The morning light slipped lazily through the gaps in the heavy curtains of Ivy's room, casting soft gold onto the floor. She stirred slowly, her thoughts heavy from the night before. The dreams were a blur, but the ache in her chest was sharp and clear. She sighed, sitting up in bed and letting the silence wrap around her like a shroud.
She went through her routine with precision — brushing her hair into a messy ponytail, tying her boots tightly, slipping into her usual loose-fitting hoodie and cargo pants. It was her armor. Baggy clothes, firm steps, sharp eyes. If she looked untouchable, maybe she'd feel untouchable.
She didn't see Lucian when she stepped out of her room. Good. She preferred it that way. Their last interaction had left something unspoken lingering in the air — something she didn't want to name. And so she passed through the halls quietly, keeping her eyes ahead and her footsteps light.
Dinner was unusually quiet that evening.
Victor was absent, and Adrian, for once, wasn't there to fill the silence with his easy charm and teasing remarks. Ivy sat at the long dining table, not at the far end, but not near Lucian either — somewhere respectfully in the middle. The maids served the courses as usual, and the clinking of cutlery echoed with awkward sharpness.
Lucian glanced at her briefly, noting the return of her tomboy attire. The hoodie swallowed her form again, hiding the elegance he'd glimpsed just days ago. His jaw twitched, not in annoyance, but in something closer to… curiosity. Or was it disappointment?
She hadn't said more than two words since she sat. "Thank you," to the maid. "Water," to herself. Lucian let it pass at first, assuming her quietness was due to Adrian's absence. But when their hands both reached for a plate of roasted vegetables and her fingers jerked away the moment they brushed his, something shifted in him.
He stilled.
His hand paused on the serving spoon, but he didn't look at her immediately. When he did — subtly, from the corner of his eye — Ivy had already picked up her fork and was chewing absentmindedly, eyes locked on her plate.
Lucian narrowed his gaze slightly. That wasn't the Ivy he knew. The Ivy he knew would have either thrown a sarcastic comment or acted indifferent altogether. But this... this was avoidance. Deliberate. Intentional. And it rubbed at him.
She didn't even look his way through the rest of the meal. Her posture was rigid, her voice nonexistent. When she finished eating, she stood with practiced grace and muttered, "Excuse me," before disappearing down the hallway.
Lucian remained at the table, watching her retreating figure with something unreadable in his eyes. He didn't call out to her. He didn't stop her.
But his mind... his mind wouldn't let it go.
Something was wrong.
And for the first time in a long while, that thought bothered him more than he expected.
Sure! Here's the *scene where Lucian confronts Ivy*, keeping the atmosphere taut with restrained emotions, quiet intensity, and unspoken tension:
---
Lucian didn't go after her immediately. He waited.
He finished his wine in silence, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the empty hallway Ivy had vanished into. Something about her silence gnawed at him — not in the usual way that things bothered him, but deeper. Sharper. Like a splinter under his skin.
Eventually, he stood. Calmly. Deliberately.
The hallways of the villa were quiet at night, the soft hum of security systems the only sound. He knew where she'd gone — not to the guest lounge, not outside. Ivy always returned to her room when she wanted to hide.
He reached her door and knocked once — not hard, but firm.
No response.
Lucian didn't wait long. He opened the door gently.
She was by the window, arms crossed, still in that oversized hoodie and cargo pants, silhouetted by the moonlight slipping through the curtains. She didn't turn when he entered.
Lucian closed the door behind him.
"You've been quiet," he said flatly, stepping further into the room.
Ivy didn't move.
"Is it Adrian's absence?" he asked, watching her closely. "Or something else?"
Still, silence.
Lucian's voice lowered, almost dangerously soft. "If this is about last night, say it." (in the market)
Finally, she turned slightly, eyes shadowed but guarded. "It's nothing."
He narrowed his eyes. "That's the most dishonest thing you've said all week."
Her jaw clenched. "Why does it matter to you?"
The question struck harder than it should have. Lucian didn't respond immediately. His gaze moved to her posture — defensive. Distant. As if he was the enemy.
He took a step closer, voice cool but quiet. "Because I notice things, Ivy. And you've been avoiding me since this morning."
She looked away, arms tightening across her chest. "Not everything needs to be explained."
Lucian stared at her for a moment longer, then spoke, softer now, almost carefully. "You're not obligated to speak. But don't lie."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and taut. Ivy's shoulders slowly dropped, her face showing a flicker of vulnerability before she quickly masked it again.
"I just need space," she finally said, her voice lower now. "That's all."
Lucian studied her for a long moment. Then, simply nodded. "Fine. I'll give it to you."
He turned to leave but paused at the door. Without turning back, he added, "But space doesn't mean silence, Ivy. We're in this together."
And with that, he left — leaving Ivy alone again, but this time, with more than her own thoughts haunting her.