The corridor was quiet when they reached their floor. Lucien stopped outside his room; Vivienne's door was only a few steps away. They exchanged a brief, professional nod before separating, the kind that said the night was over.
Or so it seemed.
Some time later, a soft knock broke the silence.
Lucien opened the door and paused. He was barefoot, a towel draped loosely around his waist, his upper body bare—strong, sculpted, the kind of presence that felt deliberate even when unguarded. His expression shifted into a slow, knowing smirk.
"Yes?" he asked.
Vivienne stood there, composed as ever, holding a bottle and two glasses. "I thought you might want a drink," she said lightly.
Lucien stepped aside. "I do."
As she entered, she shrugged off her coat in one smooth motion. Lucien leaned back against the wall, one shoulder resting casually, one hand settling at his waist as he watched her.
"Oh," he said, amusement low in his voice. "And what is this? A bonus?"
Vivienne laughed softly, the sound warm, unbothered. "Are you interested?"
The coat slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor. The light revealed long legs, a graceful silhouette, confidence written into every line of her posture. She didn't rush. She didn't need to.
Lucien's gaze darkened, appreciative, controlled. "Oh," he murmured, a hint of promise in his tone, "this is going to be a long night."
The door closed quietly behind them—not rushed, not hurried—just decisive.
And whatever followed would remain unspoken, understood only by the two people who knew exactly what lines they were choosing to cross
The night unfolded slowly, without urgency, without tenderness.
Lucien lay back against the crisp white sheets, the room dim except for the city lights bleeding through the curtains. Vivienne hovered over him, her touch confident, practiced—not hesitant, not emotional. Her lips traced his skin, deliberate, claiming rather than asking.
He watched her, breathing steady, body responding—but his mind stayed distant.
This wasn't passion. Passion carried warmth, connection, something that lingered after the moment passed. This was different. Sharper. Hunger without attachment. Desire stripped of meaning.
Vivienne kissed him again, closer now, her hands firm, sure of what she wanted. Lucien closed his eyes, letting sensation take over—but even then, something shifted.
Uninvited, unexpected, Selena crossed his mind.
Not her touch. Not her body.
Her presence.
Her confidence. Her control. The way she looked at the world as if it already belonged to her. The thought struck deep, igniting something darker, more intense than what was happening now.
His body reacted instantly—betraying him.
Lucien inhaled slowly, jaw tightening. He wasn't supposed to think of her. Not here. Not now. Yet the image stayed, sharp and intrusive, cutting through the moment with dangerous clarity.
Vivienne noticed the change. She smiled faintly, mistaking it for desire meant for her, and leaned closer, whispering something he barely registered.
Lucien opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.
This wasn't about Vivienne.
It never had been.
And that realization—cold, undeniable—was what unsettled him the most.
Because lust was easy to control.
But whatever Selena stirred in him?
That was not.
Lucien's body betrayed him instantly. Despite Vivienne's touch, the moment she thought had him, his mind had already moved elsewhere. Selena—her image, her confidence, her danger—flashed behind his eyes, and heat surged through him in a way Vivienne couldn't provoke.
His jaw tightened, and a low exhale escaped him. He shifted slightly, letting Vivienne continue, but every instinct in his body was taut, keyed toward someone else entirely. Desire, yes—but not for her. Lust, yes—but pointed, unrelenting, sharpened by memory and obsession.
Vivienne leaned closer, pressing against him, unaware of the storm flickering in his gaze. Lucien's hands stilled momentarily, his eyes closing as he fought the tension rising in his body—not from her, but from Selena.
The thought of Selena was sharp, electric. He imagined her in control, commanding, untouchable in ways that made his pulse quicken. His body reacted without choice, and Lucien knew, with a slow, certain clarity, that Vivienne could never replace her. Never.
A smirk ghosted across his lips, quiet, deliberate. Vivienne was… sufficient for the moment. Useful. A tool to satisfy, to occupy, to endure while his mind wandered. But she would never be the one he truly wanted.
He exhaled, muscles taut, and allowed himself to lean back slightly, letting her continue, all while his thoughts and his desire were already miles away, centered entirely on Selena—on her fire, her power, her presence that no one else could match
The thought of Selena—her confidence, her fire—burned through him like a flare. Desire twisted into something sharper: anger, frustration, impatience. Every movement with Vivienne suddenly felt hollow, a placeholder, a reminder that she was not the one he truly wanted.
His jaw tightened. His hands moved with deliberate force, and he turned her sharply, positioning her where he wanted her, asserting control. The shift was precise, commanding—an instinctive response to the tension coiling inside him.
Later, when Lucien finished, he stepped into the shower. The water cascaded over him, hot and relentless, washing away the physical intensity but doing nothing for the storm still raging inside. Steam wrapped around him like a veil, but it couldn't soften the edge of his frustration, the ache of desire that no one in the room could satisfy.
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched, letting the water pound against his shoulders. Thoughts of Selena cut sharper than any heat; her presence, her confidence, her fire—untouchable and maddening—gnawed at him. His hands gripped the edges of the glass door, knuckles white. Aggression hummed under the skin, coiling, sharp, insistent.
Finally, he turned off the water, stepped out, and wrapped himself in a towel. Standing in front of the mirror, his reflection looked calm—but it was a lie. Inside, the fire of desire, obsession, and frustration burned bright.
Vivienne blinked, startled for a moment, but Lucien's eyes locked on hers, intense and unyielding. He didn't speak—didn't need to. The frustration, the desire, the anger all radiated from him in a single, silent command.
He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of his control settle, his mind still ablaze with Selena's image, sharp, untouchable, maddening. Vivienne's presence now was merely functional, a conduit for what he could not release elsewhere.
The air between them was electric, taut with desire and authority, while inside, Lucien's thoughts raged—frustration for what he could not have, lust for what he could claim, and an obsession that no one but Selena could ignite