Chapter 36
2136words
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Upstairs Hallway
Early Morning
The fire had long since faded to ash. The water had gone cold. But Kristina was warm in his arms—tucked against his chest, breath slow and even.
Lucian lay still, his chin resting lightly against the crown of her head, one hand splayed over her waist. Protective. Anchored. Unmoving.
Sleep had taken her quickly. It had taken him a little longer.
But sometime during the night, he’d stopped thinking.
And started simply feeling.
Her body curled into his. The steadiness of her heartbeat. The soft weight of her breath against his skin.
They hadn’t bothered dressing. A single sheet draped across them now, tangled somewhere at their waists.
He didn’t move.
Not yet. Not with her like this.
But his thoughts drifted—back to the bathroom. The water still running. Her eyes locked on his. The moment she kissed him like she already knew what she wanted.
She’d given him everything. Not just her trust—but something more fragile. More rare.
Her first.
Lucian exhaled slowly, the memory blooming and burning all at once. Not from pride. But from something deeper. Something reverent. Honored. Wrecked by the weight of what it meant.
She had let him in—with no armor. No mask. Just Kristina.
And he would carry that—carefully. Fiercely. Always.
Until pale morning light crept across the floorboards—and the cold reality of logistics returned.
But reality came quietly—practical, inconvenient, and unrelenting.
He glanced around.
His clothes were gone.
Correction: in the bathroom. Still damp. Still streaked with blood and melted snow.
Her clothes, though… Her pants might’ve fit one of his forearms. Maybe. And there was no robe in sight.
Lucian looked down at her—still asleep, still curled into him, hair a mess across the pillow.
Peaceful. Asleep. Unbothered.
He wasn’t going to wake her. Not after everything.
He brushed a strand from her cheek, then leaned in and kissed her temple.
Soft. Careful.
She stirred only slightly, murmuring something he couldn’t quite catch before settling again.
So he did the only thing a man with no pride and even less clothing could do.
He took the nearest throw blanket from the foot of the bed, wrapped it tightly around his waist like a makeshift toga, and slipped out the door as silently as possible.
He made it six steps.
“Ash is gonna love this,” said Vex, leaning against the wall with a banana in hand and zero shame on his face.
Lucian did not break stride.
Two more steps.
Ash emerged from the stairwell, took one look, and just—grinned. Wide. Unfiltered. The kind of smile you only get once a year.
“Rough night, boss?”
Lucian’s voice was steel. “Not now.”
Then Sebastian arrived—silent, dramatic, already halfway into a croissant. He looked Lucian up and down and nodded, gravely.
“Drape could use a belt. But otherwise—power move.”
Lucian exhaled slowly. “Touch one camera feed and I swear—”
“We wouldn’t dare,” Ash said.
Sebastian folded his paper. “We already did.”
Lucian entered his room without another word.
The blanket billowed behind him like the world’s most unfortunate cape.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | The Master Suite
Lucian cracked open his bedroom door.
The hallway was quiet.
Suspiciously quiet.
He stepped out—fully dressed now, though his shirt was still slightly wrinkled from how quickly he’d pulled it on. Hair damp. Collar askew. But otherwise composed. Almost.
He glanced across the hall toward Kristina’s door.
Then sighed.
And started walking.
And froze.
The boys were still there.
Ash, Vex, and Sebastian were casually stationed in the hallway like they’d never left. A newspaper. A game controller. A banana. All props. None of them subtle.
Lucian slapped a hand against his forehead.
Then—like nothing was amiss—he straightened and walked past them, nodding faintly like this was all perfectly normal.
Ash, of course, didn’t miss a beat. He leaned toward Vex and Sebastian, speaking just loudly enough for Lucian to hear.
“You know,” Ash said, “we could just demolish Kristina’s room. What’s the point of it now, really? Would be easier.”
Vex nodded, biting into a fresh apple. “Uh-huh.”
Lucian closed his eyes for a second.
Internally? He was flipping every table in the estate.
Externally? He kept walking.
He made it back to Kristina’s room, exhaled, and went straight to the bathroom. The clothes from the night before were still there—wet, crumpled, streaked with melted snow and blood.
He grabbed an empty laundry basket from the corner, loaded the clothes in, and carried them out into the hallway—
—only to find that the boys had mobilized.
They were now behind him. Following. At a leisurely, casually, curious pace.
Lucian paused.
Looked to the ceiling.
Then kept walking.
No one said anything for a few seconds. Just the soft creak of floorboards and the rhythmic padding of four grown men making their way down a hallway like it was a nature documentary.
In the laundry room, Lucian opened the machine, loaded the clothes in, set the cycle, and pressed Start.
The moment the hum began, Sebastian spoke—thoughtfully, as if musing on the nature of existence.
“You know,” he said, “for all the time I’ve worked here… I’ve never once seen Lucian do the laundry.”
Ash nodded solemnly. “Not even after we dragged him into that mud pit during training.”
“Or the time Vex dropped curry on his suit,” Sebastian added.
“I said sorry,” Vex muttered.
Lucian closed the washer door with slow finality, then turned and walked toward the kitchen without a word.
They followed.
Lucian opened the fridge. Took out chicken thighs, celery, carrots, and ginger. He placed them calmly on the counter, moving like someone pretending to be alone in a crowd.
He set a pot on the stove. Filled it with water. Started chopping.
Behind him, the commentary resumed.
“I have definitely never seen Lucian cook,” Sebastian said, voice low with mock awe.
Ash leaned against the fridge. “Is it chicken soup? Oh my god, it’s comfort food. He’s making comfort food.”
“I’m so proud of him,” Vex whispered.
Lucian stared down at the cutting board, knife paused mid-slice.
He didn’t say a word.
But his jaw flexed.
And if you looked closely enough—you could see the twitch in his left brow. The one that said: I’m going to bury all of you. But not today. Today I’m making soup.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Kitchen
Lucian returned to the kitchen, sleeves pushed up. He carried a focused air, despite the fact that he’d passed the same three men in every room like ghosts with commentary privileges.
He moved with intent: pot on the stove, chicken stock poured, fresh herbs chopped. Every action had precision, purpose.
Which, unfortunately, only encouraged his audience.
Ash leaned against the counter, one hand on his phone, the other snagging a grape from a nearby bowl. “Okay,” he said, scrolling. “Chicken soup—classic. But what about warm tea, a weighted blanket, and maybe a scalp massage?”
Lucian didn’t even glance up. “For who?”
Ash grinned. “You tell me.”
Vex, lounging in one of the bar stools, added casually, “Also says here that post… events... it’s best to rehydrate with electrolyte drinks. Do we have any Gatorade?”
Sebastian looked contemplative, arms folded as he watched Lucian stir the soup. “I’m just saying—I’ve never seen him do laundry. Or cook. Ever. Not even toast. This is… historic.”
Lucian didn’t react. Didn’t comment. He just moved to the fridge, grabbed carrots, and started slicing.
Ash kept going. “Oh wait—here it is. ‘Emotional grounding is important. Light touches. Verbal reassurance. Gentle affirmations.’” He looked up. “So. You say anything nice this morning, or…?”
Lucian slammed the lid on the pot.
Not violently. Not aggressively. But with enough force that even the soup seemed to go quiet.
Lucian finally turned. His voice was flat.
“You still haven’t told me why you were here this early.”
Sebastian didn’t flinch. Just folded his arms and answered… like it was obvious.
“Perimeter tripwire flagged at 2:04 a.m. on Saturday. A car pinged twice near the back slope. Kristina went dark around the same time. I pinged Ash and Vex. Tried calling Eli, but no answer.”
Ash picked up. “We followed. Quiet. Non-intervention protocol.”
Vex added, “But by the time we got to the treeline, it was already over. She handled it.”
Sebastian glanced at Lucian. “We cleaned up. Four bodies. Removed identifiers. Bleached the trail. Nothing left but snow.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened—but he gave a short nod.
Then he turned back to the stove without another word.
Sebastian coughed to cover a laugh.
Ash whispered, “That’s a no.”
Lucian grabbed the laundry basket again, wordlessly exiting the room to retrieve the now-dry clothes, like a man headed to his doom.
Vex gave a low whistle. “He’s going back again? Man’s speedrunning domesticity.”
Ash raised his phone. “Wait, wait, let me look up what detergent is best for post-assassination bloodstains.”
Sebastian nodded, mock-sincere. “You’re doing great, boss. We’re so proud.”
Lucian passed the doorway one more time—stone-faced, jaw tight.
But his glare said everything.
Kristina stirred slowly.
The sunlight was brighter now, slanting across the hardwood floor like it had every right to be that smug.
She blinked.
Lucian was gone.
The sheet was still warm beside her, but the room was quiet—too quiet. She sat up, the blanket pulling around her bare shoulders, and squinted toward the door.
Not even footsteps.
Not even coffee.
Her brows furrowed. Her instincts didn’t scream danger—but they did twitch with unease. Like something... ridiculous was happening nearby.
She reached for the robe by the bedpost, slipped into it, and padded softly toward the door.
Down the hallway—voices.
She descended the stairs silently, staying out of view.
“I’m just saying,” Ash whispered, “if he adds rice, it’s basically arroz caldo.”
Vex muttered, “Pretty sure he googled ‘Filipino hangover food.’”
Sebastian sipped something thoughtfully. “He could do a soft-boiled egg. Garnish with scallions. Touch of lemon.”
Kristina’s brow rose higher.
Then Ash’s phone chimed.
“‘What to make after your partner has murdered four people and slept with you for the first time…’” Ash read. “Okay, wow. That is shockingly specific.”
“Add it to the playlist,” Vex murmured.
Kristina stepped into the kitchen.
Lucian was at the stove, stirring something in a pot. Calm. Focused—like the kitchen wasn't full of gossip and ghosts.
Ash’s phone slid face-down across the counter like it was trying to escape judgment.
Vex coughed. “Morning.”
Kristina crossed her arms. “Do I even want to know?”
Lucian didn’t look up. “Soup will be ready in fifteen.”
Sebastian, ever helpful, added, “He did the laundry too.”
Kristina’s eyes narrowed.
Ash quietly picked up his phone.
Vex muttered something about needing to check the security feed.
Sebastian took a final sip of his coffee, folded his napkin neatly, and vanished like a man fleeing the scene of a crime.
One by one, they disappeared—like cockroaches under light.
Lucian finally turned, holding a mug. He passed it to her without a word.
But he didn’t let go right away.
His eyes lingered on her—hair still tousled, lips faintly parted, the robe barely tied at her waist. She was moving carefully. Not broken. But bruised in that intimate, invisible way only he had left.
And she trusted him enough to let it happen.
The thought hit him in the chest.
Lucian gently reached for her free hand, his thumb brushing the skin above her knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly—more than just words. A breath. A vow. A crack in the armor he always wore too tightly.
She accepted it, fingers brushing his, her voice softer now. “You didn’t hurt me,” she said. “Not in any way that matters.”
His gaze searched hers—quiet, careful.
His fingers touched her wrist, thumb brushing gently. “Still,” he murmured, “next time… slower.”
Kristina smiled, faint but sure. “Next time, less thinking.”
She moved carefully, rolling her shoulder. A dull ache pulsed between her hips—not unbearable. Just unfamiliar.
But there was no regret in her posture. Only memory. And the beginnings of something more.
Lucian’s hand found the small of her back, grounding. Protective.
Outside, the morning sun kept rising. But inside, the quiet was warmer than before.
Behind the far kitchen wall—just out of sight, just out of shame—three pairs of ears were still eavesdropping.
Ash whispered, “Do we go back in?”
Vex muttered, “Are you insane?”
Sebastian: “I’m documenting this for future blackmail.”
A beat of silence.
Ash: “Okay but like… they’re kinda cute.”
Vex: “Like... knives-and-blood cute.”
Sebastian, sighing: “This is why we can’t have normal friends.”
Then, quietly—almost wistful: Vex: “I wish Eli was here.” Ash: “Oh God. He’d never let Lucian live.” Sebastian: “We’d need popcorn. And bail money.”
Some bonds aren’t spoken aloud. They’re proven—in the quiet, in the chaos, and in the choice to stay.
—To be continued.
