Lilith had restored enough broken things to recognize when something refused to be mended quietly.
The canvas before her was delicate,an antique piece, its fabric torn clean through the center as if someone had tried to split the landscape in two. She worked carefully, fingers steady as she reinforced the backing, aligning fibers with practiced patience.
She had tried to bury herself in work for the past few days as a way to settle her thoughts from drifting to the red eyed man who had recently barged his way into her life.
Yet her thoughts refused to settle.
Lucien had not written again.
That absence pressed heavier than any letter ever had.
She had replayed the moment too many times the way he had asked, not demanded a little too polite which was a shock. The way his voice had carried no urgency, no entitlement. Just an invitation suspended in the air, waiting.
"We'll see", the reply she had given the red eyed man who sat across her awaiting a reply had been ringing in her thoughts for days, as she didn't know what reply to give him . Wondering whether she actually wanted to welcome Lucien into her life or if now was the right time to just ignore and run for that hills.
"You're distracted."
Maeve's voice cut through her thoughts. Lilith startled slightly, then exhaled.
"I'm working," she replied.
"You've been staring at the same tear for five minutes," Maeve said, leaning against the worktable. "Either the canvas is judging you, or something else is."
Lilith pressed her lips together.
She hadn't planned on telling Maeve today.
Or tomorrow.
Or at all.
But the thing about Hawthorne & Vale was that the walls listened, and Maeve who had known her long enough to read the spaces between words always noticed when silence stretched too far.
"There's someone," Lilith said finally.
Maeve froze.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned. "There's someone?"
Lilith winced. "Don't do that."
"I will absolutely do that," Maeve said, eyes wide with delight. "Who?"
Lilith hesitated, brush hovering mid-air.
"The man from the gala," she admitted. "Lucien Ashborne."
Maeve's mouth opened.
Closed.
Then opened again. "The billionaire?"
"Yes."
"The quiet one?"
"Yes."
"The one who looked like he owned the room without trying?"
Lilith shot her a look. "You're enjoying this too much."
Maeve laughed, then softened. "Okay. Talk to me. What happened?"
Lilith resumed her work, voice low. "He's been writing to me. Letters. Since the gala."
Maeve blinked. "Letters?"
"No phone. No email. Just… notes."
"That's either incredibly romantic or deeply unsettling."
Lilith smiled faintly. "That's what I can't decide."
She told Maeve everything then the first letter, the book, the way Lucien never pressed, never intruded. The invitation. Her answer.
"We'll see".
Maeve listened quietly, which told Lilith more than any reaction would have.
"And now?" Maeve asked when she finished.
Lilith shook her head. "And now nothing. That's the problem." I don't know what to do
Maeve studied her. "You're not scared."
"No."
"You're not flattered."
"Not really."
Maeve smiled slowly. "You're curious."
Lilith didn't deny it.
"Well I think you should go", Maeve said as she turned to go back to her workspace "it seems like it would be fun plus he likes you" she added with a wink before finally leaving.
The note arrived that evening.
The note she had unconsciously been waiting for. it waited for her outside her apartment door, placed neatly where she couldn't miss it but would never trip over it. Cream paper, Clean edges,Familiar handwriting, and her name written boldly.
She took it inside, heart steady, fingers only slightly tense.
Inside was a single sheet.
"I dislike unfinished conversations.
If you prefer certainty, this is my number
Send your answer directly."
— Lucien
Below the signature was a phone number.
Nothing else.
Lilith stared at it for a long moment.
This was different.
This was a door instead of a window.
He was giving her the choice to step closer or shut it entirely.
She folded the letter carefully and placed it on the table.
Did not touch her phone.
Lucien did not expect a reply that night.
He stood in his penthouse, city lights reflecting in the glass, Mordain seated nearby with a glass of something dark and ancient.
"You gave her your number," Mordain said.
"Yes." He replied
"You've never done that."
Lucien's gaze remained outward. "She prefers clarity."
"You prefer control." Mordain countered
Lucien turned then, eyes sharp. "Do not confuse the two."
Mordain sighed. "You are allowing her to answer you as an equal."
Lucien said nothing.
Hell stirred beneath them.
The realm always sensed when he wavered.
Lilith lay awake longer than she liked to admit.
Her phone rested on the nightstand, silent and unassuming.
The number burned in her mind.
She thought of Maeve's smile, Of the canvas finally repaired, Of the way Lucien had never once rushed her.
She picked up her phone.
Typed the number.
Paused.
Deleted it.
Exhaled.
Then slowly, deliberately,typed again.
She stared at the empty message box.
No clever response formed.
No rehearsed line.
Just truth.
Her thumbs hovered.
Somewhere far below the earth, Lucien Ashborne felt Hell go unnaturally still.
Lilith finally typed.
And hit send.