Lucien walked up the grand staircase slowly, each step echoing through the silent mansion like a drumbeat from the past. The maids had scurried ahead, opening his old bedroom door, dusting and cleaning what needed to clean, drawing the heavy curtains.
He entered without a word. The door shut behind him.
He stood in the center of the room, his sunglasses now tucked into his shirt, revealing sharp grey-blue eyes that flickered with something unreadable.
The room was pristine. Polished. Fresh. The sheets were new, the air smelled of lavender oil, and the walls had been repainted. Every trace of what once was… erased.
But not for him. His hand reached out and touched the edge of the bed, his fingers sinking lightly into the soft comforter.
His jaw clenched.
The night before the wedding.....
FLASHBACK
''Lucien let go'' Tessa in her gown, laughing as she tried to sneak a look at his vows.
''No'' he refused playfully dominating her on the bed. Her fingers tangled with his. The warmth of her breath as she whispered against his neck…
"I'm pregnant"
His breath hitched.
END OF FLASHBACK
He sat slowly at the edge of the bed, staring at the spot where she once laid her head. Where her scent once lingered.
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the blanket.
"I did look for you and the baby'' he whispered.
His voice cracked.
"I never stopped but they told me you died"
The room felt colder.
He shut his eyes. Her voice. The same voice that haunted his every sleep. Every wall he scratched. Every scream the doctors silenced.
He ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a low, bitter laugh. "They think I'm healed."
He leaned back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "But I'm broken"
The door creaked open softly.
Dorian Thorne stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm hallway light. His face, ever unreadable, betrayed a flicker of caution as he watched his son lie still on the bed, staring at the ceiling like he was waiting for something… or someone.
Lucien didn't move, but his lips curved into a quiet, knowing smile.
"You're not as quiet as you think, Father," he said, voice calm almost amused.
Dorian stepped in, folding his hands behind his back. "You always were hard to surprise."
Lucien slowly sat up, planting his feet on the floor, still not looking at him. "I don't sleep well in silence," he muttered. "Makes thinking difficult."
Dorian's jaw tightened. "You're home now. You'll need rest."
Lucien finally turned his head, meeting his father's gaze with cool, steady eyes.
"Rest is for the weak."
A tense silence followed then Dorian cleared his throat, brushing past the weight in the room.
"Tomorrow morning," he said flatly. "You're coming to the company. It's time you remembered what being a Thorne means."
Lucien tilted his head, lips twitching again. "Oh, I haven't forgotten."
He stood slowly, his presence suddenly towering.
"I am a Thorne, in flesh and blood" he said smiling.
Dorian's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more. He turned to leave.
Lucien's voice followed him out like a shadow.
"I'm looking forward to it, Father."
Lucien stood still for a moment, then walked to the mirror and stared at himself oh he had changed....
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The sun shimmered off the polished black luxury sedan as it pulled up to the grand front steps of the Thorne estate. The driver stepped out just in time, but Lucien was already approaching cool, confident, and dangerously composed.
He wore a tailored Armani black suit, slim fit and sharp at the edges. The jacket hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, a midnight charcoal shirt underneath with the top two buttons undone, exposing just a glimpse of his collarbone. No tie too formal for a man who hated being told what to do.
On his wrist gleamed a vintage watch, and his dark sunglasses reflected the morning sky. His black leather shoes clicked against the stone like he was walking into a war zone or a battlefield.
The driver opened the car door. "Good morning, sir."
Lucien slid in without a word, adjusting his cufflink.
Halfway down the tree lined road, he spoke. "Where can I find flowers?"
The driver blinked through the rearview mirror. "Flowers, sir?"
Lucien looked out the window lazily. "Yes. You know… the things you give when you want to say 'I miss you, I hate you, or I still dream about you screaming my name.' "
The driver swallowed. "There's a new shop, sir. Just opened a few months ago 'Petal & Vine'. Family-owned. It's… very popular. Pure, charming. People say the girl who runs it has a gift."
Lucien smirked faintly closing his eyes. "Take me there."
The driver nodded and turned the car toward town.
Lucien leaned back, fingers tapping his knee slowly.
He didn't know why he needed flowers.
He just… did. :-) :-)
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The sleek black car pulled up in front of Petal & Vine, a charming little flower shop nestled between a cozy cafe and an old bookstore. The storefront was warm and inviting, with ivy crawling up the brick and baskets of bright blooms displayed outside.
The shop smelled of lavender and fresh cut roses, soft classical music humming in the background. Elena stood behind the polished oak counter, carefully tying the last ribbon around a bouquet of delicate red roses. Sunlight filtered in through the large window, bathing her in a soft, golden glow.
Lucien stayed seated in the backseat, eyes hidden behind his shades, scanning the shop.
His voice, low and firm, broke the silence.
"Go in. Ask for white roses. Fresh."
The driver hesitated. "Would you like to come in and choose them yourself, sir?"
Lucien's jaw clenched. "No.''
The driver nodded and stepped out.
She looked peaceful. Unaware.
The driver approached the counter, clearing his throat. "White roses," he said. "Fresh. For Mr. Thorne."
Elena looked up with a warm, tired smile. "A classic choice. You have good taste."
Her voice soft, calm sent a calming feeling down the driver.
Elena turned to the refrigerated case and began selecting stems, humming under her breath.
Outside, in the black car, Lucien looked close to see what the man was doing when he froze, his fingers gripping the door handle. Through the window, he could see her silhouette. Her. The woman whose death had destroyed him.
Every breath became harder to take.
She moved the way Tessa did. She held flowers the way Tessa did. Even the light caught her hair the same way.
It couldn't be.
Her back was turned, her long chestnut waves catching the light. She wore a simple fitted blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans, effortlessly graceful as she arranged a bouquet behind the counter. Even through the glass, something in the air shifted. His breath hitched.
Tessa.
Lucien gripped the door handle but didn't open it.