CHAPTER 7
Lost
Andrew looks between the two of us. Lucien and I are both staring at each other, like the rest of the room has suddenly faded into the background. Andrew clears his throat. “Ehem—” That small sound finally pulls my attention away.
“Mr. Blackthorne,” Andrew says, gesturing toward me. “This is Era. She’s my secretary.”
Lucien tilts his head slightly, studying me with quiet curiosity. “Huh,” he says softly.
His eyes linger on mine for a moment longer than they should. Andrew notices. His expression shifts slightly the moment Lucien speaks. He gives Lucien a quick nod, stepping back a little, but there’s something tight in his jaw now, something almost awkward.
“Well,” Andrew says lightly, glancing between us.
“I’ll… have to introduce you to James, let me find him.
” And just like that, he excuses himself and walks away.
Leaving the two of us standing here. Lucien watches him go for a moment.
Then his attention returns to me. A small smile touches the corner of his mouth. My head snaps toward him.
My irritation spikes. “This is ridiculous,” I say while walking to my cubicle. “First the plane, then the hotel, then the bar and now the office.” I shake my head. “This is way too coincidental.”
Lucien’s mouth curves slightly as he walks beside me.
“Funny.”
“What?”
“I was about to say the same thing.” He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “I’m starting to think that you were following me.”
I let out a sharp breath. “Right,” I mutter. “Because stalking the owner’s son would really help my career.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and take a step toward the hallway. “I should go.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended.
Lucien doesn’t move. He just watches me. And suddenly I hear it, the edge in my own voice, the nervousness, the way my heart is beating a little too fast.
I stop. Exhale.
Then I turn back slightly. “Sorry,” I say more quietly. “Today’s just been… a lot.” Which is only half the truth. The other half is that seeing him again feels dangerous. Not because of who he is. Because part of me wants to be near him.
Lucien studies me for a moment. Then he says casually, “Come with me.”
I blink. “What?”
“Let’s go somewhere.”
I hesitate. A hundred reasonable decisions flash through my mind. All the ways this could be a bad idea but I also remember the way I snapped at him, the edge in my voice, and the quiet patience in his.
I exhale. “Why not. Let’s go.”
We step outside together. The city hums around us, taxis rushing past, headlights streaking across damp pavement, voices spilling out of restaurants and bars.
People move quickly along the sidewalks, coats pulled tight against the evening air.
We fall into step beside each other. At first the conversation stays light and easy.
“How long have you worked for the firm?” he asks.
“About a year,” I say. “Which means I’ve mastered the incredibly complex art of locating missing staplers and remembering everyone’s coffee orders.”
Lucien smiles. “An underrated skill.”
“You’d be surprised. One wrong latte and apparently the global economy collapses.” He laughs quietly. “And you?” I ask. “What did you want to be before you inherited an empire?”
He thinks for a moment. “Honestly? I wanted to build boats.”
“Boats?”
“Small ones. Sailboats. My grandfather used to take me sailing.”
“That sounds peaceful.”
“It was.”
“What happened?”
He shrugs lightly. “Life happened.”
We keep walking, trading small stories, bad teachers, embarrassing first dates, stupid childhood injuries. At one point I laugh so suddenly a couple passing us turns to stare.
Lucien grins. “See? You’re capable of joy.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I say.
Gradually the city noise fades. The sidewalks grow quieter, the streetlights farther apart. The buildings thin. Then I see the wrought-iron gate ahead of us.
Beyond it—rows of stone.
Gravestones.
A cemetery.
Lucien pushes the gate open and we walk inside.
The city disappears behind us, replaced by quiet leaves and distant traffic humming somewhere far away.
Graves stretch across the dim grass. Names, dates, entire lives carved into stone.
Lucien stops in front of one grave and I read the name etched into the marble.
Evelyn Blackthorne
1990 — 2023
Beloved wife. A light that never faded.
A bench sits in front of the stone. Lucien sits and I follow slowly. The realization settles in my chest. He wasn’t cheating, he isn’t cheating, he’s grieving. Lucien watches the grave for a long moment before speaking.
“Cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
He exhales. “She loved New York,” he says. “The noise. The chaos. Said it made her feel alive.”
A faint smile touches his mouth. “She was impossible not to love. Loud. Warm. The kind of person who could walk into a room and make strangers feel like they’d known her forever.”
He pauses.
“I love her.” The words hang in the air.
Not loved.
Love.
Present tense. Like the feeling never left. Like death didn’t end it and suddenly something inside me shifts. Maybe love doesn’t disappear. Maybe it just changes shape.
Silence settles between us. Then his voice grows quieter. “She cheated on me.”
I look at him. His eyes stay on the stone.
“It was a month before she died.” He exhales slowly.
“I found out right before everything got worse. I think part of me let it happen. I was angry at her for hiding the cancer. She didn’t tell me until it was already bad,” he continues. “And she didn’t want treatment.”
I look at her gravestone.
“She said there was no point. The doctors told her the treatments would probably destroy any chance she had of having children.” His jaw tightens.
“For Evelyn… that was everything.” He rubs his hands together slowly.
“She always wanted a family. Kids running through the house. When she realized that might never happen… she decided the rest of it didn’t matter. ”
My chest aches.
“She said if she couldn’t have the life she imagined, then maybe it wasn’t meant to continue.
” His voice clenches. “She was surrendering.” He stares at the stone for a long moment before speaking again.
“She told me she’d already lived the life she wanted.
” A quiet breath leaves him. “That she was satisfied.” He shakes his head slowly, like the words still don’t make sense to him.
“But I couldn’t understand that.” His voice lowers. “Because if someone truly feels they’ve lived enough… why do they leave the person they promised forever to?” He keeps turning the ring on his finger, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.
“I kept thinking she would fight eventually. That something would change her mind.” His lips press into a thin line. “That she would choose to stay.” He swallows. “But she didn’t.”
The silence stretches between us. Then he says quietly, “And I think the hardest part is knowing… she didn’t stay for me.”
The cemetery sits silent around us. Stone, grass, names carved into marble. And beside me is a man who loves someone so deeply that even death didn’t end it. For the first time in a long time, a terrifying thought settles in my chest.
Love like that still exists.
* * *
Lucien glances at his watch. “Wow.”
I look over. “What?”
“It’s already 7:40.”
I blink. “That’s impossible.”
“We’ve been sitting here for almost two hours.
” For a moment we both look back at the grave, like time somehow slipped through our fingers without asking permission.
The conversation flowed easily for two hours, one story after another, one confession after another.
Lucien had opened up to me in a way that felt rare, like someone placing something fragile into my hands and I’m not entirely sure I deserve to be holding it.
He exhales slowly and stands. “We should probably head back before the cemetery security decides we’re suspicious night dwellers.”
I laugh softly and stand with him. “Two emotionally unstable strangers bonding over grief.”
Lucien smiles. “Honestly, that might be the most honest explanation.”
We walk back toward the gate together. The city slowly creeps back into the air, distant traffic, voices, the faint buzz of New York refusing to sleep.
Our conversation drifts again as we walk, lighter now.
We talk about terrible movies we secretly love, childhood embarrassments, the worst food either of us has ever eaten.
At one point Lucien describes a disastrous attempt at cooking pasta in college that somehow involved setting off a smoke alarm and summoning three firefighters.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
“So the heir to a corporate empire was defeated by spaghetti.”
“Tragically.”
I laugh again.
Thirty minutes pass without either of us noticing. By the time the hotel comes back into view, the night air has cooled and the city lights glow against the dark sky. Lucien glances up at the building. “Well,” he says lightly, “we survived a cemetery date.”
“Not exactly the usual second outing.”
“To be fair,” he replies, “most people don’t start with emotional trauma and existential reflection.”
“Next time we should probably try something simple. Like coffee.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Careful. That sounds suspiciously normal.”
We step into the hotel lobby and head toward the elevators. The ride up is quiet, not awkward, just full. When the doors open on our floor, we walk down the hallway together.
Room 107.
Room 108.
My hand hovers near my door, and suddenly I’m debating something I shouldn’t even be considering.
Part of me wants to ask him to stay just for the night but something stops me.
Lucien’s heart feels… soft. Not weak. Just open.
Like something that could break if handled the wrong way.
And I’m not sure my hands are steady enough right now.
My phone buzzes. I glance down.
Dominic: I haven’t heard from you. I’m starting to worry. Please call me.
The guilt hits immediately, sharp and confusing. What I feel for Dominic shifts inside me, something that used to be love, something I don’t recognize anymore. Before I can sort through any of it, Lucien speaks softly beside me.
“Good night, Sera.”
I look up. His expression isn’t disappointed but there’s something in his eyes, hope, quiet and patient. Like he’s giving me the space to walk away, even though a part of him wishes I wouldn’t. Like he’s waiting to see if I might change my mind.
“Good night, Lucien.” I turn toward my door.
And then I feel it. Lucien’s hand gently catching mine. I stop. He turns me back toward him. His gaze holds mine, deep, steady, wanting. For a moment neither of us says anything.
Then he leans down and kisses me softly. The kind of kiss that doesn’t rush. The kind that feels like a promise whispered instead of spoken. Something slow and steady, like love that refuses to disappear, even after loss, even after death.
I kiss him back before I can stop myself. The world narrows to the warmth of his mouth, the quiet certainty in the way he holds me. For a moment it feels endless, like time is pausing again. Then he pulls back slightly. A small smile touches his mouth.
“If we keep doing this, tomorrow’s meeting is going to be very difficult to conduct professionally.”
I laugh softly. “Good thing I’m not the one running it.”
Lucien leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. “Sleep well, Sera.”
Something in the way he says my name feels soft. Almost protective. Then he steps back. I step inside my room.
The door closes softly behind me and for a long moment, I just stand there in the quiet.