CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – LUCIAN
The city never slept.
From the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse office, Arden City stretched out like a living, breathing thing.
It was mine — every block, every deal, every shadow.
But tonight, it felt less like an empire and more like a cage.
I shoved the latest file across my desk with a sharp flick of my fingers. Another deal closed. Another victory that felt like nothing.
"Rough night?"
I didn't have to turn to know who it was. Silas stood in the doorway, suit jacket off, tie loosened — looking far too relaxed for this hour.
"Rough five years," I said, my voice dry.
Silas stepped into the office and let the door click shut behind him. He leaned casually on the edge of my desk, the picture of effortless control.
"Your parents are starting to get worried," he said. "Your mother called me last week. Said, and I quote, 'tell my son to stop acting like an iceberg before I drag him home myself.'"
I shot him a flat look.
He only smirked. "Hey, I'm just relaying the message. But she's right. You've been like this since...."
"Don't."
Silas raised a brow but backed off, hands sliding into his pockets. "Fine. I won't say it. But burying yourself in work hasn't made you any lighter, boss."
I crossed to the bar and poured myself a drink, letting the silence stretch.
Five years.
Five years since that night.
Since the hotel room.
Since the chaos.
Since the girl whose name I never knew.
I could still see her.
It didn't matter how many nights had passed, how many glasses of whiskey I drained trying to burn the memory away. She was there. Always there. A shadow in the corners of my mind, a whisper that refused to quiet down.
Her eyes had been hazy but defiant. Like she was standing on the edge of something dangerous but wouldn't back down. They'd locked on mine with a strange kind of clarity, even through the alcohol, even through whatever madness had led both of us there that night.
And her skin God, I could still feel it warm beneath my hands. Too real to be a dream, too fleeting to be anything but a mistake. The way she had clutched at the sheets, white-knuckled, as though they could anchor her, as though she might disappear into the night if she let go.
I hadn't asked her name.
I hadn't told her mine.
There had been no time for that. No words that would have made sense anyway.
That room had been a cocoon, a strange kind of limbo where nothing existed except the two of us. The world outside could have burned to ashes and I wouldn't have cared.
I remember how the air had smelled sharp, mixed with something floral and light that must have been her perfume. It clung to me even after she left. I'd woken up hours later.
I told myself it didn't matter. One night, that's all it was supposed to be. But some nights stay with you. Some nights carve themselves into your chest so deeply you bleed every time you remember them.
And I bled for years.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. The curve of her mouth when she'd tried not to smile. The tension in her shoulders that never quite left, even when she let me touch her. The little gasp she'd made when I kissed the hollow of her throat.
I'd thought it would fade eventually, the way all my memories do. I was wrong.
Instead, it grew sharper. Clearer. Like my mind wanted me to relive every second of that night until I broke.
Since that night, nothing felt right.
Work didn't hold the same fire. The people around me seemed too loud, too fake, too distant. Every woman I looked at wasn't her, which made me ache a little more.
For all I knew, she'd forgotten already, tossed that night into the same place people throw bad decisions and late-night regrets.
But I couldn't erase it.
I tried.
God, I tried.
I buried myself in meetings, in meaningless conversations, in work that kept me busy but never full. I let myself be dragged to parties, surrounded by noise and faces, but all I saw was her.
The girl with the hazy, defiant eyes.
The stranger who'd left with a piece of me I didn't know I could lose.
Sometimes I wonder what I'd do if I saw her again. Would I even recognize her in daylight?
Part of me wants to be angry at her for haunting me like this. For leaving me with nothing but a memory that hurts too much to hold and refuses to let go.
But most of me just wants to see her again, just to make things right, and just to apologize to her, because I knew what I took from her is priceless.
Just once.
To ask her name.
To tell her mine.
To find out if that night was as unforgettable for her as it was for me.
And if it wasn't?
I don't know.
Maybe I just want to stop wondering.
Because ever since that hotel room, ever since that chaos, I haven't been the same.
I'm not sure I want to be.
I could still see her.
Eyes hazy but defiant.
Skin warm beneath my hands.
The way she'd clutched at the sheets, as though they were her last lifeline.
I'd meant to protect her. Instead, I'd been dragged into the same nightmare she had been forced into.
And when it was over, when I left that room, I was no longer the same man.
"You know," Silas said lightly, "most men in your position would deal with this by buying a fast car or finding a pretty distraction. You, on the other hand, seem determined to buy the entire city. Not judging. Just saying."
I downed the drink and set the glass down with a sharp click.
"Control," I said simply.
Silas tilted his head. "Still chasing it after all these years?"
"Always," I said, turning back to the window.
Arden City glittered below me, a perfect kingdom but tonight, I felt it.
A shift in the air.
Like the city was holding its breath.
Like something was coming.
And for the first time in five years, I didn't know if I was ready.