Lucien stood outside her door, heart in his throat.
She had told him to come.
He knocked once, and her voice came, soft as silk."Come in."
He entered slowly.
The room was dark but aglow—candles burned low on every shelf, casting golden light that shimmered on her skin. Seraph stood near the bed in a black silk nightgown, the straps fallen lazily off her shoulders. Her hair spilled like ink down her back, and her smile…
It wasn't playful.It was something deeper. Older. Like a whisper from the house itself.
She walked toward him, slow and bare-footed. Every step she took was deliberate, as if marking time, as if setting the rhythm to a song only she could hear.
Lucien didn't speak. He sat when she guided him down gently to the edge of the bed.
Seraph stood before him, silent, her hands slowly slipping the last threads of silk off her frame. The gown slid to the floor like a shadow retreating from moonlight.
She stood naked in front of him—unashamed, untouched, ethereal. Not just a woman. A myth made flesh.
"Look at me," she whispered.
He did. His breath caught in his throat.
"Do you want me?" she asked, stepping closer, between his knees, her fingers gently sliding into his hair.
Lucien swallowed hard. His voice was hoarse.
"Yes, Seraph… I want you."
She didn't move, not at first—her body glowing in the low, amber light of the room, the silk pooling at her feet. She was silent, breathless, waiting.
Then he stood.
His hands reached for her waist, fingers trembling as they closed around her, pulling her in. She fell against his chest like she belonged there. Her skin was warm. Her heartbeat, quick. Her eyes, wild with something deeper than love. Devotion. Madness. Hope.
He buried his face in her neck, kissed the space below her ear. "I want you," he whispered again, like a vow. And she closed her eyes, as if those words were enough to make the entire house vanish.
In her mind, this was the final test. She had shown him everything—the glittering wealth, the way to escape, even the truth. And now… she was offering herself. Her body. Her soul. All of it.
For Seraph, this was more than desire. This was defiance. This was her telling the house: He chose me.
And in that moment, she was ready. Ready to give him everything—to prove to the house that it had no power over her anymore. Not when he was here. Not when he said those words. Not when he touched her like this.
Everything she had—lust, love, immortality—was his now.
And Lucien, caught between the ache of wanting and the fear of what it meant, held her like she was both the cage and the key.
The room felt quieter than ever, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Lucien leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep. There was no urgency in him, not this time—just a softness that wrapped around them like silk. Seraph melted beneath his touch, her arms slipping around his neck, drawing him closer as their bodies pressed together under the warm, golden light.
He laid her down gently on the bed, her dark hair fanning out across the pillows like a halo. She looked up at him with eyes full of trust—trust he knew he hadn't earned, but in that moment, he wanted to. He wanted to deserve this.
His fingers brushed her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw, then her lips. "Seraph," he whispered like a secret, and she reached for him, pulling him down to her again.
Their lips met, soft and lingering. Their hands roamed slowly, learning each other all over again. When he entered her, it wasn't with heat or hunger—it was with something far deeper. She gasped his name against his neck, her voice trembling like her heartbeat.
"Lucien…"
He kissed her shoulders, her collarbone, her wrists—each kiss a quiet promise. She arched into him, her breath catching with every gentle movement. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and when his lips found hers again, it was as if the rest of the world didn't exist.
They moved together like a tide—slow, rhythmical, constant. The softness of their bodies, the heat between them, the way they whispered each other's names between every kiss and moan—it was almost unbearable.
"Seraph…" he groaned, holding her tighter, forehead pressed to hers as they got closer, their breathing shallow and uneven. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapped around his waist.
And when they reached that final moment together, it was like falling—sweet, endless, and warm. Lucien buried his face in her neck, his voice breaking as he moaned her name, his whole body shivering with release. She cried out with him, clinging tightly, her voice breathless and full of him.
The room echoed with his groans and her soft cries—their names filling the space, over and over.
Then silence.
He didn't move for a long time. Just held her. Kissed her temple. Felt her breath on his chest.
And for once, there were no plans, no doubts, no house—only her.
Only them.