For a moment neither of us moves. Then I stand, setting the empty glass on the nightstand. “I should probably go,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. Lucien nods once, like he expected that answer. We step out into the hallway together. The door clicks shut behind us, and the quiet returns immediately, thick and hotel-clean.
Room 108. Right across from him. I turn toward him, crossing my arms loosely. “I’d say you should walk me to my room,” I tell him, “but it’s literally right there.”
I gesture toward the door across the hallway.
His mouth curves. “That would be a very short escort.”
“Efficiency is important.” I say.
He leans casually against his door for a second, studying me with that same thoughtful look. “You know,” he says, “most people would call this a coincidence.”
“And you don’t?”
“I think coincidences are just lazy explanations,” he replies.
“For what?” I questioned.
“For things that were always going to happen anyway.”My heartbeat stumbles a little at that. He straightens, pushing away from the door. “So,” he adds lightly, “technically I did walk you to your room.”
I glance at the two steps between us. “That was barely two feet.”
“Still counts.”
I reach for my key card. The lock beeps. I hesitate for half a second before opening the door. When I look back at him, he’s still watching me.
Not intense. Not possessive. Just… there.
“Goodnight, Sera,” he says quietly. The way he says my name makes something in me pull tight, quiet but impossible to ignore.
“Goodnight, Lucien.” I step inside and close the door. And for a long moment, I just stand there in the quiet. Listening. Half-expecting to hear his door open across the hall. Half-hoping it will.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I hate that I have butterflies. I hate that Dominic broke my heart. But maybe it had been fractured for a long time, and tonight was just the moment I finally noticed. The pieces of my heart are still here. Not empty. Just… rearranged.
I try not to picture her. But my brain does it anyway. Her back, her long blonde hair falling down her shoulders. I never saw her face. That’s all I saw. Maybe that’s for the best. Because if I don’t give her a face, she stays less real. Less human. Just a silhouette standing in the doorway of my marriage.
And I find myself wondering something I wish I didn’t care about. Was she married too? Was there another ring somewhere in that room? Another person who trusted her. Another person who had no idea.
The thought twists somewhere in my chest. Two people tangled up in my bed like vows are optional. Like rings are decorative. Like promises are flexible depending on the mood. I stare harder at the ceiling. Was she prettier? Did she laugh louder? Did she do the things I wouldn’t?
I hate that my brain does this. The comparisons. The measuring. The quiet shrinking of myself. Blonde versus black hair. Bold versus careful. Her versus me. And somehow I’m the one left standing outside the door while they stayed warm upstairs.
Pathetic.
Not her.
Me.
CHAPTER 6
Coincidence
The vibration of my phone drags me out of sleep. For a second I don’t know where I am. Then the ceiling comes back into focus. The unfamiliar room. The quiet hum of the hotel air.
My phone buzzes again. 7:01 a.m.
A Slack notification from Andrew.Need documents to confirm for today’s presentation. See you at the office in an hour.Right. The conference. Reality returns like cold water. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes. My head feels heavier than it should. Not quite a hangover. Just the dull weight of too many thoughts and not enough sleep.
The presentation is in an hour and I need to get ready. The shower is quick. I move through it like muscle memory, soap, rinse, breathe. I dress in something simple. Black tailored slacks, a soft cream blouse tucked neatly in and low black heels. I leave my hair down without really thinking about it, the dark strands falling over my shoulders instead of the usual tight bun.