contradictions. She wanted to stay—but staying felt dangerous. Every moment she gave to Lucian felt like stealing time from a version of herself she no longer believed in.

“I’m scared,” she confessed, barely audible.

“Of what?” he asked gently.

“That this might become everything I want… and I’ll lose myself in the wanting.”

Lucian exhaled slowly, forehead resting against hers again. “Then let’s not want too hard. Let’s just… be. For now.”

His words melted into her skin, and for a few more bars of the song, she allowed herself to forget. To just sway. To feel.

But reality, like the song’s fading chords, began to creep back in.

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Neither of them moved to check it—but the sound was a cold slap. A reminder that the world outside this moment was still waiting… still demanding.

Rhea drew in a shaky breath, her fingers loosening their grip.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

“I know,” Lucian replied.

“I think... he’s probably wondering why I haven’t come home.”

Lucian’s smile faltered, but he nodded. “Of course.”

She took a step back, then another. The space between them widened, though her heart screamed to close it again. Her arms felt suddenly empty. She didn’t look at him as she grabbed her purse, but when she turned toward the door, she paused.

Rhea turned around slowly, her eyes glistening. “Lucian?”

“Yeah?”

She searched his face. Every part of her wanted to etch him into memory—how his hair curled slightly at the temple, how his shirt clung to his chest, how his eyes held galaxies worth of unspoken dreams.

“If I could meet you again… in another life, with no weights pulling us back... I think I'd choose you first.”

Lucian didn’t speak. He just stepped forward, kissed her knuckles, and rested his forehead there like a prayer. “Then I’d wait through a hundred lifetimes just for that one.”

Rhea turned away quickly, afraid that if she lingered another second, she’d unravel completely. Her heels echoed in the hallway like the closing chords of a song she wasn’t ready to stop playing. As the elevator door slid shut, she leaned against the wall, heart racing, mind spinning.

Lucian remained by the balcony, watching the city lights shimmer against the darkness. He didn’t cry. Not yet. But a part of him—some quiet corner of his soul—believed that maybe, just maybe, the universe had been listening after all.