Lucien's POV: The Runway Moment
The second Serena stepped onto the runway, something in me shifted.
I've seen her before. I've seen her walk across playgrounds, hallways, and classrooms, always calm, always composed, always untouchable. But there, under the lights, she wasn't untouchable-she was radiant. Every step she took was deliberate, every sway of her dress precise, every movement a silent declaration of who she was. And yet, beneath that ice, there was fire. And I felt it, like a pulse I couldn't ignore.
She didn't even glance at me. She didn't need to. Her eyes were focused, her expression serene, almost untouchable, but my entire body tightened with the knowledge that she was mine-mine in every way that mattered, even if she didn't know it herself. The crowd didn't see it. The cameras didn't catch it. But I did. Every subtle inhale, every tiny adjustment of her posture screamed confidence and control-and I knew the effort behind it. Serena never gave anything away for free. Not her attention. Not her approval. Not even her vulnerability.
I had promised myself I'd be here for her. Not to overshadow, not to dominate, but to protect. To make sure no one-no jealous rival, no scheming girl-ever diminished her light. And then I saw Cassandra Vale. I caught the tiniest glimmer of her hand near Serena's heel, the faintest movement that screamed sabotage. My chest constricted. Fury, sharp and immediate, shot through me like a lightning strike. Not today. Not ever.
And then I heard it. The crack.
Time slowed. My heart stopped. I froze for a heartbeat, staring at her foot. That sound-it wasn't just a heel breaking. It was the sound of everything I feared for the past ten years, condensed into a single, horrifying moment. And I realized instantly: she could fall. She could hurt herself. She could be humiliated.
Without thinking, I leaped. My legs moved faster than my brain could process. The crowd's roar dulled around me. The music became background noise. All I could see was her-Serena Blake, the girl who had waited, suffered, and grown into someone who could walk into any room and own it-and she was about to be undone.
I caught her just in time. My hands around her waist were firm but gentle, steadying her as she stumbled. Her eyes widened, and I felt a pang in my chest-fear, embarrassment, and something unspoken in those blue-green depths. "Are you okay?" I asked, voice low, urgent, because everything else in the world had disappeared.
She nodded, barely, gripping my jacket instinctively. And then, as if the moment wasn't enough, I realized the audience was watching. Cameras were flashing. Whispers were sweeping through the auditorium. I could feel Cassandra's rage like a living thing behind me, but Serena... she was calm. Determined. I could see her pride flickering behind the shock. And I wanted her to feel safe. I wanted her to feel protected by me. Not controlled, not overshadowed-protected.
I draped my jacket over her shoulders and carried her down the runway, the world exploding in cheers around us. And I noticed, with a strange, almost painful clarity, how much I loved her-not the girl she was when we were seven, not the fantasy I'd held onto in my absence, but her. Right here. Right now. In this moment. Every heartbeat, every pulse in my chest, screamed it.
When I set her down at the end of the runway, her hand brushed mine, and I felt something I hadn't allowed myself to admit: relief, awe, and an aching, helpless love. I'd missed too much. I'd been gone too long. And yet, here she was. Perfect, radiant, untouchable... and somehow, finally, hers for me to cherish.
I glanced at Cassandra, fuming but powerless, and I knew one thing: no one would ever dim her light. Not while I could breathe. Not while I could fight. And never again-never-would I let her face the world alone.