35

35
Halo

When Johan said he could help me, I said yes too fast.

I knew something about him was off. I am not stupid. He smiles too easily. Watches too closely. Says things that sound helpful but feel like traps if you listen carefully enough. Still, when he offered to help me get closer to Lucian, I grabbed it with both hands.

So much for my grand plan of becoming distant and unavailable.

I told myself I was doing this strategically. That I needed information. That I needed to understand Lucian better if I wanted him to ever look at me properly.

Truth was simpler.

I am weak when it comes to him.

That morning, when Johan said we were going out, I dressed carefully. Not desperate. Not flashy. Just… right. A fitted black turtleneck, grey trousers that hugged my hips but not too tight, boots polished enough to reflect light. I brushed my hair twice more than necessary. Sprayed something light and sweet on my neck. I told myself it was just an outing.

It was just Johan.

I did not expect to walk into my favorite gallery and see Lucian Wolfe standing beside Damas like some cold, untouchable king.

My heart almost stopped.

Damas looked animated, leaning slightly toward Lucian as he spoke, hands moving as he explained something about texture and grief and modern masculinity. Lucian just listened with that unreadable expression, hands in his pockets, posture perfect. He looked expensive. Detached. Bored.

But he was there.

He liked this art.

That alone made something bloom inside me.

I have loved Damas’s work for years. His pieces are emotional, almost raw. Bodies twisted in longing. Faces half hidden in shadow. Desire is painted like something holy and tragic at the same time. I always thought Lucian preferred minimalistic, emotionless things.

Knowing he stood in front of a painting titled Ache and actually looked at it for more than five seconds felt like discovering a secret.

Johan kept talking to me while we walked through the gallery. He told me things about Lucian that made my chest tighten.

“He avoids things he might enjoy too much,” Johan said at some point, casually.

“What does that even mean?” I asked, pretending to focus on a sculpture.

“It means if he feels something strongly, he runs.”

I swallowed.

Johan noticed. Of course he did.

He kept answering my questions even when he looked slightly irritated. What Lucian drinks. What kind of music does he listen to when he thinks no one is around? The fact that he reads at night when he cannot sleep. Small things. Human things.

It made me think Johan was actually trying to help.

So when he said, almost like it was nothing, “Lucian invited us to dinner,” I think I actually glowed.

“Really?” I asked, hating how hopeful I sounded.

He nodded.

I hugged him before I could stop myself. Then I pulled back, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

He just laughed.

The restaurant was beautiful. Not just beautiful. It was the kind of place that whispers money without screaming it. Soft lighting. Glass walls. A view of the city that made everything look smaller and manageable.

Kate has taken me to nice places before. I know which fork to use. I know how to sit straight without looking stiff. I know not to stare.

But this place was new to me.

I studied the menu carefully, pretending I understood every word.

Lucian made it clear he did not want me there.

He barely looked at me when we sat down.

“Good evening,” I said softly.

He responded with something short and flat, already turning to Johan.

When the server came, Johan and Lucian ordered easily, like they had memorized the place.

I hesitated.

Lucian noticed.

Of course he did.

“Just choose something simple,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “You might struggle with the rest.”

The server shifted awkwardly.

My ears burned.

“I can read,” I replied, forcing a small smile.

“I did not say you couldn’t,” he said smoothly. “I just said you might struggle.”

Johan tried to step in, but Lucian was surgical. Calm voice. Sharp words.

When he explained a dish to me, he made it sound like he was doing charity work.

“You would not want to embarrass yourself by mispronouncing it,” he added quietly.

I thanked him anyway.

That hurt more than if he had yelled.

Then he accused me of trying to use Johan to get to him.

I felt my chest tighten.

“I am not—” I started.

“You have always been calculating,” Lucian said, cutting me off. “Seduction is clearly your strongest skill.”

My hands trembled under the table.

Johan snapped at him. Called him an asshole. The word echoed too loud against the rooftop air.

People started looking.

I hated that.

I hated being the reason they were fighting.

“Stop,” I whispered. “Please.”

Lucian’s eyes flicked to me. Cold. Annoyed.

“Do not meddle,” he said.

Meddle.

Like I was some child interrupting adults.

Something inside me cracked.

I stood up so suddenly my chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“I am sorry,” I said, though I did not know who I was apologizing to.

Then I left.

The elevator ride down felt endless. My reflection in the mirror looked smaller somehow.

Johan followed me outside.

“Forget him,” he said, grabbing my wrist gently when I tried to walk away. “He thrives on control. Do not give it to him.”

“I did not do anything,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound steady.

“I know.”

He looked at me differently then. Softer.

“Come on,” he said suddenly. “Let’s go somewhere fun. You need to detox.”

“I am not a drug addict,” I muttered.

He smirked. “You are worse. You are in love.”

I did not answer.

He took me to an amusement park on the edge of the city. The lights were bright. Music loud. Children are screaming in excitement. It felt ridiculous after that suffocating rooftop.

He forced me onto rides. Bought me cotton candy.