By the time Lucien was done smiling at me during dinner, I couldn’t taste anything on my plate except dread.
The guy wasn’t just smug — he radiated the kind of energy that made you double-check for hidden cameras. Or explosives. Or both.
He didn’t do anything.
Didn’t yell. Didn’t threaten. Didn’t even raise his voice.
He just sat there, tapping one perfectly-manicured finger on the wine glass like he was counting down to something.
I didn’t know what but I knew it had to do with me.
After dinner, I slipped out to the garden — I needed air, and maybe a head start in case I had to sprint for my life.
But, of course, she found me.
Red dress flowing in the moonlight, heels clicking softly on the stone path. She looked like the kind of beautiful that got you killed in noir films.
"You okay?" she asked, voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
Just stared at the koi pond like it held answers I’d understand.
She joined me in silence for a second.
Then: "He came to your apartment, didn’t he?"
> "I figured. He’s... theatrical."
She tilted her head. "What did he say?"
"That you like weak things."
She didn’t flinch, didn’t deny it either.
Instead, she said, "He thinks I’m still his."
That made me look at her and what I saw wasn’t the brat.
Not the chaos in designer heels. Not the girl who turned classrooms into her personal runway.
This was something else.
"Lucien doesn’t love," she said quietly. "He collects."
"Then why is he still after you?"
> "Because I left before he could decide he was done."
I swallowed. "So what now?"
She turned to face me, and the moon caught the glint in her eyes.
"Now," she said, "we fight psychology with psychology."
She took a step closer.
> "If he thinks I’ve moved on, truly moved on, he’ll lose interest. He only wants what he can’t have."
"Okay, so... what, you get a fake boyfriend?"
> "I already have one."
My brain short-circuited.
> "If you kiss me in front of him, it’s over. He’ll back off. He knows me. He knows how rare that is."
"Wait. You mean... like, you don’t kiss people?"
> "I don’t give anything I’m not willing to lose. A kiss? That’s commitment. Vulnerability. That’s me saying ’you matter.’ I don’t pass that out like gum."
"That’s... actually kind of terrifying."
The next day, it happened at lunch.
Not sitting. Leaning.
Cool as ever, arms crossed, smile like he was the director of this scene and we were all playing parts he wrote.
No one knows how he even got into our school — he doesn’t go here, and yet nobody’s questioning it. No staff. No students. It’s like everyone’s pretending it’s normal.
Celestia sat across from me.
Everyone was watching.
The cafeteria might as well have been a stadium.
I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t breathe.
Lucien was staring and then?
Celestia stood, walked around the table and took my hand.
She leaned down then whispered in my ear:
"Don’t think. Just act. Please."
And before I could think, she kissed me.
The world went silent.
It wasn’t aggressive or hungry or chaotic like I expected.
The kind of kiss you remembered in full detail later, even if you swore you blacked out.
She pulled back, turned and looked Lucien dead in the eye.
Expression calm, unbothered and his face...
Just for a second but I saw it, something slipped.
The smile twitched. His jaw tightened. One hand gripped the back of a chair just a little too hard.
He didn’t say a word.
I sat there, stunned, lips still tingling, wondering what dimension I was in.
Celestia sat back down like nothing happened.
"Congratulations," she said, picking up her drink.
"You’re now dating the billionaire’s brat."
"You just kissed me to play a game with your psycho ex."
> "I kissed you because I wanted to."
Was the most dangerous thing I’d seen all day.