Seraphina's Point Of View
It had been two days.
Two days since I landed in a city that didn't know me, didn't know my past, didn't know the pieces of me I'd left bleeding somewhere else.
Two days of unpacking, arranging, rearranging, pretending the silence of my new apartment didn't echo too loudly at night.
Two days of waking up disoriented, reaching for a phone that didn't buzz anymore, reminding myself that this was the point.
A fresh start.
This morning, I stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary.
My reflection stared back at me, composed, polished, unfamiliar. Hair sleek. Makeup minimal but sharp. The kind of face people trusted in boardrooms. The kind that didn't reveal cracks easily.
"You've got this," I whispered to myself, gripping the edge of the sink.
The words felt rehearsed. But I needed them anyway.
The headquarters towered over the street when I arrived… glass and steel, tall enough to make you feel small if you let it. I didn't. I stepped out of the car, adjusted my blazer, and inhaled deeply.
This was mine.
I walked through the revolving doors, the cool air brushing against my skin. The lobby buzzed with quiet efficiency… heels clicking, low conversations, keyboards tapping somewhere behind sleek desks.
The receptionist looked up and smiled immediately.
"Good morning."
"Good morning," I replied. "I'm Seraphina Elise Vale. From the regional branch at the Eastside."
Her eyes lit up. "Ah… Ms. Seraphina. Welcome. We've been expecting you."
Something about that settled my nerves just a bit.
"Thank you," I said.
She handed me a temporary access card. "Your office is being finalized, but you're free to move around. If you need anything… confidence," she added with a playful grin, "you already brought it with you."
I laughed softly. "I'll hold you to that."
As I turned away, my phone buzzed.
Rose:Where are you? I've been here for ages. Don't tell me you got lost already.
A smile tugged at my lips.
Drama queen, I typed back. I'm on my way.
I headed for the elevators, heels echoing against marble floors. The ride up felt too short, my thoughts racing ahead… meetings, faces, expectations. The doors slid open with a soft chime.
I stepped out quickly.
Too quickly.
I collided with something solid… a wall.
Or someone.
"Oof… oh my God, I'm so sorry," I blurted out automatically, hands lifting in reflex.
Strong hands caught my waist before I could even process what was happening. Firm. Steady. Familiar in a way that made my spine stiffen.
"I've got you," a voice said.
Low. Calm. Deep.
My breath stalled. My hands froze mid-air as I slowly looked up, and my soul nearly left my body.
Lucien.
For a second, my brain refused to cooperate. It felt like the world tilted sideways, like the hallway narrowed and everything else blurred out.
His face was exactly as I remembered… sharp jaw, composed expression, eyes that always looked like they knew more than they let on.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
"What—?" The word slipped out before I could stop it.
His hands were still on my waist. Warm. Solid. Real.
I stepped back abruptly, breaking the contact like it burned.
"What?" I repeated, louder this time, disbelief flooding my voice.
Shock rushed through me first… pure, unfiltered. Then confusion. Then something colder, sharper, coiling in my chest.
My brows pulled together, my lips pressing into a thin line. I stared at him like he'd personally offended reality itself. And before I could stop myself, the question tore out of me, edged with disbelief and irritation;
"What are you doing here?"
The words came out sharper than I intended, clipped, defensive, like if I sounded strong enough, my knees wouldn't betray me.
Lucien's brows lifted slowly, lazily, like he was savoring the moment. Like my surprise was a gift he'd unwrapped and decided to enjoy piece by piece.
"What am I doing here?" he echoed, voice low, amused. Then his mouth tilted into that infuriating half-smile I remembered far too well. "That's cute. I should be asking you that."
I stiffened.
He leaned closer, close enough that I caught the faint trace of his scent… clean, masculine, something dark and expensive that curled straight into my lungs and refused to leave.
"Unless," he continued smoothly, eyes flicking over my face, my posture, the way I was suddenly too aware of my own body, "you're here to request another night of our… special services, ma'am?"
Heat exploded under my skin.
"What?" I hissed.
Before I could take a step back, his hands were there.
On my waist.
Firm. Certain. Like they remembered me.
My breath hitched violently, traitorous and loud in the quiet hallway. His palms burned through the fabric of my clothes, thumbs resting just enough to make my body lean before my mind screamed at it to stop.
I froze.
God.
No.
Not this.
Not here.
Not him.
"You're unbelievable," I said, but my voice betrayed me… too breathy, too thin. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"
Lucien chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into my hands, my ribs, my spine.
"Oh, I'm very serious," he murmured. "Especially about you."
I glanced around wildly. The corridor was empty… too empty. No footsteps. No voices. Just the hum of the building and the sound of my own pulse thudding in my ears.
"Get your hands off me," I whispered, but even to myself it sounded weak.
Instead of listening, he dipped his head.
Too close.
Dangerously close.
"Relax, princess," he said softly, deliberately using that stupid nickname that I absolutely hate, like it was something intimate, something private. "You look like you're about to bolt."
My stomach flipped.
"I don't…"
He leaned in further.
His breath brushed my ear.
His teeth grazed it… barely, accidentally-on-purpose, and my entire body reacted like it had been waiting for permission.
A sharp shiver raced down my spine. I sucked in a breath, a small, humiliating sound escaping my lips before I could stop it.
Lucien felt it.
I knew he did because his grip tightened just a fraction, and he smiled against my skin.
"There it is," he murmured. "Your body still remembers me."
My mind screamed.
My heart pounded.
My legs felt weak, traitorous, like they wanted to fold instead of run.
No.
No no no.
This was not happening.
I clenched my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms, forcing sensation somewhere else, anywhere else, so I could think.
"You don't get to talk to me like that," I said, forcing steel into my voice. "You don't get to touch me like that."
He straightened slightly, eyes dark now, something unreadable flickering behind the teasing.
"Funny," he said quietly. "You didn't seem to mind before."
That did it.
The silence between us crackled. And with every ounce of willpower I had left, I pushed him away.
I shoved him… Hard.
His hands slid off my waist as I stepped back, chest heaving, pulse racing, every nerve ending still lit up and furious about it.
"Don't," I snapped. "Ever do that again."
"Funny," he said softly. "For someone so angry… your body is telling a very different story.."
He leaned in just enough to ruin my composure. "Tell me… should I apologize, or are you enjoying this?"