Seraphina's POV
The elevator ride was suffocating. Not loud. Not awkward. Just… too quiet, like the air itself had been stripped out.
The mirrored chrome walls reflected me from every angle. I saw myself with repeated bare shoulders, a tense jaw, and the black silk dress swallowing the light. Like I was stuck watching a version of myself I didn't fully recognize.
Somewhere between the car and here, I had wiped away the smudge of mascara under my eye. Now there was nothing left of the gala on me. No mess. No evidence. Like nothing had happened at all.
Except it had.
Lucien stood beside me, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that didn't feel relaxed at all. He didn't look at me. He didn't need to. His presence was enough and impossible to ignore.
The silence between us wasn't empty. It was like we were both holding ourselves.
I shifted slightly, eyes fixed on the mirrored wall instead of him. "You always bring strangers to your penthouse?"
