LUCIEN DEVEREAUX
The mistake had a name.
Lucien Devereaux.
Even thinking it felt dangerous.
Ana hadn't spoken to him in years, not properly. Not since high school. Not since he left for Canada without saying goodbye, leaving behind nothing but silence and unfinished arguments.
Lucien had never been soft.
He had been sharp edges and cold smirks. The kind of boy who didn't try to be liked because he didn't need to be. Teachers respected him. Students feared him. Girls wanted him. Boys envied him.
And Ana?
Ana fought him.
They were never friends. Not really.
They were something worse.
Frenemies.
He knew exactly how to get under her skin. He called her dramatic when she cried. Called her naive when she trusted people too easily. Called her weak when she forgave Yamal the first time he hurt her.
"I don't understand you," Lucien had said once, his dark eyes fixed on her with something that felt too intense to be anger. "You give loyalty to people who haven't earned it."
She hated him for saying that.
Because he was right.
Lucien Devereaux wasn't just another rich boy.
His family name carried weight.
The Devereaux empire wasn't loud. It didn't beg for attention. It existed in quiet dominance. Old money. Generational power. The kind that didn't need to prove itself.
People said his family controlled industries without ever appearing in them.
People said politicians answered their calls.
People said their wealth wasn't counted it was measured in influence.
Lucien was their heir.
And he wore it like a second skin.
He never bragged.
He didn't need to.
Power lived in the way people stepped aside when he walked past.
Ana remembered the way Yamal used to stiffen whenever Lucien was near. The way Lucien would look at him calm, unimpressed, dismissive.
Lucien never hid his dislike.
"You can do better," he had told Ana once.
She laughed in his face.
"You don't get to decide that."
Lucien had smiled then.
Not kindly.
Not cruelly.
Just knowingly.
"I don't decide," he said quietly. "I observe."
She didn't understand what he meant.
Not then.
Not now.
Not until that night.
Her birthday had ended in disappointment. Yamal had forgotten. Completely. Carelessly. Like she was forgettable.
She lay in bed staring at her ceiling, her chest hollow.
Her phone rested in her hand.
Her thoughts restless.
She didn't mean to open his contact.
She didn't mean to stare at his name.
Lucien Devereaux.
Even his name looked expensive.
Untouchable.
Dangerous.
He had left for Canada in their final year of high school. Rumors said he took over parts of his family business early. Rumors said he was more powerful than his father now.
Rumors said things about him that didn't sound human.
Ana never believed rumors.
But she believed the way he used to look at her.
Like she was something he understood too well.
Her thumb hovered over the message button.
Don't do it.
He was the last person she should turn to.
He hated Yamal.
He hated their relationship.
He hated the version of her that stayed.
She pressed it anyway.
Lucien.
Three dots appeared instantly.
He was online.
He replied in seconds.
Anastasia.
He always called her that.
Never Ana.
Never shortened.
Always her full name.
Her heart tightened.
I didn't expect to hear from you.
She swallowed.
I know.
Pause.
Then
What happened?
He didn't ask why she texted.
He already knew something was wrong.
That was always the unsettling thing about Lucien.
He saw too much.
She stared at the screen.
She could lie.
She should lie.
Instead, she told the truth.
Yamal forgot my birthday.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Stopped.
Then finally
I'm not surprised.
Her jaw tightened.
She almost got defensive.
Almost protected Yamal out of habit.
But she was tired.
Too tired to pretend.
It hurt.
There was a longer pause this time.
Long enough to make her nervous.
When he finally replied, his words were different.
Colder.
Controlled.
He doesn't deserve you.
Her chest tightened.
Lucien had said those words years ago.
He was saying them again now.
She didn't respond.
He sent another message.
I told you he wasn't enough.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
You hated him.
His reply came instantly.
No.
Pause.
Then
I hated what he was doing to you.
Her breath caught.
She stared at the words, reading them again and again.
No one had ever said that before.
Not like that.
Not with that quiet certainty.
She remembered the way Lucien used to watch her and Yamal from across hallways. Silent. Observing.
She thought it was judgment.
She didn't realize it was restraint.
Why do you care? she typed before she could stop herself.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
When his reply came, it was simple.
Because it's you.
Her heart stuttered.
Three words.
Three dangerous words.
Because it's you.
Not because you're sad.
Not because you're hurting.
Because it's you.
She didn't know how to respond.
Lucien sent another message.
Are you still with him?
She hesitated.
Yes.
A pause.
Then
You shouldn't be.
Her chest tightened.
There was no hesitation in his words. No uncertainty.
Just quiet authority.
She remembered the boy he used to be.
But this version of Lucien felt different.
Colder.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
Like the years had turned him into something else entirely.
You don't get to decide that, she typed.
His reply came instantly.
No.
Pause.
But I get to tell you the truth.
Her breathing slowed.
She shouldn't be comforted by him.
She shouldn't be here.
She shouldn't be talking to him at 2 a.m. while her boyfriend slept peacefully after forgetting her existence.
But she was.
And Lucien was still there.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
Still caring.
More than he ever should.
And somewhere far away, in another country, Lucien Devereaux stared at his phone, his jaw tight, his dark eyes unreadable.
He had waited years.
Years watching her love someone who didn't deserve her.
Years forcing himself to stay away.
Years telling himself she wasn't his to protect.
But now she had come to him.
Not by accident.
Not by coincidence.
But by choice.
And Lucien Devereaux was not a man who ignored opportunities fate handed him twice.
He typed one final message.
Anastasia.
She hesitated before replying.
Yes?
His response came slowly.
Carefully.
You shouldn't have texted me.
Her heart skipped.
Why?
There was a long pause.
Long enough to make her chest tighten.
Then
Because now I won't be able to stay away.
Ana didn't realize it yet.
But the moment she messaged Lucien Devereaux
She didn't just reopen a conversation.
She reopened something far more dangerous.
Something that had been waiting.
Watching.
Patient.
And Lucien Devereaux had never been the kind of man who lost the things he wanted twice.