The house was quiet, wrapped in the kind of silence that made the air feel thick. Lucien stood before her door, hand raised.
A pause.A breath.A knock.
The door creaked open slowly. Seraphine stood in her nightgown, the candle in her hand casting a soft golden glow over her face. Her eyes widened just slightly when she saw him leaning against the frame, shirt loose, gaze unreadable.
"Is tonight the night you'll invite me in?" he asked, voice low and heavy like velvet soaked in secrets.
She hesitated, then stepped back in wordless invitation.
Lucien walked in slowly, shutting the door behind him. He didn't say a word—just closed the distance between them, arms slipping around her waist. He held her there for a moment, tightly, like something in him might break.
Then he leaned down, lifted her gently, and laid her onto her bed.
Seraphine's heart was a thunderstorm. He hovered above her, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, his eyes locked on hers.
She reached up, brushing her fingers over his chest, over the place where his heartbeat pulsed strong and steady. She believed—so wholly—that it was beating for her.
Lucien laid beside her instead, letting the silence thrum between them. She turned her face toward him, waiting, searching his gaze.
But then his voice broke through softly, "Did you let them kiss you too?"
Her breath caught. The question was a dagger, one she didn't expect. Her body stilled under the sheets.
"And sleep with you?" he added.
She blinked. Her smile returned slowly—this time more controlled, like porcelain hiding cracks.
"Yes," she said, a lie painted over her lips like wine. "All of them."
Lucien's jaw clenched, just for a moment. She watched him closely, saw it land.
Exactly as she wanted.
But he didn't pull away. He only smiled faintly, almost amused, as if her answer gave him more than she realized.
He reached over and touched her cheek with a slow, deliberate grace, the kind that made her eyes flutter shut.
"Then I'll be better," he whispered.
She opened her eyes in surprise.
His fingers trailed down her arm.
Her body lit with heat. Her mind swirled with triumph. Her lips curved into a knowing smile.
And yet—he still hadn't kissed her.
He was still playing a game.
And so was she.
She slept in his arms like a dream.
So still. So soft.
Her breath moved gently against his chest, her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt like she never wanted to let go.
Lucien was quiet for a while. He stared at the ceiling, then at her—this woman, this ghost, this mystery curled into him like they belonged to each other.
But something inside him wouldn't rest.
He shifted slightly, letting her head rest against the pillow as he sat up beside her. The blanket slipped down her shoulder, revealing the curve of her collarbone in the moonlight.
His fingers moved to his lips.
He touched them slowly—remembering the way she kissed him like she meant it. Like she'd been waiting for that kiss forever.
And yet…
His eyes fell on her chest, where her heart should beat for someone.
Did you really let them all touch you? he whispered to the silence.
His hand hovered above her skin. Not touching—just close enough to feel the ghost of warmth.
Then it wouldn't matter if I do too, he said under his breath, bitter with the taste of her lie.
He had hesitated. Deep down, he hadn't wanted to ruin her—had wanted her first time to be real, something untouched by madness or desperation.
But her lie twisted something inside him.
Made him wonder if this was all she ever was.A ghost.A seductress.A girl with graveyards in her backyard.
And if that's all she was…
Then maybe he didn't have to feel guilt anymore.
Maybe he could become whatever version of himself she needed him to be.
Or worse—the version that would survive her.