wolves don't fall in love
1074 Words
Lucien never truly slept.
He shut his eyes. He rested his body. But his mind?
That never turned off.
Too many dead men had made the mistake of relaxing in this city. Of thinking the night meant peace. But in New Rosetta, the darkness didn’t rest. It hunted.
And tonight, it hunted him.
His father’s empire was a decaying skeleton, and someone was sawing off the bones.
The leak Ariadne had come to investigate wasn’t random. It had precision. Timing. A signature.
It had Delano’s scent all over it.
Lucien stood on the balcony of his high-rise, watching the skyline burn in amber light. The city looked quiet. Beautiful even. But beauty in this city was always a lie.
His phone buzzed once.
Ariadne.
> Drive cam footage cross-checked. Port breach occurred 3:07 a.m. Delivery van ID traced to fake registration. Plate registered to a shell company under your name. Inside job confirmed.
Another buzz.
> I’m sending a name. One of your own.
Lucien stared at the message for a long time.
She worked fast. Too fast.
Too clean.
He didn’t reply.
He simply closed the phone and walked back inside.
---
Elsewhere — 1:12 AM.
Ariadne stood in the shadow of a derelict warehouse, watching two men beat a third half to death.
Her contact, a lanky hacker named Griggs, stood beside her, smoking.
“You sure D’Arco won’t trace this back to you?” Griggs asked.
“I’m not stupid,” she replied. “The name I gave him leads to someone expendable. Low-level muscle. Loyal enough to die for the family—but dirty enough to believe he deserved a cut.”
Griggs snorted. “That’s cold.”
“No,” she said. “It’s calculated.”
Griggs took a drag. “You’re getting too close to him.”
Ariadne stiffened. “I’m not.”
“You’re lying to yourself.”
“I’m doing what needs to be done.”
“He killed your brother.”
She went still.
Griggs dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his boot. “Just don’t forget who he is.”
“I haven’t,” she said coldly. “But he has.”
---
Later That Morning — Lucien’s Private Gym
Lucien’s fists slammed into the bag with precision. Each punch was controlled rage—deliberate, focused. He wasn’t venting.
He was training.
The leak had been plugged. The traitor—Vico—was taken alive. For now.
But Ariadne’s name still rang in his head.
How did she find that trail so easily?
He’d had teams searching for a week, and she solved it in one night.
Lucien stepped back from the bag and grabbed a towel. Nico leaned against the wall behind him, arms crossed.
“I don’t like her,” Nico said.
“You don’t like anyone.”
“She’s hiding something.”
“We all are.”
“Boss, she didn’t just guess Vico’s name. She led you right to him.”
“And?”
“She’s too polished. Too controlled. No past. No fingerprints. She walked into this world like she was born for it.”
Lucien didn’t argue.
Instead, he said, “Surveil her. Discreetly. I want everything.”
“You trust her?”
“I trust what people do more than what they say.”
---
That Night — Club Verona
The lounge was packed. Low lighting, velvet booths, thick music. Lucien sat in a private corner, surrounded by ghosts. Men who smiled too easily. Women with eyes like weapons.
Ariadne walked in like she owned the floor.
Hair slicked back. Black dress, slit high. No jewelry. No distractions.
Lucien watched her cross the room, every step a calculated weapon. She didn’t ask before sitting across from him.
“You didn’t respond to my messages,” she said.
“I had things to think about.”
“I gave you a name.”
“You gave me a man I already suspected.”
“Then you’re welcome.”
He poured two glasses of bourbon. Handed her one.
Their fingers touched. Brief. Electric.
“You don’t play like someone new to this game,” he said.
She sipped without answering.
Lucien leaned in. “I ran your name through three international systems. Nothing came up.”
“I’m careful.”
“No, you’re built.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You were made for this world. But not recently.”
Ariadne held his gaze. “What are you trying to say?”
“I think you’re not who you say you are. And I think I don’t care.”
Her breath caught.
Lucien leaned closer, his voice dropping. “But I also think if you lie to me again… I will find out.”
A pause. Her lips parted. Not from fear. From something hotter. Darker.
“Do you always threaten women you want?” she whispered.
Lucien’s voice was gravel. “Only the dangerous ones.”
Then, silence. Electric.
He didn’t kiss her.
He didn’t have to.
The want was enough to blister.
And then he stood.
“Walk with me,” he said.
She rose without hesitation.
---
Rooftop — 11:22 PM
City lights bathed them in gold. The rooftop was private. Untouched.
Lucien walked to the edge, staring at the skyline like it whispered secrets.
Ariadne stood behind him, arms crossed. “This city looks cleaner from up here.”
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s just wearing makeup.”
She smiled. “You sound bitter.”
“I sound realistic.”
He turned. Looked at her.
"You're not afraid of me," he said.
"I should be."
"But you're not."
"No."
He stepped forward. "Why?"
She tilted her head. “Because fear requires distance. And you keep closing the gap.”
Lucien’s hand reached up—brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
“What’s your real name?” he asked.
Her heart stuttered.
He leaned in, close enough to smell the vanilla smoke of her skin. “Tell me.”
Ariadne whispered, “Would you kill me if you knew?”
Lucien smiled. Dark. Dangerous. “No. But I’d never let you leave.”
And then—
He kissed her.
Hard. Deep. Like he was claiming something already his.
Ariadne kissed back.
Because hatred and hunger sometimes spoke the same language.
Because ghosts don’t feel warmth unless they steal it.
Because revenge tastes like a man you once loved… and almost forgot.
- Writer
