The bass of the music pulsed through the private lounge of the upscale bar where Lucian sat, drink in hand, his sharp jaw relaxed for the first time in days. It had been a long while since he allowed himself a night like this—no board meetings, no fake smiles for investors, no headlines.
Just the boys.
Theo lounged beside him, swirling a glass of scotch, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. Greg and Tristan were already on their third round, laughing like they used to during their academy days.
"For once," Theo declared, raising his glass toward Lucian, "we're doing something for ourselves. No business. No drama. Just… refreshment."
Lucian raised a brow. "That's a suspicious word coming from you, Theo."
"Suspicious but accurate," Theo grinned. "Which brings me to tonight's surprise."
"Oh no," Tristan muttered, rubbing his temple. "Whenever he says that, we end up in the headlines."
"No headlines tonight. Just velvet, wine, and women." Theo leaned in. "I reserved four rooms at The Silken Rose. You know the place—it's where models, actresses, and elite women moonlight for the right clients. Think of it as... a luxury reset."
Greg gave a low whistle. "That place? Isn't that invite-only?"
Theo smirked. "You're welcome."
Lucian's expression darkened slightly. "That's not really my thing anymore."
"You need this the most, Velmore," Theo said, lowering his voice. "Two years of cold beds, fake flings, and work obsession. You need to forget. Just for one night."
Lucian didn't answer right away. His thoughts drifted—like they always did—to her. But she was gone. She wanted nothing to do with him. And he was tired of carrying a love that only bled.
He exhaled. "Fine. Just one drink more, then we go."
Cheers erupted at the table.
Theo stepped aside and called Tanya, the manager of The Silken Rose, with his usual charm. "Tanya, darling. I've got very important guests tonight. Top-tier. I want the best you've got—your most beautiful, exclusive girls. Four rooms. Make sure he gets someone… unforgettable."
Tanya chuckled on the other end. "For you, Theo, always. The rooms are ready. I'll prepare our finest selections."
She paused.
Then her eyes wandered to one of the new girls who had been resisting since she arrived. The one Desmund sold.
The one they still hadn't broken.
The one whose file read: Caliste Winslow, alias: Cassy Moore.
Tanya smiled to herself.
"Tonight might be her night," she whispered.
----
The Silken Rose was bathed in muted gold, oozing luxury and secrecy with every breath of perfumed air.
Lucian Velmore sat on a velvet chaise in Room Four, his long fingers curled around a glass of aged whiskey, half-sipped, barely noticed. Across from him, his three closest friends—Theo, Tristan, and Greg—had already drifted to their respective rooms. But Lucian had stayed. Silent. Brooding.
It was Theo's idea. "For once, loosen up, Velmore," he had said, grinning. "No drama. No heartbreak. Just a night to forget."
Lucian didn't believe in forgetting. He carried every memory like a scar under his skin.
A soft knock tapped at the door.
Lucian didn't look up. "Come in."
The door opened. He sensed the hesitation in her steps before he even turned.
Then he did.
And everything shattered.
She stepped inside.
But he knew her.
Lucian's entire body tensed as he saw the woman he had been searching for two agonizing years.
Caliste.
She stood there, cloaked in a thin silk robe that did little to hide the curves he once knew so intimately. Her eyes widened the moment she saw him, her breath catching in her throat like a ghost from the past had walked through the door.
Even with her hair dyed, her face faintly altered by makeup, and a false name on her lips—he knew.
Lucian rose to his feet like a shadow coming alive.
"Caliste," he said, voice like steel cracking.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. Her breath caught. She hadn't heard her name in so long—let alone from him.
His voice dropped lower, dangerous. "Tell me I'm wrong."
She couldn't.
Silence bloomed like poison between them.
Lucian's jaw clenched, eyes darkening as they swept over her, disbelief and fury surging beneath his skin.
"You're in this kind of place?" His voice thundered now. "This? A house where men pay to touch you?"
She flinched. "Lucian—"
"You ran from me. You disappeared. I searched the world for you, Caliste!" His voice cracked at the edges, fury barely held together. "I destroyed Mirana. I tore through anyone who stood in my way—do you know what that did to me?"
Tears rimmed her lashes. "You don't understand—"
"I don't? I don't understand watching the woman I love vanish like smoke? Finding out this is where she ended up—sold to strangers like a common commodity?"
Caliste took a shaky step back, her heart pounding. "I... I didn't choose this, Lucian."
"Strip," he said quietly.
Her breath hitched.
He stepped closer. "Then do what you are paid for."
Caliste's fingers trembled as she reached for the sash of her robe—but she paused. Her lip quivered, her pride flickering.
Then Lucian stepped forward and pulled her into him.
His lips crashed down on hers—not in passion, but in desperate, aching need. It wasn't gentle. It was messy. Raw. It was pain and longing wrapped into one devastating kiss. Her hands pushed against his chest, but her body betrayed her, arching into him, seeking that familiar fire.
He untied her robe with clenched fingers, the silk falling away to reveal the woman who once belonged to him.
"You're still mine," he whispered, his voice breaking.
Caliste didn't answer. Instead, her hand reached up to touch his face—slow, uncertain—then slid down to his shirt, unbuttoning it with unsteady fingers.
As the fabric dropped to the floor, and bare skin met bare skin, it wasn't just lust. It was pain. It was forgiveness. It was two broken hearts trying to piece themselves back together in the only way they knew how.
And in that dimly lit room, they surrendered to each other—again. Not out of force. Not out of control. But out of a love that never really died… only lost its way.