Chapter 41
2191words
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Kristina’s Bedroom
Late Evening
The room was quiet, wrapped in the soft hush of late evening.
Kristina sat cross-legged on the bed, legs bare beneath black cotton shorts, her hair slightly damp from a shower. She wore one of Lucian’s shirts—an older one he’d given her weeks ago. The fabric hung loose around her, sleeves slightly too long, the faintest trace of his cologne still clinging to the collar.
In her hands: the Rubik’s cube.
She turned it over slowly, her thumbs brushing the edges with faint familiarity. It wasn’t the bright, plasticky toy kind. This one was sleeker, matte black with softly colored tiles. Tactile. Weighted. Thoughtful.
The way Eli had handed it to her—so casual, like it was nothing—stayed in her mind longer than it should have.
‘You always liked puzzles.’
The words had echoed earlier. Now they echoed differently.
She didn’t remember when she started. Just that she was still staring.
A flicker of something surfaced. Not a memory. Not fully.
Just a boy. Maybe fifteen.
Skinny. Long hair. Glasses too big for his face.
Laughing. Or maybe she was.
She couldn’t be sure.
The memory slipped again before it could form.
The bedroom door creaked open.
She didn’t look up right away.
Lucian stood in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame. He wasn’t in his usual suit—just a dark shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the quiet calm of night softening the sharpness in him.
He didn’t speak. Just looked at her.
Then his gaze flicked briefly to the cube in her hands. Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
Kristina finally looked up. Still not moving.
Lucian hesitated.
“I'm going to bed,” he said at last.
She nodded once. “Okay. Good night, Lucian.”
He didn’t turn to leave.
His fingers flexed once at his side. Jaw shifted slightly.
It was all he needed.
In two strides, he crossed the room. His hand reached out—not rough, not forceful—but fast. He took the Rubik’s cube gently from her hands, set it on the bedside table like it was made of glass.
And then, without warning, he scooped her up.
Kristina let out a startled sound—a short, surprised yelp as the bed shifted beneath her. Her arms instinctively flung around his neck, catching balance.
“Lucian—” she started, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a protest.
But she didn’t pull away.
Didn’t ask what he was doing.
Didn’t need to.
Because Lucian said nothing.
And Kristina…
She didn’t let go.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | The Master Suite
The door to the master suite swung open with a firm push of Lucian’s foot, one arm still looped securely under Kristina’s thighs.
He didn’t flick on the lights. The room was lit only by the soft golden glow from the wall sconces near the bed. Quiet. Still. Like it had been waiting.
Lucian didn’t speak as he walked straight to the bed and gently lowered her down. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just… matter-of-fact. Like this wasn’t the first time. Like it wouldn’t be the last.
Kristina didn’t fight it. She didn’t even blink.
While Lucian moved to the walk-in closet without a word, she slid left across the bed, pulling back his blanket and tucking herself under it like it was the most natural thing in the world. No questions. No hesitation.
She laid on her side, facing his empty half, watching the shadows move.
Minutes later, Lucian returned—dressed down in long pajama pants and a black shirt, sleeves slightly pushed up. His hair was a little tousled now, less composed. Something about it made her chest pull tight.
He walked around the bed, lifted the covers, and slid in beside her.
Kristina’s eyes followed him the entire way.
“You know,” she murmured, voice low, soft, “you can just say it if you want me to sleep here with you.”
Lucian turned on his side to face her, arm folded under his head. His expression was unreadable at first—then dry, quiet, certain.
“I want to destroy your room so I don’t have to do that anymore.”
Kristina blinked, a surprised laugh slipping out before she could catch it. “You’re crazy.”
She stared at him another moment. Then, without a word, she inched closer and curled into him—head resting against his chest, her arms gently wrapping around his middle. She tucked her face there, breathing him in. Familiar. Warm. Steady.
Lucian shifted only slightly, then slid one arm around her shoulders, fingers pressing lightly into her upper back. Like anchoring her.
Silence settled. Not awkward. Not forced.
“What were you thinking,” he asked quietly, “when you were staring at the cube earlier?”
Kristina exhaled against him. Her voice came a beat later—muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “It just felt… familiar. Like muscle memory. Like something I used to do all the time.”
Lucian said nothing.
She kept going.
“When Eli gave it to me, he said—‘You always liked puzzles.’ And the way he said it… like he really knew. But I am sure I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t tell anyone that.”
She paused, her fingers lightly clutching the fabric near his waist.
“There’s only one person I remember who ever knew that about me,” she said. “Everett Lysander.”
Lucian’s hand paused its slow motion against her back.
“I was nine. He was older—maybe sixteen, seventeen. Lanky. Long hair. Always wore these ridiculous glasses. He was so awkward…” she chuckled softly, “...but weirdly confident, too. Like he didn’t care what anyone thought.”
Kristina’s voice slowed a little.
“I only met him twice,” she continued. “I was lining up coins on the balcony. He sat beside me, like it wasn’t the first time. Just asked me a question—like we’d already been talking.”
Kristina exhaled lightly, her cheek still resting on his chest.
“I answered him. I remember that. He didn’t feel like a stranger. Just… quiet. Observant. Like he saw things other people didn’t.”
Her hand twitched lightly near Lucian’s waist.
“The second time, we sat on the floor of his apartment and worked on a puzzle—something with no instructions. He said I was faster than him. That I already knew how to solve it, even if I didn’t realize it yet.”
“He called me Krissy,” she added quietly. “And I didn’t mind.”
Her voice softened more.
“I think that was the first time I felt… seen. Like I wasn’t just some quiet kid who counted things. Like I was me.”
Her eyes lifted toward Lucian now.
“I haven’t thought all about him until tonight.”
Lucian’s fingers lightly moved again—back to tracing small lines on her shoulder.
“I think he was my first friend,” she said.
Kristina’s voice faded into silence again.
Lucian’s hand paused for a second on her shoulder.
Everett Lysander.
It was the name that stuck. And the way she described him—older, lanky, awkward but confident… always watching over her. Sneaking into courtyards. Bringing her puzzles.
His jaw tightened slightly. The unease wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly. It was something colder. Sharper.
A thread pulled taut in his mind—back to that confrontation in the study just yesterday.
Eli had stood in front of that fire and said “I never crossed that line. Not because I didn’t care. But because I did.”
Years, he’d said. I’ve spent years keeping her safe.
Lucian’s eyes narrowed faintly in the dark.
He didn’t know the name Everett Lysander. He didn’t need to.
But he knew how Eli had looked at her. Knew the way his voice changed when her name came up. And he knew—more than anything—that Eli was still holding something back.
A personal history. A connection he hadn’t disclosed.
Lucian shifted his gaze toward the ceiling, breath steady, though something in his chest had begun to harden.
He’d ask Sebastian tomorrow. About what he told them in the hospital. About what Maxim had “investigated.”
No more fragments. No more almost-confessions.
He wasn’t going to guess anymore.
If Everett Lysander and Eli were the same person…
He needed to know for sure.
But for now...
Lucian let his arm settle more firmly around her, grounding them both. She hadn’t asked him to fix anything. She never did.
Still, he would.
Eventually.
Quietly, without looking at her, he said only:
“Whoever he was... he saw you.”
And that was enough—for now.
His mind flicked briefly to Sebastian. At the hospital. To what he’d said about Maxim digging into something after the crash.
He’d ask again tomorrow. This time, more carefully. And this time, he’d be listening for everything that wasn’t said.
But for now…
Lucian lowered his gaze to Kristina again—still tucked into his chest, warm and silent. She wasn’t looking for answers. Not tonight. Just space to remember safely.
So he gave it to her.
He let his hand drift up her back and rest between her shoulder blades. A quiet gesture. No questions. No pressure.
Just: I hear you. I’m here. And maybe, we’ll figure this out together.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Eli’s Bedroom
Eli was at the door, hand on the knob, about to step out for air—when movement across the hall caught his eye.
With Kristina in his arms.
She wasn’t protesting. Just resting her head against his shoulder like it was the only place she trusted in the world. Lucian adjusted the weight of her gently, one hand under her thighs, the other across her back. Then, with the ease of someone who’d done this before, he kicked open the bedroom door and carried her inside.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Eli didn’t move for a long moment.
Then he quietly let go of the doorknob, turned back into his own room, and shut the door with a soft finality.
The room he kept at Lucian’s estate was nothing like the rest of the house—less curated, more lived-in. The walls were dark blue, sparsely decorated. A few photos were tacked near his desk, none of them framed. One lamp lit the space with a warm, amber glow. His bed was unmade, the duvet pulled halfway down as if he hadn’t decided whether to stay.
On the bedside table sat a glass of untouched water and a watch he hadn’t worn in days.
Eli sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. For a few seconds, he just stared at the floor.
Then he reached for the drawer.
Inside was a small, rectangular box. Black. Worn at the edges.
He pulled it out, rested it on his lap, and opened the lid.
The puzzle box Kristina had solved in his apartment, two other unopened puzzle boxes—one with an elaborate maze design, the other shaped like an animal, three small items still in their wrapping: a keychain compass, a pair of fingerless gloves, and a slim, leather notebook, his old eyeglasses, folded neatly, lenses slightly scratched, a black and white photo, aged and slightly curled, and finally, the camera itself—a compact Kodak point-and-shoot. Black and sturdy, the kind you’d find in ‘93.
He took the photo in his hand, gently.
It was a bit grainy, but clear enough. A girl on a balcony, sitting cross-legged on the tiles with a book open in her lap. She wasn’t looking at the camera—wasn’t even aware of it. Her brows were slightly drawn together, completely focused.
It was the moment he first saw her. First spoke to her. She had barely looked up when he called out. But he remembered that moment. And apparently, so did his camera.
He’d never shown it to anyone.
Never mentioned it, either.
Because even back then, he’d known—some things couldn’t be explained without sounding… off. A teenage boy taking a photo of a younger girl he barely knew? Even if it wasn’t anything bad, it was hard to justify. Harder to admit that he’d kept it all these years.
Eli leaned back on his elbows, eyes on the ceiling now. The picture rested on his chest.
He’d kept so many things. Things meant to be hers.
The puzzle boxes. The gloves. The notebook. Stuff he’d bought that day—the day of the crash. When he never made it to see her.
A quiet breath left him.
It was never just about protection. It wasn’t just duty, or guilt, or instinct. It was her. Always has been. The curiosity. The spark. The way she saw the world like it was still worth solving. He’d seen it first, maybe. Before anyone else. And that was his burden to carry now.
He’d stayed in the shadows. Watched her grow into herself. Into someone strong. Into someone who didn’t need him anymore.
He told Lucian the truth—half of it—he never crossed the line. Not then. Not after. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.
Didn’t mean he didn’t want to.
Eli’s hand closed over the photo.
Then he slid everything back into the box. Carefully. Quietly.
There was a line he wouldn’t cross.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t stand at the edge sometimes, just to look.
Some truths live in silence longer than they should.
—To be continued.
