You And I Are Not Friends

CHAPTER FIVE

When Elara stepped fully into the private room and the door closed softly behind her, the world seemed to tilt ever so slightly off its axis, as though reality itself had hesitated, unsure whether to continue moving forward or collapse under the weight of everything she carried with her.

"Elara... Hello."

Lucien's voice was calm, husky, low, and steady, familiar in a way that sent a violent tremor straight through her chest, one that she felt down to her bones.

She stopped walking.

The space between them suddenly felt enormous, suffocating, filled with unspoken history and words that had never been said.

Her fingers curled slowly at her sides, nails biting into her palms as her lungs suddenly forgot how to function properly.

For a brief, humiliating moment, she couldn't breathe at all.

It was as though the sound of his voice alone had dragged her backward through time.

Her heart pounded erratically, wild and uneven, as tears burned fiercely behind her eyes, threatening to spill over and betray her.

'Don't cry, Elara... you mustn't cry!' Elara chanted inwardly.

She swallowed hard, forcing the emotions down with sheer willpower, forcing herself to move before she lost control completely.

Crying here, crying in front of him, would shatter the fragile composure she had built with blood and death.

With forceful steps, she walked toward the table and sat across from him despite her unease.

Only then did she notice the food.

The table was filled with dishes-far more than necessary.

Delicate appetizers, arranged with care, richly plated entrées still steaming faintly, warm bread releasing heat into the air, and soup that smelled of great aroma and sumptuousness. It wasn't extravagant... It wasn't showy. It was intentional.

Lucien gestured toward the table with a subtle movement of his hand, his expression unreadable. "Eat," he said simply.

Elara hesitated for half a second before nodding. Hunger twisted in her stomach-not just physical hunger, but the kind that came from deprivation, from neglect, from having been denied basic kindness for far too long.

She picked up her utensils and began to eat slowly, carefully, painfully aware of every movement she made, every bite she took.

Each mouthful tasted distant, muted by the storm of thoughts raging violently inside her mind.

She could feel his eyes on her intently.

Elara finished in silence, wiped her mouth gently with a napkin, and finally lifted her head.

Lucien was still watching her.

He was staring at her with a focus so sharp it made her skin prickle, as though he were trying to peel her apart layer by layer, searching for something hidden beneath her calm exterior.

"W - why a - are you staring at me?" Elara asked quietly, her voice steady despite the tension coiled tight in her chest.

Lucien leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers loosely clasped together, his gaze never leaving her. "Then answer me this," he said. "Why did you want to meet me?"

Elara opened her mouth and froze.

'Indeed! Why had she called him?'

Even now, with the clarity of two lifetimes weighing heavily on her shoulders, she couldn't give him a clean answer.

Her fingers tightened around the napkin in her lap as memories surfaced unbidden, dragging her mercilessly into the past.

In her past life, Lucien Hale had been nothing more than a regular customer at the café where she worked.

At least, that was what she had believed.

He always sat by the window, sunlight outlining his sharp features.

He always ordered the same drink, never changing it. And always asked her to serve him.

At first, she hadn't thought much of it. Customers had preferences. But over time, she noticed how long he stayed, hours sometimes, his gaze fixed on her with unsettling intensity, as though he were trying to read something written beneath her skin.

It absolutely unsettled her.

She had been exhausted back then, stretched thin between work and a home that devoured her piece by piece. One day, already raw and on edge, she caught him staring again.

Something inside her snapped and she confronted him... Accused him... Insulted him.

She remembered the sharpness of her words, the bitterness she poured into them, calling him a creep, demanding to know why he kept watching her like she was some kind of exhibit.

Lucien hadn't raised his voice at her. He hadn't defended himself. He had simply listened and allowed her to vent everything on him.

Then he had stood, paid the bill, and before leaving, handed her a business card.

"If you ever need help," he said calmly, "call me."

She had stared at the card long after he left, torn between anger and confusion, unable to understand why someone she had just humiliated would still offer her kindness.

And then... Her wedding day.

She remembered standing in that suffocating white dress, surrounded by forced smiles and hollow blessings, when her eyes met Lucien's across the room.

For a fraction of a second, she had seen something raw in his gaze.

Sadness... Anger... Regret. Then it was gone. Hidden behind an unreadable calm.

What had he been doing there in the first place?

After she married Aaron and her life descended into quiet misery, Lucien appeared again and again, offering help, offering escape, offering a hand she had been too broken and too afraid to take.

She had refused him every time.

And before she died... He had been the only one who cared.

Elara sucked in a breath and forced herself back into the present. She shook her head slightly as if clearing away ghosts that refused to stay buried.

"Tomorrow is my wedding day," she said softly.

Lucien's brows lifted almost imperceptibly.

"I want you to attend." She continued.

Silence fell between them, thick and heavy.

Lucien's eyes darkened at her request.

A flash of anger crossed his face so quickly that someone less observant might have missed it entirely. His jaw tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was controlled, almost cold.

"You and I are not friends," he said. "Why should I attend your wedding?"

Elara met his gaze without flinching.

"Indeed," she said calmly. "We are not friends."

She paused, then continued, her voice pained. "I am not even at your level. But when I asked you to meet me today, you came. Why? You could have ignored me."

Lucien frowned slightly. He stared at Elara more intently now.

Something about her felt... off. She looked... Different.