IN BLACK AND WHITE, WE BURN
1198 Words
Evening arrived gently, draped in amber light that slipped through the living room windows and softened the edges of the house. Martin returned not long after sunset, shrugging off his jacket as he stepped inside, the faint tiredness of the day still clinging to him. Dinner was already laid out—simple, warm, familiar. It felt strangely ceremonial, as if something fragile but precious had been restored without anyone naming it.
They sat around the dining table together. Plates clinked softly. Cutlery moved in easy rhythms. Conversation flowed without effort, drifting from one harmless topic to another—traffic, work frustrations, an old memory Martin brought up that made Even laugh louder than she expected.
Lucy was in a rare mood—sarcastic, sharp, alive. She tossed remarks casually, her timing perfect, her delivery effortless. Each joke landed cleanly, pulling laughter from Martin and Even alike. For the first time in a long while, the house felt full. Not tense. Not heavy. Just… warm.
“You know,” Lucy said at one point, tilting her head thoughtfully, “If sarcasm were a paid profession, I’d already be retired on a private island.”
Martin laughed, shaking his head. “You’d still complain about the sand.”
"Of course," Lucy replied smoothly. It would be touching my feet without consent.
Even laughed into her drink.
Lucy’s hand moved then—light, casual—resting on Even’s shoulder as she leaned closer, as if sharing the space naturally belonged to her. Her fingers pressed just slightly, grounding, deliberate.
“And some people,” Lucy added, voice silk-smooth, “have a habit of pretending they’re not affected when they very clearly are.”
Her thumb brushed once against Even’s shoulder.
The words meant nothing on the surface. Martin didn’t react at all—he was too busy laughing, too absorbed in the moment to notice anything beneath it.
But Even froze.
Heat crept up her neck. Her heart skipped, then stumbled. Lucy didn’t look at her. She didn’t need to.
Even swallowed, forcing a smile that felt a little too tight.
Lucy withdrew her hand calmly, as if she hadn’t just tilted the ground beneath Even’s feet.
Then Lucy’s phone rang.
She glanced at the screen, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Louis.”
She accepted the video call, angling the phone so all three of them were visible. Louis’s face appeared—bright-eyed, smiling, the soft glow of evening light behind him.
“Lucy!” he said warmly. “Finally. I thought you’d forgotten about me.”
Lucy smiled, genuine and relaxed. “Never. Time zones just hate us.”
Louis greeted Martin with easy familiarity, then Even, who waved politely. He launched into conversation effortlessly, asking Lucy about the company, recent developments, how she was holding up.
“I’m managing,” Lucy said. “Busy. Focused.”
He nodded knowingly. “Have you found what you were looking for?”
Lucy didn’t answer immediately.
She looked at Even.
Just for a second—but it was enough.
“Yes,” Lucy said calmly, certainty threading through her voice. “I have.”
Louis smiled. “I thought so.”
The conversation shifted. Lucy asked about her mother—about how she was doing. Louis sighed lightly.
“She’s fine,” he said. “Still stubborn. Still convinced you’ll change your mind about marrying a tycoon for business. She thinks you’ll come back one day when you realize she’s only doing it for your own good.”
Lucy’s expression changed.
The warmth drained from her face, replaced by something colder, sharper.The room seemed to notice.
She straightened subtly, composure settling over her like armor. “Tell her,” Lucy said evenly, “that I’m not coming back until she changes her mind.”
Louis nodded, unsurprised. “I will.”
They exchanged goodbyes, warmth returning briefly, and the call ended.
Silence followed.
Not the comfortable kind.
Lucy sat still, gaze unfocused, her presence suddenly distant. The energy at the table shifted, the earlier lightness dissolving.
Martin cleared his throat. “Well—” he said, forcing a grin, “to change the mood… there’s a party tomorrow. Contract signing. Celebrating the team. I was hoping you’d both come.”
Lucy blinked, refocusing. “A party?”
“Black and white theme,” Martin added. “Formal, but not stiff.”
Even’s eyes lit up immediately. “There’s a dress code?”
Martin laughed. “Of course you’d ask that.”
Stylists would be coming the next day. Even became animated, already talking about silhouettes, colors, possibilities. The mood slowly lifted, conversation finding its way back to safer ground.
Eventually, they dispersed for the night.
Morning came too quickly.
Martin left before breakfast, already dressed, already focused—needed at the venue early. The stylists arrived mid-morning, carrying garment bags and confidence. Even was fully invested, trying on pieces, turning before mirrors, asking for opinions.
Lucy observed quietly, selecting with precision.
By afternoon, choices were made.
Lucy emerged first.
She wore a tailored black suit—sharp lines, effortless authority. A white T-shirt softened it, white sneakers grounding the look. The first three buttons of the shirt were undone, the collarbone exposed, skin catching the light. Her black layered hair was slicked back, a few strands falling deliberately across her forehead.
She looked dangerous.
Even stepped out moments later.
Her dress was long, black, backless—elegant and fluid, hugging her petite frame perfectly. Her hair was tied into a neat bun, soft strands framing her face. White heels completed the look.
She looked beautiful.
They froze when they saw each other.
Lucy smiled first.
She walked over slowly, eyes tracing Even with open appreciation. “You look…” she paused, choosing the word carefully, “…distracting.”
Even flushed. “You look unfair.”
Lucy laughed softly. “That’s my brand.”
They left together.
The venue shimmered—black and white everywhere, lights glinting off polished surfaces. When they entered side by side, conversation faltered. Eyes followed them.
They found Martin, exchanged greetings, took drinks. Lucy was quickly drawn into conversations—business people, investors, admirers. Some flirted openly. Some subtly.
Even watched.
Lucy was magnetic. There was no denying it.
Martin noticed too, jaw tightening slightly, though he tried to hide it.
At one point, someone leaned close to Lucy, smiling a little too boldly. Even felt heat flare in her chest—sharp, undeniable.
Lucy felt it.
She excused herself smoothly and returned to Even’s side, leaning in. “You look like you’re about to set something on fire.”
Even scoffed. “I’m fine.”
Lucy smiled knowingly.
They laughed together, tension easing.
Nearby, a man nudged Martin. “If you want her, propose fast. Women like that don’t stay single.”
Martin shrugged it off. “Lucy doesn’t date.”
The man smirked. “Maybe. But the way she looks at her?” He nodded toward Even. “Be careful.”
Martin laughed it off.
He didn’t see the way Lucy’s hand found Even’s back.
Or the way Even leaned into it.
Some truths were already written.
Even if no one had said them out loud yet.
- Writer
