The Velvet Heat

Not yours, not his

Not Yours, Not His

Eve

I should’ve stayed in.

Should’ve curled up in Lena’s spare screening room with wine and a blanket and a dumb romantic comedy—something with no real stakes, no real people, and definitely no Harrington siblings.

Instead, I let Lena talk me into a dinner.

Casual, she said. Just some of her friends. A little wine, a little fun, a little flirting. What could go wrong?

Apparently everything.

Because now I’m sitting at an absurdly long dining table in the Harrington guest house—yes, they have a separate house for hosting—and some guy named Theo is sitting next to me, charming in that way people always are when they know they look good in a blazer. He’s sweet. Funny, even. A little loud. But he’s not him.

I try.

God, I really do.

I try to smile. I even laugh at Theo’s joke about being allergic to shellfish and rich people, which honestly? Fair. I let myself pretend, for one breath, that I’m normal. That I can want someone else. That I didn’t kiss Lucien Harrington in the dark like my life depended on it.

And then the front door opens.

And I stop breathing.

Lucien steps inside like he owns the goddamn air.

All black. Button-down, sleeves rolled. Hair still damp like he didn’t bother to finish styling it. He looks expensive and effortless and untouchable—and his eyes land on me like a threat.

The moment he sees me beside Theo, his entire expression darkens.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away.

He just stares—like Theo’s existence offends him. Like sitting next to me makes him a target.

He slides his gaze to Theo’s hand on the back of my chair, and his jaw clenches. I swear, if looks could kill, Theo would already be in a casket.

I look away. My skin is burning. My heart is stupid.

Lena beams. “Lucien! Didn’t think you’d show.”

He shrugs. “Was in the mood for wine.”

He wasn’t invited. I know that. He just… showed up. Like he knew exactly what I’d be wearing—black, backless, low-cut—and needed to punish me for it.

He takes a seat across from me, angled just enough to keep me in his peripheral vision. Not looking at me, but very aware I’m here.

And then he does it.

NOW ENTERING LUCIEN’S POV

Lucien

You’re not supposed to be here.

I wasn’t supposed to see you tonight.

But there you are—slouched at the long dinner table like you belong in a magazine spread, wearing a black dress that does nothing to hide how devastating you are. Legs crossed. Lips painted. Your eyes like loaded weapons.

And worse?

You’re smiling at him.

Theo. f*****g Theo.

I know his type. Polished charm, empty grin, good grades, safe hands. Exactly the kind of guy a girl tells her friends she wants while secretly craving someone like me. Someone who doesn’t follow rules. Someone who wants to ruin her carefully controlled world just to hear her say his name.

I watch your mouth move as you talk to him. I watch your lashes flutter, your fingers toy with the rim of your glass. You’re doing that thing where you act interested, even though you’re half a second from vanishing behind your eyes.

I know you.

And I know you’re trying to forget me.

So I make sure you don’t.

“Hey,” I say to Hailey—Lena’s friend. The one who’s been trying to get my attention since junior year. The one who once drunkenly told me she “dreamed about choking on my name.”

I never touched her.

Never planned to.

But tonight?

Tonight I do what I have to.

“You look good,” I say, voice dropping into that tone I know makes girls lean in. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Her eyes light up like it’s Christmas. “You too. I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Oh, I remember a lot of things,” I say, slow—just before I let my gaze flick toward you.

It’s only a second. But it’s enough.

You stiffen.

You break eye contact with Theo. Your fingers curl tight around your wine glass, and for one beautiful, awful moment, you look like you might stand up, storm across the table, and tear me apart.

And God, I want you to.

Because this is all I know how to do.

Push.

Punish.

Pull you close by making you burn.

I look away from you and back to Hailey. She’s saying something, laughing too hard. I nod like I care. I let my hand graze her wrist as I reach for my glass, and I don’t miss the way your jaw clenches across the table.

But here’s the truth no one sees:

I don’t want her.

I never wanted her.

I want you.

But you kissed me like you meant it and then ran. You looked at me like I was the only thing in the world for three perfect seconds… and then you disappeared into guilt like it would save you.

So yeah. Maybe this is petty.

Maybe this is cruel.

But you broke something in me when you said we can’t.

And now I want to see how long you can keep pretending you don’t want to come back.

Because I know what your mouth tastes like when you stop pretending.

I know the way your body fits against mine when you finally let go.

And no matter what you say—no matter who’s sitting next to you—you want me.

Just like I want you.