The Grip That Shouldn’t Exist
747 Words
The room remained quiet.
Too quiet.
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Isolde focused on her notes, though her thoughts weren’t entirely there.
She could still feel his gaze.
Steady. Unmoving.
Watching her in a way that made it hard to forget he was there.
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“…You’re not in pain,” she said softly, more to confirm it to herself than to him.
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Lucian didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
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Because his attention had shifted.
Not away from her—
But deeper.
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A sudden noise broke the stillness.
Footsteps.
Fast. Uneven.
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Before Isolde could react—
The door burst open.
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A man stumbled inside.
Breathing hard.
Clutching his side.
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“Help—please—”
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Isolde froze for only a second before instinct took over.
“Sir, you shouldn’t be—”
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He reached her before she could finish.
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His hand shot out—
Grabbing her wrist.
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Tight.
Too tight.
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“Please,” he said again, his voice breaking. “I—I need help… I can’t pay but I—please—just treat me…”
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Isolde’s breath hitched.
The grip hurt.
---
“I—It’s okay,” she said quickly, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm. “You need to let go first—”
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But he didn’t.
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His fingers tightened instead.
Desperate.
Afraid.
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“I heard about you,” he rushed out. “You help people—you don’t turn them away—please—”
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Her eyes stung.
Not from fear alone—
But from the pressure.
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“I will help you,” she said softly, almost pleading now. “Just… please, you’re hurting me…”
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Her voice wavered at the end.
Barely holding together.
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And that was when—
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Lucian stood.
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Slowly.
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The air in the room changed instantly.
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He didn’t raise his voice.
Didn’t rush forward.
Didn’t show urgency.
---
But something about him—
Shifted.
---
Cold.
---
His gaze fell to the man’s hand.
Wrapped around her wrist.
---
Too tight.
Too familiar.
Too close.
---
Something dark flickered in his eyes.
Gone just as quickly as it appeared.
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“…Let go.”
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The words were quiet.
Controlled.
---
But they carried weight.
---
The man froze.
Not because of the words—
But because of the tone.
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Slowly…
Reluctantly…
His grip loosened.
---
Isolde pulled her hand back immediately, cradling her wrist instinctively.
Her eyes were slightly watery now.
Not crying—
But close.
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Lucian noticed.
Of course he did.
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His gaze lingered there for half a second longer than necessary.
---
Then returned to the man.
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“You want treatment,” Lucian said calmly.
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The man nodded quickly.
“Yes—yes, I just—”
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Lucian stepped closer.
One step.
That was all it took.
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The man instinctively stepped back.
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“Then stand properly,” Lucian continued. “And ask without touching what isn’t yours.”
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Silence.
---
The words weren’t loud.
But they landed.
---
The man swallowed.
“I—I’m sorry…”
---
Isolde quickly stepped in, her voice still soft despite everything.
“It’s okay,” she said gently. “You’re hurt. Let me take a look.”
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Lucian’s gaze shifted to her.
---
Still kind.
Still the same.
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Even now.
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The man hesitated—but didn’t reach for her again.
This time, he stayed still.
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Isolde moved closer, carefully examining his injury.
Her hands were steady now.
Professional.
Focused.
---
But her wrist still throbbed slightly.
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Lucian noticed that too.
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He said nothing.
Did nothing.
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And yet—
The space around him felt… dangerous.
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Not chaotic.
Not violent.
---
Controlled.
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As if something had been decided—
Quietly.
Irrevocably.
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Isolde finished the initial check, letting out a small breath.
“You’ll be okay,” she said softly.
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The man nodded, relief washing over his face.
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But behind her—
Lucian’s gaze remained fixed.
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Not on the man.
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But on her wrist.
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On the faint mark left behind.
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And in that moment—
Something in him settled.
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Not anger.
Not quite.
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Something colder.
Something quieter.
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Something far more dangerous.
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Because now—
He knew one thing for certain.
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He didn’t like seeing her touched by anyone else.
- Writer
