He hated that it was working. That he didn't flinch. That a part of him, buried deep beneath the rot and the silence, whispered Yes. This time, choose better. Choose first.
Serathine didn't wait for a response.
She turned without a word and walked down the white steps of the temple, her heels tapping against polished concrete as the glass doors slid shut behind them.
Outside, the sky was sharp and cloudless. The city stretched upward in seamless layers of steel and stone. Banners hung from the light posts in imperial gold and navy, marking the Temple District. Across the street, a fountain bubbled in controlled symmetry, barely loud enough to drown out the hum of distant traffic.
A black car waited at the curb. Glossy, silent. Government plates. The kind that said power without saying anything at all. Misty would give anything for this kind of influence.
Serathine approached it like it belonged to her. Of course, it did.
She turned halfway, one perfectly arched brow lifted just enough.
"I assume you don't have anything planned today," she said.
Lucas stared at her.
The phrasing wasn't a question. It was a statement in silk, soft but undeniable.
"No," he said. His voice came out flat.
Something told him that he didn't.
It was hard to remember the exact details of the days he had spent in the Temple. A blur of prayers, stillness, and the occasional visit from a priest too afraid to ask questions. It was customary for a noble coming of age to visit the Temple before their ceremony and party, which had not changed in generations. There was nothing special to it.
Nothing worth remembering.
Except that now, he remembered everything.
And none of this felt simple.
"Perfect," Serathine said, as if she had penciled him into her schedule weeks ago. "Then we won't be late."
"Late for what?" he asked before he could stop himself.
She smiled, something small and sharp. "You'll see."
The door to the car opened with a soft mechanical click.
She stepped inside first, fluid and unhurried. Lucas followed, his movements stiff from a body too young for the memories it contained.
The interior of the car was dim and quiet. Leather seats, a muted dash, tinted windows that swallowed the city light.
Serathine tapped once on the privacy screen, and the world outside shut out completely.
He watched her.
She didn't look at him. Not yet. She was busy pulling her gloves off, one finger at a time, like there was no urgency at all.
Only when she folded them neatly into her lap did she finally say, "I like collecting lost things, Lucas. Especially the ones that know how to stay quiet."
He couldn't think of anything special that would make Lady Serathine take an interest in him. Nothing at all. She didn't bother to know him before.
'Why now? What changed?'
So, as he had a second chance—or maybe just the illusion of one—he decided to ask. To be bold.
"What makes you think that I'm quiet?"
The words weren't loud. But they cut the air between them like a thread.
Serathine blinked. Not slow. Not surprised. Simply… entertained.
She angled her chin slightly, amber eyes catching the sunlight filtering through the tinted glass. "Because you haven't asked me where we're going. You haven't asked why I helped you. You haven't asked what I want."
Her fan tapped once against her knee.
"And because you sat across from me like a shadow trying not to cast one."
Lucas lowered his gaze, clenching his hands.
She wasn't wrong.
He had survived for too long by staying quiet. By being still. By letting others fill the silence with their own assumptions
He looked up again.
Serathine smirked with the elegance of a woman who already had everything she wanted—and only chased the things she hadn't tasted yet.
"Entertainment," she said simply. "That's the first."
She adjusted her gloves with slow precision, then added, "Second, I had my eyes on you long ago. But until now, either Misty or Ophelia was near you like glue."
Lucas froze.
Not visibly. Not enough to be obvious. But inside, something stilled.
Ophelia.
He remembered now.
Every time he had to attend a ball, or a state dinner, or a holiday ceremony—if he was invited at all—it was with her on his arm. His younger half-sister. Blonde, perfect, sweet-voiced, always dressed to match. Misty's favorite. The one the court called legitimate. The daughter of Misty and her first husband, a man who died after ten years of marriage but left nothing behind.
Misty forced Lucas to take Ophelia with him. Told him it was for his own good. That it was protection. That having Ophelia beside him would make people forget he was born out of convenience and not consequence.
It didn't.
They only remembered it more.
"Why would they be a problem?"
"Because they would keep tailing you," Serathine replied, tone light, as if it wasn't personal. "They're still somewhat relevant because of your lineage. Caelan asked me a favor—to find a way to help you out of their clutches."
Lucas blinked once. Slowly. "Caelan?"
"The Emperor." She said, with the patience of a saint.
"I know who he is."
The bitterness slid out before he could filter it.
"Why would he care about me? Seventeen years too late."
To Lucas's surprise, the duchess started to laugh.
A soft, indulgent laugh that came from a woman who'd seen too much and survived it beautifully.
"You speak," Serathine said, "like someone who thinks emperors make room for their mistakes."
Lucas didn't answer. His mouth was too dry. He didn't expect anything from the man.
She folded her hands in her lap, her gaze flicking to him like a slow appraisal. "He cares now. That's what matters."
"No," Lucas said, sharper this time. "I believe that doesn't matter."
"Oh?" she murmured, one brow rising. "Now do you? How so?"
"Because I don't care what the Emperor wants from me," he said. "I'm sure the little money he sent Misty can be repaid—if it even mattered. I have no interest in owing him anything."
He leaned back, gaze fixed on the blurred city just beyond the tinted window.
"I have no wish to see him. Or be seen by him. Whatever he's planning, I want no part of it."
His voice didn't shake. Not this time. It was the kind of steady born from something already broken.
"I won't be sold like a property."
That made Serathine still. Not startled. Just… still.
She studied him like she was adding something up for the first time.
"I didn't say anything about being sold," she said carefully.
"No," Lucas replied quietly. "You didn't have to."
The car slowed.
Her estate came into view, with wrought iron gates swinging inward, white stone and clean lines rising from manicured gardens. The kind of place where consequences didn't come without an invitation.
"I'm not interested in the Emperor's version of help," he added. "I'm not interested in being anyone's favorite."
Serathine gave a small, thoughtful smile. Not mocking. Not indulgent.
Just curious.
"Well," she said, brushing her skirt smooth as the car came to a stop, "that makes two of us."