13: You Shouldn't be here

Lucien's POV

The garden was quiet. Not dead quiet—the trees still rustled, the petals still swayed, and the fountain still hummed its low, watery tune. But it was a different kind of quiet, one I hadn't noticed until it shifted. Something in the air shifted. Just slightly. Like the wind was holding its breath.

I turned.

Not because someone called me or because there was a sound—but because I felt it. That strange, unmistakable weight of being watched. Not danger. Not threat. Something else. Like a presence that didn’t want to be seen but couldn’t help looking. My eyes moved fast, scanning the path between the pillars, the archway beyond the hedges.

Nothing.

But she was there.

I knew it.

She had a way of moving through air without making sound. But her presence always rang loud in my senses. Like thunder in slow motion. Natasha. She had come to find me. And now she was leaving, even though I hadn't seen her. But I felt her leave. I felt it in the sudden absence. The quiet returned to being just... quiet.

And her absence stayed.

I pulled away from Ashley.

Her arms were still looped around me, soft and sure, clinging like she had every right to hold me. I stepped back, firm but not harsh. She tilted her head, lips curled slightly, eyes half-lidded like she thought the world still revolved around her.

"Still running away from me," she said with a little laugh, like everything was a joke only she understood.

"You shouldn't have come uninvited," I replied, my voice low but steady.

She sighed, tilting her head and running her fingers through her hair, slow and intentional, like she thought I might be watching her. "Oh please, Lucien. Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me at all."

I didn’t answer. She didn’t deserve a lie. And I wasn’t going to give her the truth either. Not that kind.

Ashley Thorne. The name still stirred something in this kingdom, even if it was just among the nosy ones. She used to be fire and silk, all at once. The kind of woman you didn’t forget in a room, not even when she was silent. But all that shine got to her head. Modelling. That was what she left for. That was what she chose when I told her I didn’t want a queen who couldn’t stay in one place, who only loved power when it loved her back.

She didn’t make it.

Not really.

The first few months, she was in magazines, all glassy smiles and thigh-high slits. But that spotlight never lasts unless you have grit behind it. And she didn’t. She liked adoration more than she liked work. That world chewed her and spat her out, and now she was here. Pretending it hadn’t happened.

She walked a few steps, slow, like her hips still held power. "I missed this place," she murmured, letting her fingers trail across the stone bench near the fountain. "The garden’s still as beautiful as I remember."

I said nothing. I didn’t nod. Didn’t move. Just stood there, watching the way she moved through my space like she still had a claim.

She turned to face me, her eyes scanning my face like she was trying to read something written there. Something that wasn’t hers anymore.

"I'm staying for a few weeks," she said, her voice lighter than the air. "Just need a break from the city. My schedule's been so packed lately. Interviews, fittings, you know how it is."

I didn’t correct her.

I didn’t tell her I knew her bookings dried up two months ago. I didn’t mention the failed contract with Noir House or the last-minute cancellations she was pretending didn’t happen. She wanted to act like her world was still spinning. Fine. Let her spin it.

"I figured," she continued, voice syrupy, "we could spend some time together while I’m here. Catch up. Talk. Maybe... reignite things."

Her fingers brushed against my sleeve, light, testing. Like she wanted to see if she could still melt through my skin like she used to. But the only thing I felt was ice. She wasn’t the one who haunted my thoughts anymore. She wasn’t the one I watched at dinner, trying not to stare too long.

She wasn’t Natasha.

And for some reason, I hated that I even made that comparison.

"I don't think that's necessary," I said flatly.

Ashley blinked slowly, then gave me a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. "We'll see. We have time."

No. We didn’t.

The garden didn’t feel like mine anymore. It didn’t feel calm. Her perfume lingered in the air, sharp and citrusy, clinging to the leaves. But behind it, I still felt the one that mattered. The one that had come and gone before I even had the chance to see her. I could already read her thoughts before she got here. 

But then, unfortunately, when she got here, I was in someone else’s arms.

I didn’t move right away. I just stood there, with Ashley’s perfume clinging to my sleeves and her voice still floating somewhere behind me. But my head was already far from that garden. Far from her.

She had come looking for me.

And I hadn’t seen her.

But I felt her.

That strange shift in the air hadn’t lied. That weight, like someone had drawn a curtain over the sun for a second—that was her. And now it was gone. She was gone. Probably back in that too-large room I gave her. Probably pacing like she always did when her mind got loud. Probably thinking things she wouldn’t say out loud. But I’d hear them anyway.

And I didn’t want to.

I didn't want to hear that kind of disappointment in her thoughts. Not from her.

Ashley was still watching me. I could feel her eyes trying to drag me back into this conversation. But there was nothing left for me to say. Nothing I wanted her to think she still had.

“You didn’t even ask how I’ve been,” she said softly, as if that was what I was supposed to care about right now.

“You told me,” I answered without looking at her. “Modelling. Interviews. Fittings. Full schedule.”

She flinched, just slightly. Enough for me to catch it in the corner of my eye.

I finally turned to face her fully.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said. My voice wasn’t raised. It was steady, low, but there was no softness in it. 

"I'm sorry but I'm here already. I'm a mem

ber of this pack, remember. You can't just kick me out." He words stung cause they were true.