"I said I'll bring him to meet you… he is very nice," I said quickly, forcing the words out like I was telling the truth.
Lucian's hands paused in the sink. He didn't turn around, but I could feel the weight of his stare. My chest tightened.
"…Nice?" he murmured, almost too calmly.
I nodded, biting my lip. "Yeah… really nice. You'll like him." My voice shook slightly. I hated how obvious it was, but I had to keep up the lie.
"His name is… Lucas," I added before thinking.
Immediately, a pang of panic shot through me. Wait… should I have said that? Why am I telling him all these details? Why am I making it sound so real?
Then, suddenly — a sharp crack. Another plate slipped from his hands, smashing against the floor.
My head jerked up. He froze, jaw tight, hands trembling slightly.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath. Not angry. Not annoyed. Something else. Frustration? Or… guilt?
I bit my lip, panic rising. Why is he breaking plates?
He glanced at me, and for a split second, I thought I saw something in his eyes — a flicker of… concern? Or maybe something darker. My stomach twisted.
He set the plate aside, breathing hard, knuckles white around the next dish. "Guess… my hand slipped again," he muttered, almost too quietly.
My heart raced. He's not acting like himself. Something's going on.
I wanted to look away, to pretend I hadn't noticed, but I couldn't. The tension in the air pressed down on me, thick and suffocating, making it impossible to breathe.
This lie — the fake boyfriend, the act, even his name, Lucas — it was supposed to protect me. Keep him at a distance. But instead, it had done the opposite.
The house felt smaller. Too quiet. Too close. And I knew — nothing would ever feel normal again