The night smelled like roses… and death.
Elara stood in the middle of the abandoned cathedral, her chest rising and falling as silence wrapped around her like a suffocating embrace. The candles flickered violently, though there was no wind—only the feeling that something unseen was watching her.
Waiting.
"You came."
His voice.
Low. Dangerous. Familiar.
Elara's fingers clenched into fists as she turned slowly, her heart betraying her with a painful, desperate rhythm. There he was—Lucien.
The man who ruined her.
The man she couldn't stop loving.
"You killed them," she whispered, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound cold. "My family… my life… everything."
Lucien stepped closer, shadows clinging to him like they belonged to him. His dark eyes locked onto hers, filled with something unreadable—something that made her pulse quicken in fear… or was it longing?
"And yet," he murmured, "you still came to me."
Elara hated that he was right.
Hated that even now, standing in the ruins of everything he destroyed, her body remembered him. The warmth of his touch. The softness of his voice when he wasn't breaking her world apart.
"I came," she said, forcing strength into her voice, "to end this."
A faint smile curved his lips—not mocking, not amused… but almost sad.
"You always were terrible at lying."
Before she could react, he closed the distance between them. His hand gripped her wrist, pulling her into him. Her breath caught as their bodies collided, heat sparking between them like a forbidden flame.
"Let go of me!" she snapped, struggling—but her strength faltered the moment his other hand cupped her face.
So gentle.
So wrong.
"You should hate me," Lucien said softly, his forehead resting against hers. "You should want me dead."
"I do."
"Then why are you shaking?"
Her breath hitched.
Because she wasn't afraid.
She was breaking.
"I hate you," she whispered again, weaker this time.
Lucien's gaze dropped to her lips. "Say it again."
"I hate you."
"Again."
"I—"
He kissed her.
And everything shattered.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't kind. It was consuming—like fire devouring oxygen, like darkness swallowing light. Elara tried to resist, tried to push him away, but her body betrayed her, melting into him as if it remembered something her mind refused to accept.
Her hands clutched his shirt.
Her heart chose him.
A sharp sting pierced her neck.
She gasped, her body going rigid as pain blossomed into something darker… something intoxicating. His lips had moved from hers, trailing down to her throat—
And then she felt it.
Blood.
Warm.
Real.
"Lucien…" she breathed, her voice trembling.
But he didn't stop.
He held her tighter, as if afraid she would disappear, as if this moment was all he had left.
When he finally pulled away, her vision blurred. She swayed slightly, and he caught her, his expression unreadable—but his eyes…
His eyes were filled with torment.
"You were never supposed to come back," he said quietly.
Elara touched her neck, her fingers brushing against the faint trace of blood. Her heart raced—not just from fear, but from something far more dangerous.
Understanding.
"You didn't kill them… did you?" she whispered.
Lucien froze.
Silence.
Heavy. Crushing. Endless.
Then he smiled—but this time, it was empty.
"Does it matter?" he said.
And that was the moment Elara realized the truth of her own heart.
If loving him was destruction…
Then she was already ruined.