Chapter 8. Another Night With Lucien

Leaning against her doorframe, his shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, suit jacket missing, tie loosened like he’d made himself comfortable in her space. No apology in his stance. Just a slow, quiet smile that belonged to a man who thought he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“Glad you like them,” he said, voice calm. “I grew them myself. Started when I found out you liked white roses.”

Her mouth dried.

“You… you’re in my house.” It came out like a question, weak and wavering.

“I am.” He nodded. “And you walked right past me. I was sitting in the living room waiting.”

“You broke in?” she snapped. “How... how did you even get in?” She asked because she knew she never left her windows open whenever she left home.

“Through the door.” He stepped inside. Calmly. Like it