A quiet signal. The bartender nods once, understanding the message. “Have a good night,” Lucien adds, already guiding me away from the bar. And just like that, the argument is over before it ever begins. I blink at him, half amused, half grateful. Dangerous. Charming. Protective. All rolled into one infuriating package.
Lucien’s hand rests lightly on my lower back as he guides me toward the elevators. Warm. Consistent. Unsettlingly so.
We step inside.
The doors slide shut with a soft metallic sigh then he presses a button.
3.
My brain immediately snaps to attention.
Three?
How does he know I’m on the third floor?
CHAPTER 5
Room 108
I don’t remember telling him what floor I’m on. Okay. Calm down, Sera. Maybe everyone’s on the third floor. Maybe it’s a popular floor. Maybe the elevators just default here.
Maybe—
Oh my God.
I suddenly wish that ridiculous story I told him about my sister implanting a tracking chip in my arm was actually true. Because this is exactly how those crime documentaries start.
The elevator dings. We step out. The hallway is too quiet, the thick carpet swallowing the sound of our footsteps. The lighting is soft and yellow, meant to feel warm but somehow making everything look slightly dim. Everything smells faintly of carpet cleaner and fresh sheets.
My room is 108.
We start walking.
105.
106.
For a brief second, I consider running. Just turn around and walk back to the elevator like a person with even the slightest sense of self-preservation. I could say I forgot something or pretend I suddenly remembered an urgent… email.
But my feet keep moving.
107.
108. My door.
Lucien slows beside me, and for a second I think he’s about to stop. Instead, he turns. Directly across the hallway.
Room 107.
My stomach drops. For a moment the entire hallway feels still, like the building itself is watching. Lucien reaches into his wallet and pulls out a key card. Oh. Fucking hell. This is his room. Right across from mine. I stare at the number on the door as the realization settles in. The universe really isn’t subtle tonight. It’s practically winking at me. Relief moves through me so suddenly it almost makes me lightheaded.
I’m not about to be murdered. He isn’t some hotel-hopping serial killer with a convincing smile. He’s just… married and inconveniently attractive.
“I’d walk you to your room,” he says, his voice softer now, “but I’m not sure you’d want a stranger knowing your room number.”
Stranger. He says it carefully, like the word matters. “Here,” he adds, opening his door. “Sit for a minute. I’ll get you some water.”
I hesitate only briefly. Then I step inside.