Chapter 16
2187words
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate
Kristina never joined them at the breakfast table.
Not once since she started working for Lucian. She always had an excuse—she’d already eaten, wasn’t hungry, would grab something later in the kitchen. And she did. Quietly. Alone. Usually long after everyone else had left the table.
Most mornings, she simply stood off to the side of the dining area—arms crossed, eyes half-focused, listening as they planned the day’s itinerary. She would chime in when needed, throw in a sharp observation or dry comment, then disappear before the plates were cleared.
But not today.
Lucian had insisted. Gently, but with just enough weight to make it clear it wasn’t a request. And he’d used his recovering state as leverage, smiling faintly when he said, “Humor me. Doctor’s orders. Or mine. Whichever sounds more annoying.”
So now, Kristina was walking down the stairs, slowly, carefully—still bound in that damned sling, her body stiff with protest. She could already hear them: voices rising in easy banter, the scrape of chairs, the muted clink of silverware.
The estate’s wide-open floor plan offered no room to retreat. From the top of the stairs, she could see nearly everything—the long table set for six, the tall windows spilling in morning light, the soft hum of conversation that fell into rhythm like a song they all already knew.
Sebastian was the first to notice her.
He stood quickly, his chair skidding slightly behind him. “Let me—” He was already at the stairs before she could object.
She was dressed in her own clothes this time—soft black sweatpants and a loose black long-sleeve tee that didn’t belong to any of them. It should’ve been a good thing. Familiar. Comforting. But Lucian, watching from the table, caught himself frowning.
He missed seeing her in his shirts.
It wasn’t rational, and he knew it. But something about those mornings—her wrapped in something of his, sleeves too long, collar loose—had felt like a thread tying her to this place. To them.
Now, it felt like the thread had been gently, quietly undone.
When they reached the dining area, the conversation dimmed briefly as the others turned to look. They all greeted her the same way they always did—with a nod, a smile, a casual, “Hey, Raven.”
Lucian’s expression didn’t change, but there was the faintest shift in his jaw. Subtle. Controlled.
She was Kristina now. And he hated hearing anything else.
Sebastian pulled out the chair to Lucian’s right and helped her ease into it. He took the seat beside her. On Lucian’s left sat Eli, then Ash, then Vex. The table was full.
The housekeeper—one of the only staff Lucian kept on-site—finished setting down the breakfast platters. Eggs, toast, roasted vegetables, a pot of coffee, and a pitcher of fresh juice.
Kristina reached for the serving spoon with her left hand, then paused. With only one arm usable, she shifted slightly, starting to stand so she could lean closer to the dish. Before she could make it halfway, Lucian wordlessly slid his plate in front of her, already filled. Then took the empty one from her side and began serving himself instead.
Kristina gave him a dry look. “I’m fine. I’m ambidextrous. Just couldn’t reach it.”
Lucian didn’t glance up. “I know.”
The movement was quiet. Unremarkable. But everyone saw it.
No one said a word.
Just exchanged glances—Eli quirking a brow, Vex half-smirking behind his cup, Ash chewing like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
Kristina didn’t look up.
They began to eat. The morning briefing unfolded the way it always did—updates, strategy, projections, logistics. And she listened. Not as an outsider this time, but as part of the table. That, more than anything, felt unfamiliar.
Midway through a discussion about an upcoming property acquisition, Sebastian mentioned a location.
Kristina paused. “That’s not stable ground. Too close to the north ridge. There’s been slides since the last storm.”
Lucian looked over at her. “It’s reinforced. We had geotech sign-offs.”
She hesitated. “Still. You’re sending someone?”
Ash raised a brow. “We’re all going.”
Kristina didn’t smile. “I’m going too.”
Three voices jumped in immediately.
“Raven, no—” “You’re not cleared—” “Are you serious right now?”
Lucian didn’t speak. Not at first.
His hand stilled over the chopsticks, his gaze locked on her with a sudden, precise intensity. Not shock—he’d learned not to expect her to play it safe—but there was something taut in his posture now, a barely checked current of alarm behind the quiet.
Kristina straightened slightly, expression taut. “I’m not going to sit around while you act like I still can’t—”
“Kristina.”
It wasn’t loud. But it was firm.
The table went still.
Her name—her real name—hung between them like a shift in gravity. No one called her that during briefings. No one dared. But Lucian had said it without blinking, without hesitating.
Kristina blinked.
Lucian’s voice lowered. “You need to rest. Don’t push it.”
The others didn’t speak. Eli’s hand hovered above his coffee. Ash leaned back slightly in his chair. Vex looked away, mouth pulled tight in the corners.
Kristina exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
And for the rest of breakfast, nothing more was said about the trip.
But something had changed.
He hadn’t just called her to the table. He’d called her to stay, in the only place he wouldn’t make room for anyone else.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | The Master Suite
Late Morning
Lucian had just fastened the last button on his cuff when the knock came.
The sound was soft—polite, unobtrusive, like whoever stood on the other side had hesitated just long enough to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupting. His gaze flicked to the door, then back to the mirror, where his reflection stared back with the same carefully composed calm he’d practiced every day since taking over the Dominion.
“Come in,” he said without looking up.
The door opened with its usual quiet click, hinges well-oiled and discreet. He turned, expecting Sebastian with a report, maybe Eli with a question about their afternoon route. Someone practical. Predictable.
It wasn’t either of them.
Kristina stepped inside, her frame outlined by the soft spill of hallway light. She didn’t speak, didn’t announce herself, just moved forward with that same quiet precision she always had—though now, every step carried a thread of tension, the echo of pain she refused to acknowledge. Her movements were more deliberate than they had been a week ago. Not cautious, exactly, but restrained—like she was forcing herself to adjust to a body still healing beneath the surface.
Her eyes moved first—not to him, but around the room, flicking briefly across the furniture, the unlit fireplace, the shelves that hadn’t changed in months. She didn’t say it, but the subtle crease between her brows said it all: this room had once meant something different. It still did. Only now the edges had shifted.
Lucian stood still, watching her. And in that quiet moment, something he hadn’t prepared for settled low in his chest.
She’d been here before—more than once. Post-mission briefings, quiet conversations that turned too late to sleep, that one time he’d found her standing barefoot by the window at three in the morning, watching the rain like it was the only thing in the world that could still touch her. She had worn his shirts then, loose and oversized, sleeves slipping past her wrists, collar barely clinging to her shoulder.
Now she wore her own clothes.
And somehow, it felt like she’d taken something of his off—not the fabric, not even the comfort, but the unspoken tether between them. As if returning to herself meant retreating from him.
He swallowed that thought and masked it with a nod, trying not to let anything too real bleed through. “Need something?”
Kristina didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stepped closer, pulling something from behind her back.
A box. Matte-black. Compact and perfectly square, no visible branding or markings. It could’ve been anything—tech, a weapon, a file case. But she held it with care, with fingers that didn’t tremble, and extended it toward him like it meant more than she could admit.
Lucian accepted it, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity as he felt the weight—dense, solid, intentional. He flipped the latch open with his thumb and eased the lid up.
Inside was a watch.
Not just any watch. Sleek, minimal, elegant in a way that didn’t call attention to itself. But Lucian recognized the make immediately—top-tier, nearly impossible to acquire without knowing someone deep in the manufacturing line. The face was blank until touched. No ticking hands. Just smooth black under glass, glinting in the light.
He lifted it with care, turning it over in his palm.
Heavy. Expensive. Not meant to be decorative.
His eyes rose to meet hers. “What’s this?”
Kristina’s gaze was steady, but not direct. She watched the box more than his face, as if bracing herself for something. “It has a tracker. Satellite-linked. It pings to my device every five minutes when you’re on the move.”
Lucian blinked. His fingers stilled on the band. “You want to track me?”
She answered quickly, almost too quickly. “Yes. It’s not that I don’t trust Sebastian,” she added, her voice tightening slightly. “Or Ash. Or Vex. It’s just… I’ll be at ease. Knowing. Just in case.”
She finally looked up. And in her eyes—clear, unreadable, but edged with something she hadn’t let show before—he saw it.
Not paranoia. Not control.
The real kind. The kind that lingered in the aftermath of losing too much. The kind that didn’t leave even after the bleeding stopped. It lived beneath her skin, buried so deep she barely let herself acknowledge it. But here, in the quiet of this room, offering him a watch like it was a lifeline, she was letting it show.
She was afraid of losing him.
Lucian didn’t speak. Didn’t ask for more. He just set the watch on the dresser, removed his current one without fanfare, and slipped the new one onto his wrist. The clasp clicked softly into place, final and certain.
Kristina spoke again, quieter this time. “There’s a button. Side panel. Press it once if you’re in danger. Twice if… if you need me.”
His throat felt dry.
He didn’t smile—not fully—but something in his gaze warmed, gentled, like he was seeing more than just the gift. “Got it. You, uh… didn’t have to bring a gift,” he said, though his voice had gone lower than he intended, almost uncertain. “But I’ll wear it.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
There was a silence that followed. Not cold, but uncertain—something hovering in the air between them, unsaid but heavy, waiting for someone to either acknowledge it or let it drift.
“I was wondering if—”
“Do you want—”
They both stopped mid-sentence.
Their voices collided awkwardly, tangling midair and falling silent at once. Kristina’s cheeks flushed pink, and she glanced down. Lucian arched a brow, barely restraining a smile.
“You first,” he said.
She shifted her weight, tugging at the hem of her sleeve, clearly debating whether to follow through or pretend it hadn’t happened at all. “I was just going to ask… if I could borrow another one of your shirts.”
Lucian tilted his head, intrigued but careful not to show too much of it.
Kristina went on, words rushing now, as if momentum was the only thing keeping her from backing out. “They’re—more comfortable. Or maybe it’s just the fabric. Or the size. Or—never mind, I can grab something else, I just—”
“It’s fine,” he interrupted gently, stopping the spiral before it gained traction. “Pick whatever you like.”
She let out a breath, part relief, part quiet embarrassment, and gave a nod that didn’t quite meet his eyes.
Lucian cleared his throat, searching for something light enough to release the tension but not so casual that it sounded forced. “Just… don’t take the black one near the footlocker. That one’s Sebastian’s. He’ll complain for a week.”
Kristina gave a small, amused nod, lips tugging upward. And just like that, something eased. Not gone. But less sharp. The thread between them hadn’t broken—it had simply frayed and found a new way to hold.
Lucian stepped past her, brushing a hand along the door handle, and paused there—half in shadow, half in light. He looked back once, not visibly, not with his head, but with the lingering weight of his attention.
Kristina stood in the center of his room again. Not dressed in his clothes. Not curled in his sheets. But holding something he'd worn. And asking—of all things—to wear something of his again.
He didn’t say anything.
Just closed the door behind him.
And when he did, it felt like something inside him exhaled for the first time in days.
He moved down the staircase one deliberate step at a time, hands flexing once—like some part of him hadn’t followed.”
He didn’t let himself look back.
But every part of him was still up there, in that room.
She hadn’t asked him to stay—
but in every small way that mattered, she had.
—To be continued.
