He let me think I won
“By pretending nothing happened.”
The elevator slows slightly at the twentieth floor but doesn’t stop.
We’re alone.
Still descending.
Lucien finally shifts his stance, turning fully toward me.
Up close, his calm feels deliberate. Engineered.
“I don’t pretend,” he says quietly. “If something happened, you would remember it.”
The words are smooth.
Measured.
Carefully chosen.
Anger flares hot in my chest.
“You think I’m imagining it?”
“I think,” he says, voice even, “that you don’t like not being in control of a narrative.”
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