Chapter Seven: Beneath the Surface
680 Words
Lucien didn’t come to her the next day.
No notes. No glances. No footsteps outside her door.
Aria told herself she was relieved.
She was lying.
The silence pressed on her like a weight. She read half a novel without remembering a single word. She opened her journal, but the blank page mocked her. For the first time, she had nothing to say.
Nothing she could put into words without unraveling.
So she explored.
The halls beyond the west wing were quiet, less patrolled. She found herself drawn toward a set of iron double doors she hadn’t noticed before. When she pressed, they creaked open slowly.
A pool.
Underground. Secluded. Lined with obsidian tile and lit by underwater lights that shimmered blue and gold.
She stepped inside cautiously. The air was warm and humid, and the silence here was deeper—almost sacred.
And there, on the stone bench by the far end of the pool, sat Lucien.
He didn’t look surprised to see her.
He wore black swim trunks, his body lean and honed. Scarred. The kind of body that told stories without needing to speak.
Aria stopped at the edge of the water.
“Breaking your habit of stalking me from a distance?” she said.
Lucien smirked. “You’re the one who walked in on me this time.”
“You knew I would,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“I hoped you would.”
He stood, slow and deliberate, water dripping from his chest. Her gaze faltered—just for a second—and she cursed herself for noticing the V-line that disappeared beneath his waistband.
“You swim?” he asked.
“I used to. College pool. When I needed to think.”
“Then think here.”
Lucien walked past her and placed a neatly folded towel on a chaise, then turned his back—offering privacy. A rare, deliberate gesture.
She could’ve walked away.
She should’ve.
Instead, she untied her robe, letting it fall to the floor. Beneath, she wore a black one-piece swimsuit—simple, modest, still clinging like second skin. She stepped into the water without hesitation.
It was warm silk. Enveloping. Quieting.
Lucien didn’t turn until she reached the middle of the pool.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment, everything changed.
He dove in without a word, slicing through the water like a shadow. When he surfaced, he was inches from her—close enough to feel his breath, to see the droplets clinging to his lashes.
Neither of them moved.
Then—his hand brushed hers under the water.
Not grabbing. Not claiming.
Just touching.
A question.
Aria didn’t pull away.
She let their fingers tangle, their breath rise in unison. Her body drifted closer, as if pulled by some gravity too old to question.
His other hand lifted slowly, tracing her collarbone with the back of his knuckles.
She gasped softly, not from fear—but from how tender it felt. How careful he was.
“You want to know who I am,” he said quietly, voice thick with restraint. “But you keep pushing me to the edge.”
“I’m not afraid of the edge,” she replied.
“You should be.” His mouth hovered near her throat now. “Because I don’t know if I’ll stop once I fall.”
His fingers trailed down her spine underwater, sending shivers through her.
She raised her face to his. Their mouths brushed—just a whisper of a kiss. Her heart slammed in her chest.
But then she pulled back.
“No,” she said, her voice breathless. “Not yet.”
Lucien’s eyes burned—but he nodded.
“As you wish.”
He let go of her hand and pushed back through the water, disappearing beneath the surface.
When he came up at the far end of the pool, he didn’t look back.
And Aria, floating in the quiet ripples he left behind, realized something terrifying.
She didn’t want to stop anymore.
She wanted to see what happened if he didn’t.
- Writer
