Chapter Four - The Talk.

Cael’s POV

Victor's eyes darted between me and his younger brother. His brows were knitted. "You two already know each other?"

Lucian gave no indication of readiness to move an inch but simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. "Who doesn't know Cael Marcellus? He is reputed. I was just surprised to see him here as family; that's it."

Victor chuckled, satisfied with the explanation. "Well then, I'm even more pleased. To have such a reputational man of a stepson is an honor. Isolde is very lucky."

My mother beamed, her eyes warm on me. "Don't I know it." Turning to me, her tone then turned playful. "And I wouldn't mind a painting for my wedding gift, Cael. Something special. Something only my son could create."

I almost actually smiled. "We'll see what I can do."

The dinner droned on with the same endless talk of my art, of Victor's business, and of the million wedding plans that multiplied every second. I nodded and answered questions whenever they came, but my mind was very far away from this table.

It was over there. Over Lucian, in contrast to myself.

He laughed at whatever Victor said while throwing in an appropriate comment or two about the wine and then effortlessly went on about his smooth, practiced charm. Every now and then though, he stole a glance in my direction. Brief glances, snatched seconds. Each time he looked away as if he was as quick as possible, leaving me to stew in the memory of his hands on me, his mouth on mine, the sound of his voice in that dark club.

I hated him on behalf of the calm he showed now. The ease with which he slipped into this family dinner like nothing had happened, as if he weren't the one causing the tightness in my chest.

Then my mother besides me continued jabbering about wedding stuff in her wedding binder and flowers and music.

"You and Selene will help with the final touches," she said. "Family projects always make it more meaningful."

My dry stare matched hers. "You know me. I don't deal great with surprises. I'll have to be told straight out if you want anything from me."

Playfully thrapping my arm, she mock said, "Stop being difficult. You will love it once you actually try."

Victor raised his glass and laughed, " to family then, and to the wedding ahead."

I too felt tightness in my throat.

Finally, the dinner dwindled to an end. I kissed my mother's cheek, shook Victor's hand, promised him to assist as much possible. Free, I thought.

It was just at going outside, cool night air against my skin; someone waited inside.

Lucian.

He leaned against a car casually, hands shoved into pockets, eyes leveled on me. When our gazes caught, something sharp flickered in his.

"Cael," he murmured, voice low.

I stiffened. "Don't."

"We need to talk," he said.

I laughed bitterly and loudly, "About what? About how you ended up in my bed last night and now under my mother's roof at dinner?"

His jaw tightened-he felt that. "Not here. Just... give me some time."

Impetually shaking my head, I got worked up again. "You think I want to hear anything you have to say? After this?"

"Cael," he said again, but now quieter and firmer. "We need to talk."

"I am listening."

His eyes were calm but sharp as they were locked on me as if he were already two steps ahead in a game I didn't want to play.

"I know what you are thinking," he said, voice steady. "That night... it was unexpected, for both of us."

Tightened chest. The voice made me remember it-his hands, the heat, the way I let myself forget Adrian, forget about everything. I clenched my fists. "Unexpected? That's the word you're going with?"

"Yes," he answered without even hesitating. "Because that's what it was. Neither of us planned it or saw it coming. But it happened. Which means," he paused, stepping closer. "...we should own up to it. At least between us. Stop pretending like children."

I swallowed hard, throat dry. "Own up to who? My mom's going to think I had an encounter with my soon-to-be uncle?" I let out a sharp laugh. "You're taking this to them?"

“Lower your voice, " he cut in, teeth clenching. He glanced towards the house to make sure. "Obviously, we're not going to share this with anyone. That's the point of it. The thing stays within us. No one needs to know."

I stared at him. "So you want me to just carry this around? Pretend like it never happened while I sit at family dinners with you smiling across the table?"

"Yes." His answer came quick, clipped, like he had already decided for both of us. "We put it behind us and move forward. I don't want my business-our business- on anyone's plate. You don't either."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him how he made me feel. But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out.

Lucian saw me for a moment more and then said softly, "So we agree. That night never happened."

Silence stretched between us. I had a lot to say, but the words just wouldn't come out of my throat. I had too much to share about how he made me feel, how furious I was, how confused. But in the end, all I got was a stiff, fine, yes.

Lucian nodded briefly, as if he had made a win. "Excellent." He pushed off the car, straightened his coat, and slipped back toward the house without looking back.

And there I stood trembling as I looked at the vacant spot that had been filled from before.

The city lights were blurring by on the drive home, and I was caught somewhere else in my mind. Over and over again, his voice echoed in my head. That night never happened.

But I knew better.

Secrets have a way of rotting from the inside out, after all.

How long before this one slipped out?