For a few seconds after Anthony and Sharon left, the boutique still felt charged.
Like the walls themselves had heard too much.
The customers who had pretended not to stare were still pretending, though badly. The hostess was reorganizing a display that didn't need reorganizing. One of the sales associates near the back had clearly frozen mid-fold and was now attempting to look useful while obviously dying for gossip.
Allison should have felt embarrassed.
Instead, she felt… awake.
Her pulse was still racing from Anthony grabbing her arm, from Sharon's smug little smile, from the satisfaction of watching both of them unravel when they realized she wasn't playing her part anymore.
But under all of that—under the anger and adrenaline and sharp triumph—there was something else.
Lucian.
He stood beside her as if chaos simply arranged itself around him and then had the decency to calm down. One hand rested in his coat pocket, the other hanging easy at his side, his posture relaxed in a way that felt almost insulting after what had just happened.
He didn't look rattled.
He looked mildly inconvenienced.
It should not have been attractive.
It was.
Terribly.
Allison shifted the clutch in her hand and drew in a slow breath. "Well," she said, her voice steadier now, "that was subtle."
Lucian glanced at her.
"On your part or theirs?"
That earned him a look.
His mouth moved—just barely. Not a smile exactly, but the ghost of one. The kind he seemed to save for private moments and dangerous thoughts.
"Come on," he said. "I'm taking you home."
Allison arched a brow automatically. "You keep phrasing things like orders."
"And you keep following them despite your objections."
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Because annoyingly, he was right.
Lucian looked toward the entrance, then back at her. "You can argue in the car if it helps your pride."
"I don't need help with my pride."
"I had assumed it was in excellent condition."
The dry answer almost pulled a laugh out of her again. Almost.
Instead, Allison gave the boutique staff one last polite nod, then turned and walked out beside him.
The evening air hit cooler this time.
The sky above the city had deepened into indigo, streetlights glinting against polished windows and wet pavement. Somewhere down the block, traffic hummed in low waves, the city alive and indifferent beneath the first real edge of night.
A black car waited at the curb.
Not flashy.
Not ostentatious.
But very expensive in the way only old money and men like Lucian seemed to understand.
Allison slowed when she saw it. "Of course you have a car waiting."
Lucian opened the rear door for her. "Should I have stolen a taxi to seem more approachable?"
She paused.
Then looked up at him.
The streetlight caught the sharp planes of his face, silvered the edges of his dark hair, and put just enough shadow in those gray eyes to make him look almost unreal.
God.
A man should not be allowed to look like that while sounding amused.
"It's offensive," she muttered.
"What is?"
"How calm you are."
Lucian's gaze held hers for one beat too long.
Then, very softly, "I'm not as calm as I look."
That did something dangerous to her insides.
Before she could think better of it, Allison slid into the car.
The interior was all dark leather, low lighting, and quiet luxury. It smelled faintly of cedar and something expensive she couldn't name. Lucian got in beside her a moment later, shutting the door with a soft, final click that muffled the city outside.
The driver pulled smoothly away from the curb.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Allison sat angled slightly toward the window, the emerald clutch resting in her lap, her fingers still faintly tense around it. She could feel Lucian beside her—not touching, not crowding, not doing anything remotely improper.
And yet she was aware of everything.
The space his body took up.
The heat of him in the cool car.
The way silence with him never felt empty.
It felt full.
That was the problem.
A dangerous, expensive, broad-shouldered problem with silver-gray eyes and a sense of humor that arrived disguised as restraint.
Allison looked out at the passing city and told herself to get a grip.
She had too much on her plate for this.
A revenge plan.
A public exposure.
Her father arriving tomorrow.
Bodyguards she was pretending not to notice.
A fraudulent marriage.
A real mistress.
A stolen year of her life.
She did not have time to be distracted by a man.
Even one who had stepped between her and Anthony without making her feel weak.
Especially one like that.
Lucian broke the silence first.
"You handled that well."
Allison gave a quiet huff. "I'm not sure 'public confrontation in a luxury store' was ever on my list of life goals."
"It should be," he said. "You were impressive."
She turned to look at him.
There was no teasing in his expression now.
No dry edge.
Just truth.
That should not have hit as hard as it did.
Allison looked away first.
"Thank you," she said, and hated how soft it came out.
Lucian's voice stayed low. "You don't have to thank me for noticing."
There was something about the way he said things—straight, almost simple—that made them more dangerous, not less.
Because he wasn't flattering her.
He wasn't trying to charm her with rehearsed lines or easy compliments.
He was just… seeing her.
As if that alone was enough reason to speak.
Allison rested her head lightly against the seat and let out a breath. "You know, most men would've either made that worse or tried to rescue me in a way I'd want to stab them for."
Lucian folded one arm along the back of the seat, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the shape of the gesture.
"I gathered you wouldn't appreciate being handled."
"No," she said dryly. "You gathered correctly."
His gaze flicked to her. "You prefer backup to interference."
That made her turn fully.
The city lights flashed across his face in passing patterns, throwing light and shadow over features too sharp to be entirely kind.
"You figured that out fast."
Lucian's tone didn't change. "You made it obvious."
"That sounds rude."
"It's admiration."
Her lips twitched before she could stop them.
"You should work on making that sound less like a performance review."
"I'll add it to my personal growth list."
That one got her.
A small laugh escaped her—real enough that she brought a hand to her mouth for no reason other than she suddenly felt too visible.
Lucian watched her quietly.
There was warmth in his eyes again now, faint but unmistakable.
Not broad.
Not easy.
But there.
And for the first time in longer than she wanted to admit, Allison didn't feel like the room—well, the car—was pulling something from her.
It felt like it was giving her space to come back to herself.