The Space Between

POV: Lucien

The bread had gone cold.

Lucien stared at it, untouched.

The echo of her retreat still rang in the air. He hadn't meant to corner her. But something about this house—it twisted under his skin, whispered in the dark, dared him to unravel it.

But she wasn't the key.

She was part of the mystery.

And maybe… maybe the most fragile piece of it.

He stood, pushing the chair in with a sigh, then glanced toward the hallway where she'd disappeared.

He needed to slow down.

She didn't owe him anything—not her story, not her trust. Not even her company.

If he wanted answers, he'd have to earn them.

Not with questions.

With presence.

With patience.

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. "Alright, Seraphine," he muttered. "I'll play by your rules."

POV: Seraphine

She sat in the old sunroom—though the sun didn't really reach here anymore.

The lace curtains danced against the windows, the room drenched in faded gold and long shadows. Her hands trembled faintly in her lap.

He'd asked about the house.

Of course he had.

They all did, eventually.

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers against her temple.

Was he different?

He'd run to the door. He'd sketched the outline of a home only she could see. He'd come inside.

But did he come for her?

Or for what the house was rumored to hold? The gold? The power? The secrets?

Her chest ached. She hated how much she wanted him to stay. How easily her heart had stirred at the sound of his footsteps, the brush of his hand against hers.

No one had touched her in so long.

And now he was here. In the house. In her house.

And she didn't know who she was to him.

A guide? A mystery? A keeper of treasure?

Or just… a woman?

She stood slowly, smoothing her skirts.

She wouldn't make it easy for him.

If he wanted her secrets—he'd have to stay.

He'd have to choose her.