"How the hell did you get in here?" Eleanor asked, her voice sharp with irritation.
He rose from the couch slowly, casually, like he had all the time in the world. Each step he took toward her made the air heavier.
"I have my ways, sweetheart," he murmured, stopping just inches from her face. His voice was smooth...too smooth, laced with something dangerous.
Eleanor didn't know what sparked the sudden boldness in her, but she didn't flinch. Not this time. Her pulse raced, but her feet stayed planted. Her chin lifted on instinct, her gaze locking with his.
"Get out of my house," she said, steady and fierce.
He chuckled ,low, smug, and amused as he took a step back.
"You're growing brave now, huh?" he said, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Trying to pretend I don't make you nervous?"
His hands slid into his pockets, but his presence still filled the room like smoke. Controlled. Watchful. Deadly.
Huffing, Eleanor snapped,
"What, do you think you're some hotshot prince? Trust me, you're not all that. You're nothing. Now get out of my house!"
The fire in her voice surprised even her. She still had no idea where this boldness was coming from.
Lucien tilted his head with a lazy smirk. "Easy, Princess." He slouched back into the couch, spreading out like he owned the place. "I'm not leaving. It's boring out there."
Eleanor exhaled sharply, fists clenched at her sides. There was no way she could drag him out, he was far too strong, and she didn't want to find out what would happen if she tried.
"Fine," she hissed. "Stay until you get bored to death." And with that, she spun around and stormed upstairs.
Slamming her bedroom door behind her, Eleanor collapsed onto her bed, phone in hand, trying to focus on anything other than the infuriating man downstairs. Just as she began to unwind, there was a knock.
She groaned. "God, what now?" she muttered, sitting up.
"I wanna stay with you, Princess," came Lucien's voice, low and teasing,right before he stepped in and shut the door behind him.
Eleanor's eyes widened. "Are you serious right now? I'm trying to sleep. What, do you wanna sleep with me or something?" she snapped, fully irritated.
Lucien didn't flinch. He moved toward her with that same damn elegance that annoyed her.
"Exactly."
Eleanor's jaw dropped. Heat flooded her cheeks as the weight of her own words hit her. She hadn't meant it like that. Or maybe she had.
Either way, she was caught completely off guard.
Oh no.
Oh god.
Why did she say that?
She pulled the covers up to her chin like it was a shield.
Lucien chuckled low, velvety.
He wasn't stopping.
"You should really think before you speak, sweetheart," he said, voice dipped in that seductive calm that made her want to scream and kiss him at the same time.
He sat at the edge of her bed.
Not touching her. Just close enough for the tension to wrap around them like wildfire.
Eleanor glared. "You think this is funny?"
"No."
He leaned forward slowly, his hand moved slowly through her hair, his touch tender as he let his fingers graze her cheek.
"You're dangerously irresistible when you're bold," he said, a flicker of admiration glinting in his eyes.
She swallowed hard. There was a softness in his eyes...an unspoken pull that unraveled every warning in her head. For a moment, he wasn't cold or cruel or smug. He was something else entirely. The way he looked at her made the world blur at the edges. The air between them grew thick, like honeyed silence. Her heart fluttered wildly, as if aching to reach him before she could make sense of anything at all.
And then, unexpectedly…
He kissed her.
But not on the lips.
Just beneath her jaw.
Delicate. Lazy. Intimate.
His lips barely grazed her skin, but it scorched.
"Goodnight, Princess," he whispered against her neck.
Then he stood, calmly walking out like he hadn't just shattered every coherent thought she had.
Eleanor sat frozen, heart slamming against her ribcage.
That was the most infuriating, infuriating man she'd ever met.
And the worst part?
She wanted him to come back.
Lucien hadn't meant to be there.
Not on her street.Not standing in her living room. And certainly not watching her in a baggy hoodie. Eyes blazing with more fire than fear.
It had started with a simple order. One week. That was what his father gave him. Seven days to wipe her from the earth like she was nothing more than unfinished business. A loose end. A forgotten thread in a bloodstained family feud.
He'd done worse. With less time. Fewer reasons.
But something about her made the edges of this job blur.
Maybe it was the night she saw him in the alley, the way she didn't scream, didn't run, just stood there with that wild, startled look like she wasn't sure if she'd seen a man or a monster.
Maybe it was the fact that, up close, she was… captivating.
Not the obvious kind of beauty. No. She wasn't polished or packaged like the women who clung to his world. She was real. Real in a way that felt like danger wrapped in softness. Like something he shouldn't touch.
But he had.
He was here. Sitting on her couch like he belonged.
She had no idea who he was. No clue what he was capable of. And yet, she stood her ground. Told him to get out. Called him nothing.
He should've been angry.
Instead, he admired her.
Her fearlessness.
Her fire.
It unsettled him.
Lucien didn't know what had brought him here tonight. His hands weren't bloody. His blade stayed sheathed. Still, he felt like a criminal not for what he had done, but for what he hadn't yet done.
He had one week to kill her.
But something told him that time wasn't the only thing running out.