Chapter 12 – The Edge of Control

AURORA

Aurora didn't sleep.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing.

Her mind replayed the night's events, over and over, like a broken record.

The weight of Graham's body as it hit the floor.

The cold finality in Lucian's expression.

She should be horrified.

She wasn't.

She should feel guilt.

She didn't.

All she felt was him.

Lucian.

The way his gaze had lingered, like he was waiting for something—some reaction, some fear.

She had given him nothing.

But inside?

Inside, she was unraveling.

A knock at her door sent a jolt down her spine.

She already knew who it was.

Her fingers tightened around the sheets.

Slowly, she forced herself up, crossed the room, and cracked open the door.

And there he was.

Lucian Vale.

Dark. Still. The dim hallway light cut against the sharp edges of his face, casting deep shadows.

A storm waiting to break.

Aurora swallowed. "What do you want?"

His gaze dropped, scanning her face, her throat, lower—before meeting her eyes again.

"I wanted to see you."

Her breath caught.

Because there was nothing casual about the way he said it.

Like it was a demand.

Like he had already made up his mind.

Her pulse kicked hard.

Lucian exhaled, his voice dropping an octave.

"I took care of everything," he murmured. "No evidence. No trace."

She shivered.

Not from fear.

From the way he said it—so effortlessly, like this was what he did.

Like killing, covering up bodies, erasing lives—came naturally.

Aurora's fingers curled against the doorframe. "Why are you telling me this?"

Lucian's lips barely tilted. "So you can sleep tonight."

A beat of silence.

Her heartbeat felt deafening.

Because she knew the truth.

He wasn't here to put her mind at ease.

He was here because he couldn't stay away.

Neither could she.

Lucian stepped forward, closing the space between them, until he was close enough that she could feel his heat.

Her body betrayed her.

She didn't step back.

Didn't push him away.

Lucian noticed.

His fingers brushed the door, tracing the edge in a slow, deliberate movement.

His touch was so close to hers.

"Do you regret it?" he asked softly.

Aurora swallowed.

She should say yes.

She should pretend to be good, untouched, uncorrupted.

But she wasn't.

She had felt relief when Graham died.

And that should terrify her.

It didn't.

"No," she whispered.

Lucian's jaw clenched. His fingers curled, the doorframe groaning beneath his grip.

His eyes dipped to her lips.

Lingering.

Her pulse stuttered.

A quiet hum escaped him—like he had just confirmed something.

And then, before she could react, his knuckles grazed her wrist.

A featherlight touch. Barely there.

But she felt it everywhere.

His thumb ghosted over her skin, slow, measured.

Heat spread through her veins.

She should move.

She didn't.

Lucian tilted his head. "You're not afraid of me."

A statement. Not a question.

Her throat was dry.

"You think I should be?" she asked.

Lucian exhaled, his breath warm against her skin.

"Yes."

The moment stretched—silent, heavy.

And then, his fingers slid beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his.

Slow.

Unforgiving.

Her breath hitched.

Because he didn't do soft.

Even this—the careful way he touched her—held a quiet, dangerous kind of restraint.

His thumb traced the faint bruise along her cheek.

His gaze darkened.

For a second, she thought he would kiss her.

Instead, he murmured, "I should go."

But he didn't move.

Neither did she.

Her pulse was a wild drumbeat against her ribs.

Lucian exhaled sharply, jaw flexing like he was battling something violent, impossible inside him.

And then—

He pulled away.

A slow, deliberate retreat.

Aurora blinked, caught between relief and something sharper.

Lucian's voice was low when he finally spoke.

"Get some rest, Aurora."

Then—without another word—he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Leaving her alone with the ghosts he had awakened.

---

LUCIAN

He shouldn't have gone to her room.

Shouldn't have touched her.

But when she had opened the door, looking at him like that—

Soft. Unflinching. Unafraid.

He had wanted to ruin her.

The urge had been visceral.

Dangerous.

Lucian exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he stepped outside.

He had already crossed too many lines tonight.

He had killed for her.

Disposed of a body so cleanly that no one would ever find it.

And she hadn't screamed.

Hadn't run.

Hadn't even looked at him differently.

If anything, she had come closer.

Lucian let out a slow breath.

Richard Sinclair was going to notice.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow.

But he would start asking questions.

And Lucian had to be smart about this.

Because he wasn't ready to let her go.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

His fingers brushed against his wrist—the place where her skin had touched his.

A mistake.

A very dangerous mistake.

Because Lucian Vale wasn't meant for gentle things.

He destroyed them.

But somehow, when she had looked at him tonight, when she had let him touch her—

He hadn't wanted to break her.

He had wanted to keep her.

Lucian exhaled sharply.