The hotel sin

Seraphina's POV

Lucian closed the door and turned the lock with a soft click. That sound dropped right into my stomach.

I stood near the window, fingers pressed to the cool glass, and watched the wet blur of streetlights. He set our small bags by the closet and straightened.

When I glanced back, he was watching me too closely. His shirt collar was loose. There was ink curling up from under it, dark lines against his skin.

And when he tipped his head, my chest tightened. My mind kept shouting that I knew my husband. But my eyes kept telling me I was missing something big.

He stepped toward me, slow, careful. “You’re cold,” he said, even though I wasn’t shivering.

“I’m fine.” My voice sounded thin. I rubbed my arms anyway.

He stopped a step away. Close enough that I could smell his intoxticating scent.

His eyes held mine like he was trying to memorize how I looked in that light. My breath caught, and my chest fluttered.

“We should sleep,” I said, even though the word felt wrong. Sleep didn’t live in that room. Not with that air.

“One bed,” he said, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I can take the chair.”

I looked at the chair - small, narrow, a bad idea. “No,” I said too fast. I swallowed. “We can share. It’s fine.”

His smile faded like a sunset. He studied me for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”

Silence stretched between us. It wasn’t empty. It was heavy, so heavy I had to say something or it would crush me.

“Lucian… what’s gotten into you?” I asked. “You’re… different.”

He breathed out, slow. “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

He stepped closer and lifted his hand, and I didn’t move away. He touched my cheek with his knuckles like I was breakable. Maybe I was.

Maybe I had been for a long time. His thumb brushed under my eye, and I realized I had been holding my breath.

“You should sit,” he murmured. “You’re tired.”

“I’m not,” I lied.

“Then let me,” he said. “Just for a second.”

He leaned in. His mouth brushed mine, barely a kiss, more a question than an answer. I swayed toward him without thinking.

When I kissed back, he made a low sound in his throat, and heat swept through me so fast I was a little scared of it.

I pulled away, breathless. My hands found his shirt without permission, curling in the fabric. My voice trembled. “Lucian, I've missed you.”

He stilled. The seconds ticked. I felt him decide something inside himself before he spoke.

“I need you to know something before this goes further,” he said. His voice dropped, rough silk. “I’m not Lucian.”

The floor might as well have tilted. I stared, my mouth open, no sound coming out. The rain was loud now, or maybe my heart was.

“What did you say?” I whispered in shock.

“I’m not Lucian,” he repeated, careful, steady. “I’m Cassian.”

The name hit me like cold water. I had heard it before. Not from Lucian’s mouth, but in whispers. Family fights. A rift. A twin who didn’t exist in photos.

My first stupid thought was: Of course. The tattoos. The piercing. The way he smiled. The way he looked at me like I mattered. I swayed, and his hands caught my elbows to steady me.

“You’re lying,” I said, because that was easier than the truth.

“I’m not.” He let go of my arms, like he wanted me to be free to run if I needed to. His eyes didn’t leave my face. “I’m Cassian Veyron. His twin. The one he doesn’t talk about. The one you were never meant to meet.”

I pressed my fingertips to my mouth, blinking fast. “Why - why didn’t you say something at the hospital?”

“You were hurt,” he said. “You kept calling me by his name. I… couldn’t-” He broke off, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t the right time.”

Anger sparked and died inside me in the same second. Too many things crowded my chest - shock, hurt, confusion, relief, fear.

But under all of it, like a thread I couldn’t cut, was a pull I didn’t understand and couldn’t deny.

“This is wrong,” I whispered. “So wrong.”

“I know.” He didn’t move closer. He didn’t move away. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to. Not one inch. Not ever.”

My throat burned. “Why does this feel like a choice I can’t make?”

“Because you’re loyal,” he said quietly. “Because you’re good.” His mouth tilted, sad and soft. “And because I’m selfish enough to hope you’ll choose me anyway.”

I closed my eyes. This wasn't good.

“How are you different?” I asked, opening my eyes again. “If you’re his twin. How are you… not him?”

He didn’t list traits. He didn’t make promises. He just said, “Look at me and tell me what you see.”

So I did. Dark hair a little messy. Eyes that watched to understand, not to judge. Ink peeking like secrets he wasn’t trying to hide.

A mouth that looked like it knew how to be kind. And that small glint when he wet his lips, proof of something reckless he wasn’t trying to hide.

“I see trouble,” I said, because humor was the only rope I had left in that moment.

He laughed softly. It sounded honest. “Yeah. I heard that before.”

I stepped back until my legs touched the bed. The mattress dipped when I sat, and the room moved with me. My heart wouldn’t slow down.

“I should tell you to sleep in the chair,” I said. “I should ask you to leave. I should…” I trailed off. The words didn’t want to come.

“What do you want?” he asked. Like it mattered. Like I mattered.

I looked at the window. The rain. The city blurred into light. I looked back at him. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He moved then. Not fast. Not like a storm. He came to me like the tide, steady and sure.

He stopped when his knees touched mine and lowered himself until we were at the same level.

“Seraphina,” he said, my name soft in his mouth, reverent and aching. “Say yes, and I’d give you everything I had. Say no, and I’d sleep on the floor.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “This is wrong,” I whispered, because the words were supposed to save me.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice low, steady. “But I’d still ask.”

His hand rose, his palm cupping my cheek. Warm. Careful. I leaned into it without meaning to, like I had been waiting for that touch all my life.

“Don’t be gentle,” I whispered, a shaky laugh escaping me. “No-I mean… be real. Don’t pretend.”

His breath caught, and for the first time I saw him look unsteady. “I wouldn’t pretend. Not with you.”

Then he kissed me.

His lips pressed to mine slowly, carefully, as if I were breakable. He tasted like rain, cool and clean, but his mouth burned against mine.

His tongue brushed at the seam of my lips, coaxing, asking, until I opened for him.

The kiss deepened, turned languid and consuming. He drew my tongue into his mouth, sucking softly, groaning low in his chest when I whimpered.

I clutched his shirt, and his hand slid to the back of my neck, anchoring me as his mouth moved with mine in long, unhurried strokes.

He kissed like he was learning me, not claiming me. Every tilt of his head, every gentle sweep of his tongue against mine made me shiver.

The sound of him - his soft groans, the ragged pull of his breath between kisses - unraveled me more than words ever could.

“Cassian,” I moaned softly against his lips, breaking the kiss for just a breath.

His forehead rested against mine, his voice rough. “Say it again.”

“Cassian…” I whispered, and the sound made him shudder.

His mouth was back on mine before I could breathe. He kissed me deeper this time - wet, slow French kisses that tasted like surrender.

His tongue slid against mine, teasing, stroking, until I moaned into his mouth and he answered with a groan that vibrated through me.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, damp with mine. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just taken. “You’re… you’re perfect,” he murmured, almost to himself.

I trembled, breathless. “Don’t stop.”