The confession happened accidentally.

Which seemed to be the only way Lucien ever revealed anything real.

Rain had finally stopped by evening.

For the first time in days, the mansion windows reflected soft gold sunset instead of storm clouds, and warm light stretched quietly through the music room while an old jazz record turned slowly beneath the needle.

Ivy sat barefoot on the piano bench wearing one of Lucien’s black button-down shirts rolled messily to her elbows.

Technically his shirt.

Emotionally theirs now.

Interesting.

Very dangerous.

Lucien stood near the record player changing bandages around his shoulder one-handed with visible irritation.

“You’re bad at being injured,” Ivy informed him.

Lucien didn’t look up.

“I was shot four days ago.”

“Yes. And somehow you made it everyone else’s inconvenience.”

“That’s leadership.”

“That’s emotional dictatorship.”

One corner of his mouth moved faintly.

Tiny.

Still there.

God.

He smiled so much more now.

The realization still startled her every time.

Ivy watched quietly while Lucien tried unsuccessfully to wrap clean gauze around the back of his shoulder.

Bad angle.

Too stubborn to ask for help.

Classic Lucien.

Finally she sighed dramatically and slid off the piano bench.

“Move.”

“I’m managing.”

“You’re losing a fight to medical tape.”

Lucien looked deeply unconvinced by her qualifications.

Still—

he handed her the bandages.

Progress.

Ivy stepped closer carefully.

Close enough now that she caught the familiar scent of cedarwood and whiskey lingering softly against his skin.

Close enough to see fading bruises near his ribs beneath warm evening light.

The room quieted instantly around them.

Always happened lately.

Lucien stood motionless while Ivy carefully peeled away the uneven bandage wrapped around his shoulder.

His muscles tightened slightly beneath her fingers.

Tiny reaction.

Still there.

“Relax,” she murmured softly.

“You stabbed a Russo guard with a broken bottle.”

“That was self-defense.”

“That was deeply alarming.”

“I learned from observing you.”

Lucien exhaled softly through his nose.

Almost amusement.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Ivy carefully cleaned the wound near his shoulder while jazz music drifted low through the room.

Neither spoke for a while.

Only soft music.

Warm light.

The quiet intimacy of touching each other without fear anymore.

Then Ivy noticed something.

No hesitation.

Not once.

Lucien let her touch every scar now.

The shoulder.

The ribs.

The marks across his chest.

No flinching anymore.

No retreat.

The realization settled quietly beneath her ribs.

“You trust me now,” she said softly before fully thinking.

Lucien’s eyes lifted toward her immediately.

Like the sentence physically caught him off guard.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“I trusted you before.”

“No.” Ivy tied the clean bandage carefully behind his shoulder. “You wanted me before.”

Silence.

Lucien stared at her.

The room tightened softly around them.

Then quietly:

“There’s a difference.”

The honesty in his voice hit harder than expected.

Ivy looked up slowly.

Lucien stood close enough now that she could see exhaustion fading slowly from his face for the first time in weeks.

Healing.

Actual healing.

Interesting.

Dangerous.

“I think,” Ivy murmured carefully, “you’ve been lonely for a really long time.”

Lucien laughed once under his breath.

No humor.

“That’s one word for it.”

Ivy finished securing the bandage.

Her fingers brushed lightly across the scars near his collarbone afterward without thinking.

Lucien stopped breathing normally for one sharp second.

Still.

Even now.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“You know what’s weird?” Ivy said quietly.

“What.”

“You act like someone who’s been heartbroken before.”

Lucien’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“I have.”

Ivy blinked once.

Oh.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

She stepped back slightly against the piano edge.

“Wait.”

Lucien looked suddenly regretful.

Tiny reaction.

Still there.

“You were in love before me?”

Silence.

Then:

“No.”

The answer came immediate.

Confusingly immediate.

Ivy frowned.

“You literally just said—”

“I said heartbroken.”

“That usually involves another person, Lucien.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

The room shifted subtly quieter.

Then Lucien looked toward the slowly spinning record instead of her.

Danger sign.

Emotional vulnerability approaching.

“I spent twelve years wanting someone who disappeared into snow after giving me hot chocolate,” he said quietly.

Ivy stopped breathing for half a second.

Lucien continued before she could interrupt.

“I tried dating eventually.”

The sentence landed strangely heavy.

Ivy hated how instantly her chest tightened.

Interesting.

Emotionally embarrassing.

Very emotionally embarrassing.

Lucien noticed immediately.

“There were women,” he admitted quietly. “But…”

He stopped.

Ivy crossed her arms tightly.

“But what.”

Lucien finally looked back at her.

And suddenly the room felt much smaller.

“I never touched them emotionally.”

The confession landed soft.

Devastating.

Ivy stared at him silently.

Lucien’s voice lowered slightly.

“I kept comparing everyone to a girl I met during a snowstorm.”

Oh.

Oh no.

That hit directly.

“You’re serious,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No performance.

Only truth.

The music continued softly around them while sunset light burned gold against the windows behind Lucien’s shoulders.

Ivy looked at him like she’d never fully understood him before this moment.

“You spent twelve years in love with a memory.”

Lucien’s gaze moved slowly across her face.

“Not a memory.”

The room tightened.

Dangerously.

“You.”

The single word shattered something quietly inside her chest.

Ivy looked away immediately.

Too much.

Too honest.

Lucien stepped closer carefully.

“I tried moving on.”

His voice roughened slightly.

“I went to dinners. Events. Slept beside people whose names I barely remember.” A pause. “But every time someone touched me…”

He stopped again.

Ivy’s pulse hammered painfully hard.

“What.”

Lucien looked almost angry at himself for answering.

“It felt wrong.”

Silence.

Pure silence.

No mafia king.

No control.

Only a man standing in fading sunset light admitting he’d emotionally belonged to one girl since he was sixteen years old and bleeding beneath broken convenience store neon.

Ivy’s eyes burned instantly.

“That’s…” She laughed weakly under her breath. “That’s actually insane.”

Lucien’s mouth moved faintly.

“I know.”

“No, seriously.” She wiped quickly beneath one eye. “That’s clinically concerning.”

“You kissed me first.”

“That is unrelated.”

“It isn’t.”

Ivy stared at him helplessly.

God.

Everything about him felt unbearable tonight.

The loyalty.

The obsession.

The terrifying tenderness hidden beneath all the violence.

Soulmate energy.

Actual soulmate energy.

Interesting.

Very emotionally destructive.

Lucien stepped closer again until Ivy’s back touched the piano edge fully.

Neither looked away.

The sunset wrapped softly around the room while jazz music crackled low between them.

“I spent years trying to forget your face,” Lucien murmured quietly.

Ivy’s throat tightened.

“And?”

His gaze dropped briefly toward her mouth.

Then back up.

“I failed.”

That did it.

Completely.

Ivy reached for him instantly.

One hand sliding carefully against his jaw while the other touched the scars near his collarbone.

Lucien inhaled sharply.

Tiny reaction.

Still devastating.

Then gently—

so gently it almost hurt—

Ivy kissed one of the scars near his chest.

Lucien froze completely.

The entire room stopped moving with him.

No breathing.

No sound.

Only Ivy’s lips against ruined skin nobody had ever touched tenderly before.

When she pulled back slightly—

Lucien looked wrecked.

Absolutely wrecked.

Gray eyes dark and stunned and heartbreakingly open in a way she’d never seen before.

“You can’t do things like that,” he whispered hoarsely.

Ivy brushed her fingers lightly across another scar.

“Why.”

Lucien closed his eyes briefly.

Like surviving tenderness still physically overwhelmed him.

Then quietly:

“Because I’ll never recover from you.”