Chapter 2

“Lucian what?”

Another pause. Then—“Just Lucian.”

Of course.

I hesitated, just for a moment too long.

"I'm Francesca, but since it's a mouthful and you seem like someone who doesn't talk much, call me Steph"

"Nice to meet you Francesca."

"..."

That voice. The accent, his posture. Even the way the smoke clung to him—like he didn't belong here, belonged to some other time.

I shook my head. “One drink,” I said. He nodded once without blinking.

As I stepped past him, I felt his eyes on me. My skin prickled and I wasn’t even sure if it was fear… or just fascination.

The moment I stepped inside, it was like stumbling into a different planet. The bass hit me first — thick and low, vibrating through the floor and right into my ribs. Flashes of colored light cut through the smoky haze overhead like sirens underwater. Sweat and perfume mixed with cheap cologne, and everyone seemed to be either grinding, yelling, or spilling their drinks. I paused at the edge, eyes wide, momentarily overwhelmed.

This wasn’t my scene. It never had been. But Precious insisted this place had ''energy'' and a “mixed crowd,” whatever that meant. Meanwhile, she was probably off somewhere doing body shots with a DJ while I had nearly frozen outside with... Him. Lucian stood just behind me — silent, still — his presence oddly grounding. I sensed his gaze again and smirked to myself. He was watching. Of course he was watching.

"You could at least step forward and stop staring at my ass," I threw over my shoulder, laced with sarcasm.

There was a short pause, like he was trying to understand what I just said. He did say he didn't understand sarcasm.

"I assure you," he replied, deadpan, "I am not fascinated by your buttocks."

I stopped cold, turned to face him with the kind of expression you wear when you’re not sure if you should laugh or slap someone. The laugh won. It slipped out of me, bright and unexpected. His face didn’t even flicker — he just stared, completely serious.

“You’re joking, right?” I asked, still smiling.

"I do not understand," he said simply, tilting his head. "Why would I lie about your buttocks?"

That made me laugh harder — drawing a few stares from a nearby couple making out aggressively against a pillar.

"God, you’re serious." I shook my head, amused. “You know, you’re kinda funny when you’re not trying.”

"I am not trying" he replied flatly, as if offended by the very suggestion.

We started moving deeper into the club, weaving through the pulsing crowd. Bodies moved in sync with the music, or in deliberate rebellion against it. The place smelled like too many different perfumes trying to outcompete each other. Strobe lights flickered across faces that didn’t look real in the chaos — all smiles and shadows.

I walked slightly ahead, careful not to lose sight of the bar a few meters away. Lucian followed closely behind, silent but... present. Like a ghost that didn't believe in personal space.

I kept catching glances. Not from him, but from other people. From women mostly — eyes sliding toward Lucian, some subtle, others not. And he didn’t seem to notice. Or care. That pale skin, collar loose and undone, sleeves rolled up halfway — it all screamed “mystery” in bold, gothic letters.

I looked at him again. Just a side glance, still too pale or white, I couldn't tell from all the flickering lights. His eyes way too clear. Too still, and his teeth... I squinted, are his canines actually that sharp? Or was the light playing tricks on me?

Maybe I needed a drink.

Still, I could feel something in the air between us. A pull — magnetic but slightly off-center, like walking near a bonfire you can’t decide whether to get close to or run from.

"You’re not from around here, right?" I asked, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

"I am from Europe," he replied.

"Yeah, no shit. It's all over your accent, where exactly in Europe?"

He gave the faintest pause. “Romania.”

Called it.

I nodded, then leaned closer. “You do realize you're standing out as little too much? You look like Nick jonas cooler cousin."

He blinked, slow, like he was trying to comprehend what I just said. "Who is that?"

“nevermind.” I smirked, brushing past a couple arguing near the bar.

He didn’t say anything after that. Just kept following me, eyes calmly surveying the crowd, like he was searching for something. Or someone.

Maybe Precious had set me up again. Maybe this guy was a creep. Or maybe... I don’t know. Maybe this night wasn’t going to go the way I thought it would.

But one thing was already clear: Lucian wasn’t just some guy, and something told me that walking into this club wasn’t the most dangerous thing I’d done tonight.