The next morning started with a knock on my door.
Which was already weird, because I don’t do morning visitors. Or visitors. Period.
But weirder?
The guy standing on my doorstep wore a velvet blazer, no shirt underneath, and a smile like he already owned my soul.
"Hey there," he said. "You Kai?"
"...Who’s asking?"
He stepped inside without permission.
"I’m Lucien. Celestia’s ex."
I blinked. Then blinked again.
He just... said it. Like it was casual. Like we were gonna fist-bump over it.
"She ntioned you," he added, glancing around my apartnt like it was a museum exhibit. "Said you were cute. Slled like anxiety. Figured I had to et you."
"You should leave," I said, heart rate spiking.
He ignored that.
Sat down on my couch like he paid rent.
Pulled out a single red rose from sowhere and started spinning it between his fingers.
"Don’t worry," he said smoothly. "I’m not here to fight. Just curious. See what she’s into these days."
I stared.
He smirked.
"She likes projects, you know," he continued. "Little broken things she can fix. You’re... adorable, really. The glasses? Genius move. Makes you look weak."
"I’m not—"
"But you are," he cut in, standing. "And that’s why she’s obsessed."
He leaned close.
Too close.
"And that’s why I’m back."
---
Celestia didn’t show up that day.
Which was sohow worse than if she had.
I went through all my classes half-expecting her to burst in mid-lecture and declare war on another girl who looked at funny. But she didn’t.
She was gone.
Ghosted.
And that’s when the second knock ca.
This one?
Wasn’t a velvet-wearing maniac.
It was a butler, an actual, honest-to-God butler.
"Mr. Kai, the Moreau family requests your presence for dinner tonight."
I blinked.
"I’m sorry, the what now?"
He handed a formal invitation — gold foil, heavy paper, embossed with an actual seal.
It read:
> The Moreau Estate cordially invites you to a private dinner. Casual formal. No security needed (we have our own).
I stared at it like it might explode.
The butler coughed.
"Madam Celestia has spoken very highly of you."
"Oh no."
> "Especially in regard to your... relationship."
"Oh no."
---
That night, I stood outside a mansion with more columns than a Roman temple, trying to convince myself this wasn’t a fever dream.
It had a valet for the driveway.
The front door opened before I could knock.
And there she was.
Celestia.
In a blood-red dress that looked like danger stitched in silk.
"You ca," she said, voice soft.
"I was kind of... summoned."
She stepped aside, eyes unreadable.
"I wanted you to et my parents."
"Why?"
> "Because Lucien’s back."
I froze.
"You saw him too?"
She nodded.
And then?
For the first ti since I t her...
She looked scared, just for a second.
"He doesn’t let go easily," she whispered. "And you? You’re the first thing I’ve wanted since him."
That shut up.
Dinner was chaos.
Her parents? Cold, powerful, clearly running several countries from their phones.
Her father looked over once and said, "He’s... alive. That’s promising."
Her mother offered wine older than my bloodline.
And through it all?
Lucien showed up.
Uninvited and unbothered.
Walked right in like the house still belonged to him.
Sat beside Celestia. Put a hand on her chair. Looked at with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
"Just like old tis," he said.
She didn’t say a word.
But her hand slid under the table and gripped mine.
Tight, possessive and terrified.
And that’s when I knew...
This wasn’t about romance.
This was war.
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