CHAPTER 3: Too Close to Breathe
1220 Words
Seren didn’t sleep that night.
How could she?
Every time she closed her eyes, the painting came back.
The layers.
The hidden mark.
That unsettling feeling that it was… waiting.
For her.
She turned on her bed, pulling the thin blanket tighter around herself.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
But what bothered her more than the painting…
Was him.
Lucas Deveraux.
The way he looked at her—like he was trying to read something she didn’t even know existed.
The way his voice dropped when he said her name.
The way he stood too close.
Too controlled.
Too dangerous.
Seren exhaled sharply and sat up.
“Get a grip,” she muttered.
This wasn’t about him.
It was about the opportunity.
The commission.
The answers.
And yet—
Her pulse betrayed her.
The next morning came too quickly.
Seren found herself back in the mansion before she could even talk herself out of it.
The same silence greeted her.
The same controlled air.
But this time…
It felt different.
Like she had crossed something the moment she stepped into that room yesterday.
“Miss Wilde.”
Her body reacted before her mind did.
She turned.
Lucas stood at the far end of the hallway, as composed as ever.
Dark suit. Perfect posture.
Unreadable expression.
But his eyes—
His eyes were already on her.
Watching.
Waiting.
“Lucas,” she corrected, more quietly this time.
Something flickered in his gaze.
Approval?
Maybe.
“Walk with me,” he said.
Not a request.
Seren hesitated for half a second.
Then followed.
They moved side by side through the long corridor.
Close enough that she could feel his presence.
Not touching.
But almost.
It was… distracting.
Seren kept her eyes forward, refusing to look at him.
“You didn’t leave,” he said after a moment.
She frowned slightly. “Was I supposed to?”
“Most people would have.”
“Well,” she shrugged lightly, “I’m not most people.”
“I’ve noticed.”
There was something in his tone.
Low.
Measured.
That made her stomach tighten.
They reached a wider space—another gallery, but more open this time. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting gold across the polished floors.
Seren exhaled softly.
It was beautiful.
“You’re distracted,” Lucas said.
Her head snapped toward him. “I’m not.”
He raised a brow.
“You didn’t even look at the painting on your left.”
She glanced quickly—and froze.
Her breath hitched.
“That’s—” she stepped closer. “That’s an original.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you have any idea how rare—”
“I do.”
Seren turned to him, half-annoyed, half-amazed. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he said calmly, stepping closer, “you’re still here.”
Her breath caught.
Because now—
He was too close.
Closer than before.
Close enough that she could see the faint tension in his jaw. The subtle rise and fall of his chest.
Close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly just to meet his gaze.
“You keep doing that,” she murmured.
“Doing what?”
“This,” she gestured faintly between them. “Standing too close like it doesn’t affect anything.”
His eyes darkened.
“And does it affect you?”
The question landed.
Sharp.
Direct.
Seren swallowed.
“Should it?” she shot back.
A dangerous pause followed.
Then—
Lucas reached out.
Her breath stilled.
His hand hovered for a second—
Before gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face.
The touch was light.
Barely there.
But it sent a shock straight through her.
Seren froze.
Her heart betraying her again.
“You’re trembling,” he said quietly.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary.
Then slowly—
Too slowly—
He let his hand drop.
But the space between them didn’t grow.
If anything—
It tightened.
Seren inhaled slowly, trying to steady herself.
“This is unprofessional,” she said.
Lucas tilted his head slightly. “You think this is about professionalism?”
“What else would it be?”
His gaze held hers.
Unwavering.
“Control.”
Her breath hitched.
“Yours,” he continued softly, “is slipping.”
Seren felt heat rise to her cheeks.
“I’m perfectly in control.”
“Are you?”
He stepped closer again.
Now there was barely any space left between them.
She could feel the warmth of him.
The quiet intensity.
The pull.
“Then prove it,” he murmured.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
This was insane.
She should step back.
She should say something.
She should—
Not this.
Not him.
And yet—
She didn’t move.
Lucas studied her face.
Like he was memorizing it.
Like he was waiting.
For her to break.
“For someone who claims to be honest,” he said softly, “you’re very good at pretending.”
Seren’s breath caught.
“Pretending what?”
“That this doesn’t affect you.”
Her lips parted slightly.
But no words came out.
Because the truth?
It did.
It affected her more than she wanted to admit.
More than she understood.
And somehow—
He knew.
“Why me?” she asked suddenly.
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Lucas stilled.
“For the commission,” she clarified, her voice quieter now. “Out of all the artists you could’ve chosen… why me?”
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Then—
“Because you see what others don’t.”
Seren frowned slightly.
“That’s not enough reason.”
“It is for me.”
Her eyes searched his.
“You’re lying.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Not denial.
Something deeper.
More dangerous.
Lucas reached out again—
This time, not her hair.
Her wrist.
His fingers wrapped around it—firm, but not painful.
Just enough to hold.
To stop her from stepping away.
Seren’s breath caught sharply.
“Lucas—”
“Feel that?” he murmured.
Her heart was racing.
Wild.
Uncontrolled.
“Let go,” she said, but it came out softer than she intended.
His grip tightened—just slightly.
“Not yet.”
Her pulse spiked.
“This isn’t a game.”
“No,” he said quietly.
“It’s not.”
Their eyes locked.
And for a moment—
Everything else disappeared.
The mansion.
The paintings.
The silence.
All of it faded.
Leaving just—
This.
Then suddenly—
Lucas released her.
Just like that.
As if nothing had happened.
Seren staggered back half a step, her breath uneven.
“What was that?” she demanded.
He turned away.
Composed again.
Controlled.
Like he hadn’t just—
“That,” he said calmly, “was a distraction.”
Her jaw tightened.
“From what?”
Lucas glanced at her over his shoulder.
His expression unreadable once more.
“From what you’re about to uncover.”
A chill ran down her spine.
Because suddenly—
This didn’t feel like flirting anymore.
It felt like something else.
Something deeper.
More dangerous.
And somehow—
She was already too involved to walk away.
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