Sunlight filtered through the gap in my curtains, attacking my eyelids with unforgiving brightness. I groaned, turning away from the offensive light, my limbs feeling like they were filled with lead rather than blood. Sleep clung to me like a desperate lover, unwilling to let go despite the day demanding my attention.
Yesterday's events replayed in my mind—the accusation still burning like acid in my chest. *Gold digger*. The words had been spat at me with such venom, such conviction, as if the woman knew anything about me—about the late nights I spent hunched over business plans, the savings account I'd been building cent by painful cent, the dream I was chasing without anyone's help. I was busy building my own gold, not hunting for someone else's.
Forcing myself upright, I swung my legs over the bed, my toes curling at the touch of the cold hardwood floor. The emptiness of the apartment greeted me—Mia, my little sister, had already left for school, her half-empty cereal bowl abandoned in the sink as usual. My cousin Tara would be at work by now, probably already three cups of coffee into her morning.
I shuffled toward the kitchen, my oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder, my hair a wild nest of curls. The kitchen gleamed with morning light, everything in its place—the one area of my life where control wasn't just an illusion. I reached for my favorite mug, the blue ceramic one with a chip on the handle, and placed it under the coffee machine. The rich aroma filled the air as dark liquid streamed into the cup, promising alertness, clarity, focus—all the things I desperately needed today.
With reverence, I lifted the steaming mug to my lips, closing my eyes in anticipation of that first, perfect sip—when the doorbell rang, shattering my moment of peace.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, placing my untouched coffee on the counter with more force than necessary. The doorbell rang again, impatient, insistent.
"Coming!" I called out, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice. I glanced down at my appearance—sleep shorts and an old university t-shirt—and shrugged. Whoever thought it was appropriate to show up unannounced at this hour deserved what they got.
I unlocked the door and yanked it open, prepared to send away whatever salesperson or neighbor had dared to interrupt my morning—only to freeze in place, my breath catching in my throat.
Lucian Blackwood.
He stood in my doorway like he belonged there, his tall frame blocking the morning light, casting a shadow across my threshold. His black button-down shirt stretched across broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. Dark jeans hung low on his hips, and expensive leather shoes completed the look of casual dominance. His raven hair was styled back from his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw.
I suddenly became painfully aware of my disheveled appearance, my bare legs, my messy hair. Heat crept up my neck to my cheeks, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. I schooled my features into what I hoped was cool indifference and lifted my chin.
"How may I help you?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest, unconsciously creating a barrier between us.
His eyes—those unsettling golden eyes that seemed to see right through me—swept over my form before returning to my face. One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"That's not how someone says good morning... is it?" His voice was deep, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air between us. Each word was measured, deliberate, like he was tasting them before letting them go.
My irritation flared. "Good morning? Like I'm actually supposed to greet you?"
"I expect you to," he replied, leaning slightly against my doorframe, invading my space without even moving. "After all, I am a visitor, aren't I?"
I scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet morning air. "I don't seem to acknowledge you as my visitor, so I think you're an unwanted visitor."
Instead of the anger I expected, his lips curved into a smile—not a pleasant one, but one that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. There was something beneath that smile, something predatory and calculating that made my instincts scream a warning I couldn't quite decipher.
"Aren't you gonna let me in?" he asked, his tone playful but his eyes intent, watching my reaction with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"Not unless you tell me what your purpose here is," I shot back, gripping the door frame tighter. "I don't want your mother calling me a gold digger again because her son decided to come visit me because he seems to think I'm the type that acknowledges uninvited visitors."
He chuckled, the sound rolling through the air like distant thunder. With it came a sensation I couldn't ignore—a dark energy, heavy and oppressive, seemed to radiate from him. It was like standing at the edge of an abyss, knowing something ancient and dangerous lurked below but being unable to look away. I'd never felt such a presence from anyone before, and it both terrified and intrigued me.
Before I could process what was happening, he moved closer, his body nearly pinning me against the door frame. I could smell his cologne—something expensive and woodsy that made my head swim. He leaned down, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of my neck.
"Aren't you going to let me in?" he whispered, his lips nearly brushing my ear.
A shiver raced down my spine, goosebumps erupting across my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to come alive, acutely aware of his proximity, of the heat radiating from his body.
With a sudden surge of self-preservation, I pushed against his chest and stepped back into my apartment. His body felt like steel beneath my palms, unyielding and solid.
"You can come in," I managed, my voice shakier than I would have liked. I held the door open, watching as he moved past me with the fluid grace of a predator. The scent of his cologne lingered in his wake, making my head spin.
I closed the door and made my way back to the living room, desperately trying to regain my composure. My abandoned coffee cup called to me like a lifeline, and I snatched it up, cradling it between my palms as I sat on the couch.
Lucian took the seat across from me, crossing one leg over the other with the casual confidence of someone who owned the room. His golden eyes never left my face as I took a sip of my now-lukewarm coffee, using the mug as a shield between us.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" I demanded, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "I could sue you for visual abuse if you continue staring at me like I'm some kind of meal or something."
His laugh was genuine this time, a rich sound that seemed to warm the room. "I'm here to thank you for last night," he said, his voice dropping to a sultry tone that sent an unwelcome heat coursing through my veins.
I nearly choked on my coffee. "Last night? What happened last night?" I asked, genuinely confused and slightly alarmed by the implication.
He laughed again, softer this time, and leaned forward, golden eyes capturing mine. In the morning light streaming through the windows, those eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire—amber and honey and sunlit whiskey all at once. Something stirred in my chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee and everything to do with the man sitting across from me.
*No.* I mentally slammed the door on that feeling. *Go back where you came from. I will not accept feeling anything for any man, especially not this one.*
"I came to thank you for bringing my sister home," he explained, his tone turning serious, the playfulness from earlier replaced by something that sounded almost like... vulnerability?
"It's not like I could have left her there," I replied, setting my mug down on the coffee table. "It's dangerous for her, especially since she was drunk. I—"
"That's why I want to thank you," he interrupted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "I might look cold and heartless—"
"You are," I interjected before I could stop myself, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere.
To my surprise, he laughed, the sound transforming his face, softening the hard edges and making him look younger, almost approachable. I found myself smiling in response, drawn into the moment despite my best intentions.
"I guess I am," he admitted, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But I love my mom and my sisters with my whole world. They've been through more than women should ever have to experience, so I'm really protective of them. Seeing someone protect them apart from me... it makes me grateful."
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. For a moment, the mask slipped, and I glimpsed something genuine beneath the arrogance and intimidation—a man who cared deeply for his family, who carried burdens I couldn't begin to understand.
"I'm glad I made you feel grateful," I said softly, meaning it.
"I guess you are," he replied, a smile warming his features, transforming him from intimidating to devastatingly handsome.
That warmth in my chest returned, stronger this time—a flutter of something I hadn't felt in years, something I'd convinced myself I'd never feel again. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore it as he rose to his feet in one fluid motion.
"I'll be leaving now," he announced. "I've caused you enough discomfort."
I stood as well, relieved and strangely disappointed at the same time. "Thank God you know that. I didn't enjoy my coffee thanks to you."
"But you were just drinking the coffee," he pointed out, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
"It doesn't mean I enjoyed it." The words came out more petulant than I intended, and I winced internally at how childish I sounded.
I followed him to the door, watching as he reached for the handle. He paused, turning back to face me, close enough that I could see the flecks of darker gold in his irises, the shadow of stubble along his jaw.
"You won't even say goodbye now?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that seemed to brush against my skin.
"When did I become your girlfriend?" I asked, annoyance failing to mask the breathlessness in my voice.
He moved closer, eliminating the space between us until his face was mere inches from mine. I could feel the heat of his body, see the subtle rise and fall of his chest with each breath. The intensity in his gaze held me captive, unable to look away, unable to step back.
"What do you think you're doing?" I whispered, feeling my face flush with heat, my heart racing so fast I was sure he could hear it.
"Cute," he said, the single word carrying a weight I couldn't understand.
Before I could respond, he stepped back and walked out of my condo, leaving me standing in the doorway, confused and unsettled.
I closed the door slowly, leaning back against it as I tried to process what had just happened. The lingering scent of his cologne teased my senses, a reminder that I hadn't imagined the encounter. Those golden eyes, the way they had seemed to glow when he looked at me—there was something different about Lucian Blackwood, something I couldn't explain.
*I'll never know because I won't be seeing him again,* I told myself firmly.
Yet even as the thought formed, my stomach twisted in protest, a visceral reaction that startled me with its intensity. Something told me that despite my best intentions, despite all reason and logic, this wouldn't be the last I saw of Lucian Blackwood—and some treacherous part of me was glad of it.