Chapter 10 — Between the Lines
Aria's POV
The storm rolled in after midnight.
She watched it from the second-story balcony outside the guest library — the one no one ever used. Rain tapped against the iron railing, soft and rhythmic. Thunder rumbled over the hills like a distant war drum.
She wasn't afraid of storms.
She liked them.
They made the house feel alive — like the walls could finally breathe.
Wrapped in a blanket, her tea gone cold beside her, Aria sat with her knees tucked to her chest and let the silence keep her company.
Until it didn't.
---
Lucien's POV
He hadn't meant to find her.
He was restless — another sleepless night, another failed attempt to drown his thoughts in scotch and silence.
He was walking past the guest library when he saw the soft flicker of light spilling through the cracked door.
He almost kept walking.
But curiosity had a cruel grip.
So he stepped in.
And found her.
Sitting in the open air, barefoot and small, watching the storm like it was telling her secrets.
She turned slightly when she sensed him.
"I thought you'd be in bed," he said.
"I thought you'd be in Prague."
That made him smile — just a twitch of it.
"I came back early."
"Did something go wrong?"
"No. That's the problem. I left to clear my head." He paused. "It didn't work."
She shifted, tucking her blanket tighter.
He didn't ask why she was out here.
He just stepped forward and leaned against the opposite pillar.
And for a long moment, they both stared out at the rain.
---
Aria's POV
He didn't try to interrogate her.
Didn't ask what she was doing or why she hadn't gone to bed.
He just stood there, arms folded, gaze distant.
And in that stillness, something cracked open between them.
So she spoke — not to test him. Not to provoke.
Just to speak.
"I used to watch storms through my bedroom window when I was little," she said softly. "Isla hated them. She thought thunder meant the world was angry. But I liked the chaos."
Lucien glanced sideways. "Why?"
"It made me feel less alone."
He was silent.
But his expression changed. Slightly.
"I used to sneak onto the roof when I was a kid," he said. "During storms. My mother thought I was crazy. But up there, everything else disappeared. No voices. No orders. Just noise."
Aria smiled faintly. "That's the first thing we have in common."
Lucien looked at her.
Really looked at her.
And something unspoken passed between them.
---
Lucien's POV
She wasn't supposed to be like this.
Soft-spoken. Steady. Observant. And somehow more dangerous than all the men who had ever tried to kill him.
But she wasn't trying to kill him now.
She was just… there.
Honest.
Present.
Lucien stepped closer.
Not touching her. Not looming. Just closing the distance so the rain became louder, and the air between them warmer.
"I don't know what game you're playing," he said quietly. "But you're not what I expected."
"I'm not playing anything," she replied.
He tilted his head. "Everyone's playing something."
"I'm surviving. There's a difference."
Lucien looked down at her bare feet, the soft tremble of her shoulders under the blanket, the fire in her eyes even in the dark.
"You shouldn't feel safe here," he said. "Not with me."
"I don't," she said simply.
Then: "But I don't feel scared either."
That did something to him.
Twisted something inside.
Because fear was control. Fear was distance. Fear kept people manageable.
And she didn't fear him.
Not even now.
---
Aria's POV
His eyes didn't soften.
But his voice did.
"You're not what I wanted."
"I know."
"But maybe…" He exhaled slowly. "You're what I need."
The silence cracked like thunder.
She didn't answer.
Because what could she say to that?
That she was here for answers?
That she'd planned to unravel him thread by thread?
That somewhere along the way, he'd stopped being a mission and started becoming… something else?
No.
Not yet.
So she just whispered, "You should go inside. It's late."
Lucien didn't move right away.
But when he finally did, he brushed past her — not touching, not looking.
Just enough closeness to make her skin burn.
And when he reached the door, he said without turning—
"I'll see you in the morning."
Not a command.
Not a warning.
A promise.
And then he left.
Leaving her heartbeat loud enough to drown the storm.