Night had fallen over Manhattan, a restless pulse of neon and shadow. For most, it was an invitation to forget the day's weight. For Lucian, it was a habit—one he had carried from his past life.
Walking.
It steadied him. In his spacious mansion, in boardrooms thick with tension, he often felt a subtle dissonance inside his chest. But on the streets, with the uneven hum of traffic, the scent of roasted nuts from a corner vendor, and the murmur of strangers weaving past, that ache dulled.
His coat collar was turned up against the breeze as he strolled aimlessly, hands tucked in his pockets. He wasn't heading anywhere in particular. That was the point.
A flicker of memory crossed his mind—Seraphina's laughter, sharp and distant, not his to hold anymore. For the second time, it didn't sting the way it used to. The dull ache was there, yes, but muted, fading like an old scar rather than a fresh wound.
He exhaled, letting the night swallow the thought.
At the next corner, a ripple of motion caught his eye. A woman was struggling to gather the papers that had slipped from her leather folio, the wind dragging them across the sidewalk. Her heels clicked sharply as she darted after them, irritation plain on her face.
Lucian didn't think. He bent, his fingers catching one of the runaway pages before it skittered into the gutter.
"Here," he said simply, offering it out.
She looked up. The streetlamp caught her features in a soft glow, and for a heartbeat, Lucian almost stilled. She was striking—elegant in the kind of way that didn't clamor for attention but commanded it all the same. Chestnut-brown hair fell in smooth waves, framing a face of quiet symmetry. Her skin was clear, luminous beneath the city lights, and her eyes—bright, steady, and intelligent—met his with faint surprise.
"Thank you."
Her voice was low, graceful, each word carrying a natural cadence that drew notice without trying. She gathered the rest of her papers quickly, her movements unhurried despite the flurry, and straightened her posture with an effortless poise that reminded Lucian of someone born to dignity.
He handed over the last sheet. "Careful. Wind has a cruel sense of humor."
That earned him the faintest curl of her lips. Not a smile, not exactly—but close enough to feel deliberate. "So I've noticed."
She slid the documents back into her folio and clasped it tightly this time. For a beat, they simply stood there, the city flowing around them like a current.
Lucian tipped his head slightly. "Working this late?"
The woman gave a small shrug. "Work doesn't end because the sun sets. Not for some of us."
There was no bitterness in her tone, only fact. Lucian understood it too well.
He was about to step back, to let the moment pass as just another anonymous crossing in the city, when she extended her hand.
"Evelyn Sinclair."
Lucian accepted the handshake, his grip steady, polite. "Lucian Blackwell."
Recognition flickered in her eyes—of the name, if not the man. But unlike most, she didn't immediately shift into reverence or curiosity. Instead, she studied him with a composed calm, as though he were simply another person in the world, not the heir who had once fallen so far.
"Blackwell," she repeated, her tone neutral. "I see."
Most would have tripped over themselves to impress or probe. She didn't. That, more than anything, caught his attention.
Evelyn glanced at her watch, then back at him. "Well, thank you again. For the papers."
"Anytime," Lucian replied.
She gave a small nod, then stepped away, heels clicking as she merged into the crowd. Her figure—tall, graceful, every line of her posture speaking of elegance—disappeared within moments, swallowed by the living river of the city.
Lucian lingered where he stood, a strange calm settling over him. Their exchange had been brief, ordinary even. Yet something about it remained—her composed presence, the quiet refinement, the way she hadn't looked at him with pity or sharp expectation.
No weight. No pretense. Just acknowledgment.
He resumed his walk, his pace unhurried. The city stretched wide ahead, restless and unyielding.
For once, Lucian didn't mind.
---×
Finally, the female lead appears.