LUCIAN

I sat frozen in that chair, jaw tight while she sashayed away from me like she hadn't just set my entire nervous system on fire.

Outwardly, I maintained my usual blank expression but inside, my teeth were practically grinding themselves into dust. My hand still gripped the glass she'd snatched and emptied with so much damn attitude and it was only now I realized how close I'd come to shattering it in my palm.

I could feel them all watching me -Matt, the other guys, even the waitstaff pretending not to stare. But it was Matt's stare that burned, his curiosity practically vibrating off him.

I didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of a reaction, but when I heard someone whisper, "Yo, what the hell just happened?" like we were in a live broadcast of some dramatic scandal, I finally turned my head to Matt.

"Spit it out,"

He opened his mouth then shut it. Tried again. Failed. His arms flailed in an awkward gesture like he was trying to physically grab hold of an explanation. "Did you... did she just... like-on your lap?" He blurted.

Around us, the other men were whispering like we were in the middle of a goddamn gender reveal. Except instead of pink or blue, the big question was whether I'd just been publicly humiliated... or seduced.

"She...she just-bro, what kind of Twilight Zone-?"

I set the now-empty glass back on the table and stood up, ignoring the way my pulse thundered in my ears.

"I'm heading out," I muttered.

Matt blinked. "Wait, what? We just got here."

"And you're free to stay," I said, already moving past him. "Have fun. Send my regards to Ally."

"Lucian, come on, what the hell just-"

I didn't let him finish.

I needed air. I needed silence.  

And I needed to forget how badly I wanted to drag her back and demand to know what game she was playing.

But I knew I wouldn't.

Because she was already too deep in my head.  

And that terrified me more than I'd ever admit.

I was already walking away, not wanting to stay in this goddamn space for another second. I pulled out my phone and shot George a text.

Me: Bring the car around.

The cool night air barely dented the heat simmering beneath my skin. I'd almost reached the main floor when I stopped.

The bouncer from earlier still stood at his post-arms crossed, towering, relaxed. I didn't know what compelled me to turn back.

That was a lie. I knew.

I walked up to him, tugging my wallet from my coat.

"Something wrong, sir?"

I retrieved a check. Five digits, clean. I handed it over.

"Get this to the masked dancer."

He whistled low at the amount. "Damn. Lux?" His lips curled into a grin. "She's fire, ain't she? Man, every guy in that room would sell their soul to get a taste. She's so fucking unreal."

I didn't respond.

He chuckled, still talking. "Heard she doesn't do extras though. Tease like that, and no follow-through? Shame. You'd think with that kind of body-"

"Shut the fuck up."

My fists tightened as a surge of protectiveness wash over me.

The smile vanished.

I took a step forward and he backed away. Fucking spineless bastard.

His throat bobbed. "I-I was just-"

"Yeah?" My stare was lethal.

He tried to recover. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean any disrespect. Was just talkin'. Didn't realize she was...yours."

I held his gaze. I never said she was mine. But I didn't correct him either.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh... should I tell her who it's from?"

"No." I stepped back. "Anonymity is a thing."

Without another word, I turned and walked out into the cold night where George had just pulled up to the curb. The doors opened smoothly.

"Everything alright, sir?" He asked.

I didn't answer as I got in and slammed the door shut.

Mine.

What the fuck was I doing, trying to stake a claim on a mere stripper?

"Sir,"

I scowled, not having the slightest bit of patience left. "Just drive."

No more words were exchanged as George pulled away from the curb, weaving into the near-empty street.

I leaned back against the leather and shut my eyes, foolishly hoping for a moment of peace.

But peace never came.

All I could see was red leather hugging curves in a way that made my jaw clench. Red lips, parted just slightly as she lip-synced to lyrics I didn't recognize but suddenly wanted to memorize. Her scent -fuck, her scent- still clung to my shirt like sweet smoke laced with something so dangerous and addictive.

And those eyes.

Hazel. Yes-but brighter and sharper, almost golden under the dim lights, like they held secrets no one else could touch. Damn those eyes. The way they had locked with mine, daring me, challenging me, trying to read me as much as I was reading her. I'd been one breath away from tearing that mask off.

I could have pushed her off.

Should have.

Women like her? I had no tolerance for them. The ones who used their bodies to gain an edge, to distract, to manipulate.

But she wasn't like that.  

When she was on stage with that lanky guy, I couldn't get a good look at her face although her body language was glaringly clear enough. She wasn't performing for the crowd, she was enduring them. The way she moved was skilled, sure. Trained, even. But she wasn't flirting with the audience like the others did. She scanned the room like she hated every man in it. Like each one was another wolf waiting for permission.

The moment she walked toward me, I noticed how carefully she avoided eye contact with the rest of the men. How she slightly flinched when someone reached too far in her direction. Her steps faltered, but just for a second and then she kept going like she was walking into a war zone.

And when she got to me? It was as clear as day.

Behind the seductive front, behind the boldness and showmanship was fear. And underneath that? A strange kind of resolve. It was like she had something to prove... or something to lose.

One look around the room told me this wasn't something she did often. Whispers rose the second she stepped off the stage, threading through the VIP section like wildfire. This wasn't part of the show.

Every movement as she sensually touched her body suggested intimacy, but when her hands neared me, she pulled back.

Then there was the way she straddled me.  

Her knees dug into the velvet on either side of my thighs, but her body never settled. Most of her weight balanced on the balls of her feet and her own core, so controlled it almost felt... respectful. Like she was giving the illusion of power without surrendering anything. It was like she was on stage, and I was just the prop.

But why?

Why the hell did she choose me?

I pulled at my hair in frustration.

She felt familiar. In the angle of her jaw. The twitch of her mouth. The way she narrowed her eyes.

It felt like a memory just out of reach.

Déjà vu.

A sudden pang of guilt tore through me.

What the hell am I doing?

I had two kids waiting at home. Lena's memorial is just around the corner. I should be thinking about her, honoring her, not being haunted by another woman's body and eyes that slipped past defenses I'd fortified for years.

I hadn't looked at anyone like that in three years.

So why her?

What is it about her that claws at something I thought was long buried?

I dragged a hand down my face as if that would somehow erase the memory. I need to pull myself together. Fast. But the only problem now is the fact I have no idea how to purge her out of my head.

"I'm so fucked..."

LUCIAN

"Mr. Delacroix, you really don't have to do this," George said from where he was standing by the doorway in his ever-crisp suit, tablet in hand. "You already have a packed schedule today. I can handle the session with their homeroom teacher and report back to you."

I stood behind Lucas and tried smoothing his dark hair with the tip of my fingers. "Do you want it this way?" I asked, brushing it to the right. "Or this way?"

He blinked up at me with a giggle and shoved all of it backward with his own small hands. "This way."

My bad for asking.

"Alright," I chuckled, fixing it into the messy-slicked style he liked. I bent and pressed an exaggerated kiss to his forehead. He laughed and wriggled out of my reach.

Eli was already settled, legs tucked under him, quietly working through his coloring book with his eyes narrowed in focus. Every so often, he'd switch crayons without looking up, tapping one against his lip before picking a new color.

Lucas tugged at my hand. "Are you really taking us to school?"

Eli paused mid-stroke, lifting his head curiously.  

"Yes, buddy." I responded. "Go get your bags, let's go."

Lucas bolted down the hallway, feet slapping against the hardwood as he went while Eli stood up more slowly. He closed his coloring book and stacked his crayons neatly on top, lining everything up before he followed after his brother.

Only when they were out of sight did I finally turn back to George with a glare, the calm I'd kept on my face for the boys dropped away.

It was Monday... and I was still very much irritated.  

Friday night had thrown my entire weekend off balance, to the point where I barely got any work done. I knew that would come back to bite me in the office today and I could already hear my inbox screaming for attention.

My mother's voice still echoed in my head from yesterday's endless nagging. Her well-meaning advice about grief and moving on never came quietly, it always made my skull ache.

The only thing keeping me remotely sane right now were those two boys.

Normally, George would have handled school drop‑off while I headed to the office. But this morning, he informed me that the kids' homeroom teacher had emailed about meeting their guardian.

"I already told you there's no need for that," I said, referring to his earlier comment. "I'll drop them off and meet her. It shouldn't take that long."

His expression was patient. "You know it's not about that."

I did.

I just didn't care.

The boys reappeared, backpacks on.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Yup!" Lucas chirped.

Eli nodded.

I smiled softly. "Good. Let's go."

By the time we stepped outside, the car was already waiting in the driveway. One of the security staff opened the rear door and waited for us to load in.

"Can I sit by the window today?" Lucas asked, halfway in already.

"Fine," I said, buckling him in. "Just don't kick the seat."

"I don't kick! That was Eli last time."

Eli slowly shook his head.

"Don't throw your brother under the bus," I said, giving Lucas a look.

He grinned. "It was worth a shot."

I slid in after them and through the tinted glass, I could see George still standing at the edge of the driveway with his arms crossed, watching us leave like he thought he could stop me just by staring hard enough.

Lucas twisted around in his seat a little. "Are you staying with us the whole day?"

"No," I said, brushing a hand over his hair. "Just meeting your teacher."

"Can she give you homework too?" he asked with a grin.

"Don't push your luck, buddy."

He pouted while Eli let out the faintest giggle.

The car ride to school was almost half an hour and by the time the school was visible, the parking lot was already full of parents and teachers; kids were getting out of the cars, backpacks bouncing, some kids crying, some laughing. A usual Monday mess.

Lucas had already unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out before I could stop him while Eli was still waiting for me to unfasten his seatbelt and help him out. I grabbed Lucas by the shoulder before he could run away again, then took both their hands, one on each side and began walking with them towards the school ‍‌building.

The whispers started almost instantly. Eyes turned, voices dropped and I felt the usual wave of unwanted attention settle over us like a heavy coat. This right here was exactly why Elena and I had agreed on homeschooling in the first place. People couldn't just look without staring. Couldn't mind their goddamn business if their lives depended on it.

Eli's small hand gripped mine a little tighter, his steps slowing just slightly. I gave his hand a light squeeze in return, casting a sharp glare at a few of the adults who clearly didn't have enough to occupy their lives.

We reached the entrance, where a small group of staff members stood talking quietly. They stopped talking the second we stepped onto the walkway. One woman nudged another with her elbow. Another's eyes widened slightly, then darted between me and the boys.

"Go...good morning, sir," one of them stammered out.

"Morning," I said curtly. "I'm looking for Ms. Sterling. Would you happen to know where I can find her?"

The woman blinked, then pointed behind her with a jerky motion. "She just went inside. Her office is down the hall. First left after the display boards."

I gave a nod of thanks and walked past, ignoring the hushed squeals behind me.

We'd just rounded the first turn, and I was scanning the nameplates on the office doors trying to find the right one, when Eli suddenly pulled his hand out of mine and bolted forward.

"Eli, wait up."

Lucas took off right after him.

"Guys, that's not-"  I trailed off when I saw what had caught their attention-or rather, who.

A lady stood at the end of the hall, back turned to me, dressed in a loose, oatmeal-colored sweater and a long, pleated skirt that swayed slightly as she shifted her weight. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, wisps falling at her nape. She hadn't noticed us.

Eli ran full force into her legs like a homing missile, she turned sharply at the contact, startled at first, then she let out a soft laugh and crouched immediately to pull him and Lucas into her arms.

"Well, don't you two look so dashing today?" She said warmly, her voice carrying down the hallway to where I stood frozen. "Who did your hair, Lucas?"

"Daddy!" Lucas replied proudly.

"Oh really?" she chuckled. "And where's George this morning?"

"Home," Eli mumbled, already curling one hand into her sweater and using the other to twist a strand of her hair gently between his fingers.

That small, familiar gesture punched something soft in my chest. Eli didn't just touch anyone unprovoked. Only when he felt safe.

"Who dropped you off, then?" she asked gently, still completely unaware I was approaching.

"I did," I said from behind them.

Still crouched between them, she faltered like my voice scrambled something in her brain. Her hand sweater trying to adjust them while also rising to her feet too quickly.

"So sorry," she swayed slightly, then tried to pull herself together, smoothing her sweater with jittery fingers.

"I didn't know you were..."

She trailed off.

At the same exact moment, my stomach dropped.

My entire body froze as her face came into full view.

No fucking way...

The hallway faded.

The sounds.

The school.

Even my sons standing between us.

There were no masks now.

No lights.

No music.

But those eyes... those goddamn eyes.

It couldn't be.

And yet, there they were. Those were the same hazel eyes that held me still under the club's strobe lights. Just three nights back, they had walked me through a room full of unfamiliar faces and then had me completely exposed. The same ones I'd spent the entire weekend trying and failing to erase.

Even out of the leather, even with the glasses and the oversized sweater, those eyes were the same.

Unmistakable.

Lux...

But not just that.

Staring back at me was the lady I'd kissed in the alley of a bar in Chicago, three years ago.

CORINNE

"Uh... good morning." My voice came out a tad squeaky, betraying my attempt at composure as his intense gaze stayed on me.

I cleared my throat awkwardly when he didn't look away. "Mr. Delacroix?"

He studied me for another second, then inclined his head a bit, as if he was trying to figure out who I was and for a moment I doubted whether I had seen the faint trace of threat in that‌‍ ‍‌look.

Then he looked down at where the twins were still holding onto my hands on both sides. His eyes stayed there for a moment longer than necessary before moving up and resting on the badge clipped to my sweater.

"Corinne Sterling," he said, dragging the words out slowly. His gaze returned to mine and I felt a shiver run down my spine. "You wanted to see me."

"Yes... yes," I forced a small smile. "If you don't mind, please follow me to my office." My fingers tightened briefly around the twins' hands, and I forced myself to step forward, trying to mask the flutter in my chest.

After handing the boys off to another staff member and exchanging quiet goodbyes, I led him down the hall. Every step echoed unnervingly in the quiet corridor as his heavy and silent presence moved behind me.

I opened the door to my office and gestured inside. "Please have a seat."

He didn't.

Instead, he walked past me and took in the room like he was cataloguing it. The shelves. The cluttered desk. The children's drawings taped crookedly to the wall. His hands stayed in his pockets with his face giving nothing away.

"Mr. Delacroix?" I tried again.

He turned to face me at last. Up close, his eyes were so cold and so flat that anyone else might have felt it as a shove, a warning. I pushed past it.

"Would you care for a glass of water?" I asked, hoping the offer might ease some of the tension or at least distract him.

"No."

He sat then, slow and unbothered, crossing his legs like he had all the time in the world. "Why did you ask to see me?"

I sighed quietly and took my seat across from him, folding my hands together on the desk to keep them still.

"It's about Elias."

That did it.

I watched him straighten, the ease he'd been pretending to have vanishing in an instant. His eyes sharpened, something guarded sliding into place.

"What about him?"

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "What is his diagnosis? Is he... on the spectrum?"

"Is that what this is about?" His voice dropped. "You think you can't handle a slow autistic-"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Mr. Delacroix," I cut in, heat flaring despite myself. I met his glare head-on. "Did you honestly think that's what this is?"

His jaw flexed. "Then what?"

I leaned back in my chair, forcing myself to stay calm even as frustration prickled beneath my skin.

"The twins transferred here less than three months ago. I wasn't given anything to work with. No background. No notes. Just a vague instruction from the principal to 'handle him with care.'"

I shook my head slightly.

"How exactly am I supposed to do that when I don't know his triggers? I don't know what overwhelms him, what calms him down, what helps him refocus. I'm walking into every day blind, hoping I don't make things worse."

I paused, drawing in a breath before continuing.

"And for the record," I added quietly, "Elias is not slow. He processes things differently. At his own pace. That doesn't make him less capable."

My gaze lifted back to him. "You're his father. How could you even...?"

For the first time since we'd sat down, something shifted. His face stayed composed but the edge in him dulled, just slightly.

He was quiet for a moment.

"What do you want to know?" he asked finally.

"His medical records," I said. Then, after a beat, "And an explanation."

His eyes narrowed. "For what?"

"For why you've been absent," I said plainly. "I would've thought George was their father."

That earned me a reaction.

"Ms. Sterling," he said, my name clipped, almost sharp. "How exactly is it your concern that George handles things?"

"It isn't," I replied evenly. "Not directly."

I folded my hands together. "But most parents, even the busiest ones, manage to show up occasionally. Drop-offs. Meetings. Progress check-ins. It's part of being involved."

I held his gaze. "From the outside, it looks like you don't care much about their school life. And whether that's fair or not, it does raise questions."

The word hung there, ugly and irreversible.

His jaw tightened again, the muscle ticking like a warning.

Oh...shit.

This was definitely not the reason I had him come down here.

I slapped a hand over my mouth like that might rewind time.

Fuck. My mouth really was my worst enemy.

"You think I don't care about my children," he said slowly.

Not a question.

"I shouldn't have phrased it that way," I said quickly. "That was an overstep. I apologize."

I lowered my hand but kept my eyes down, suddenly very interested in the grain of my desk.

The silence that followed was heavy and too long.

I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, calculating damage, weighing whether I was worth the trouble. I was already bracing myself for an email from the principal by the end of the day. Maybe sooner.

Then he spoke.

"Have we met before?"

I looked up so fast my neck protested.

"What?"

His eyes didn't leave my face. Not even to blink.

"Do you know me from before now?"

My pulse stuttered.

I leaned back slowly, buying myself half a second to think. My mind, unhelpfully, chose violence.

'Oh dear, if I knew you any better than I do right now, I'd probably need to carve my brain open and scrape you out with a spoon.'

But of course, I couldn't say that out loud.

This is Lucian Delacroix. Widowed CEO of Delacroix Global Holdings. Private equity. Cybersecurity. Strategic acquisitions. A legacy empire so vast it didn't need him in front of cameras to dominate headlines. Even back when I still lived and breathed Chicago, his name carried weight without noise.

And then there was the other truth.

The one that tasted like smoke and bad decisions.

Three nights ago, under pulsing lights and borrowed anonymity, he had been the person I threw away my sanity for. He is a mistake I hadn't figured out how to undo.

There was a reason I'd sent that email. A reason I'd insisted he come in person. A reason I'd pushed this meeting instead of passing it off to George like everyone else did.

Everything I'd said up until now?

That was a nonsensical ruse.

So you might want to ask again. Do I know him?

Yes, I most certainly do.