Chapter 7
475 Words
Lucien didn’t speak to me all morning.
Not cold. Just... unreadable.
He moved like a man walking through a memory he hadn’t invited. Everything was precision. Detached. Surgical.
When I reached for his tie, he didn’t lean in like he usually did.
He just stared.
“You’re spiraling,” I said flatly.
He looked at me—like he almost didn’t recognize me.
And then the phone rang.
---
Lucien answered. Listened.
His eyes didn’t blink once.
Then he said one word.
“Where?”
He didn’t speak to me when he left.
But he didn’t slam the door either.
That scared me more.
---
I didn’t know she was coming until security buzzed.
“She asked for Mr. Blackthorne,” the man said. “She’s listed on his permanent clearance file.”
My stomach twisted.
I pressed the intercom.
“Name?”
The woman’s voice came through, sharp and smooth.
“Genevieve Morgan.”
I didn’t recognize the name. But something in my gut did.
I told security to send her up.
I wanted to see what kind of woman haunted Lucien’s shadows.
---
Genevieve was... stunning.
Tall. Sculpted. Perfect in that expensive, cold way that didn’t belong to humans.
She stepped into the penthouse like she still owned it.
And maybe, once, she had.
“You must be Aria,” she said, not bothering to look impressed.
“And you’re the ghost,” I replied, cool.
Her smile was all teeth.
“So he told you about me.”
“He didn’t have to,” I lied. “You wear your regrets well.”
---
I saw it when she left.
A small velvet box tucked behind the vase on the kitchen counter. She must’ve slipped it there before walking out like the queen she still believed she was.
I opened it.
It held a diamond.
Massive. Clean. Cold.
Not new.
Not for me.
The box was worn.
Lucien had once been engaged.
And he had never told me.
---
He didn’t flinch when he saw me with the box in hand.
Just poured a drink. Downed it in one.
“She stopped by,” I said.
“I know.”
“She still loves you.”
“I’m aware.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me about her because...?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because she doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m wearing her ring in your bed?”
---
He didn’t apologize.
Lucien Blackthorne never apologized.
But he crossed the room. Took the ring box from me. Set it down gently, like it might explode.
Then looked me dead in the eyes and said—
“She left when I broke. You came when I was dangerous. That’s the difference.”
It wasn’t enough.
But it was something.
And it changed everything.
- Writer
