The evening air was heavy with the scent of rain. The city lights shimmered in puddles across the cobblestones, and Elena pulled her coat tighter as she walked away from Damian’s mansion. The night’s dinner had ended with another argument—his temper flashing, his words sharp but coated in charm that almost convinced her to stay. Almost.
She needed distance. A moment to think.
Her heels clicked against the wet pavement until a voice stopped her.
“Elena.”
She turned sharply. Lucas stood a few feet away, half-hidden beneath a flickering streetlamp. His face looked worn, tired—haunted. She hadn’t seen him since the gala weeks ago, where he’d warned her to be careful around Damian. Back then, she’d dismissed him as a jealous stranger. Now, with Damian’s recent coldness and strange absences,
