Chapter 12

Serena's POV

After dinner, Lucas took Milo and Stella back to his father's home. I try to tell him, "I can grab a cab, really," but he waves me off, saying it's no trouble. There's a driver this time, and the poor guy looks like he'd rather vanish than listen to our awkward exchange. I stay quiet, my heart thumping for reasons I don't care to name.

We reach Tribeca Towers's entrance. I open the car door slowly-still need my damn crutch-and before I can even grunt in protest, Lucas is outside, waiting. He moves to help me out like it's the most natural thing in the world. I manage a stiff "Thanks." He nods, expression calm but unreadable.

I hobble forward a few steps before stopping short and turning to face him. "Lucas." My voice comes out rougher than intended. He lifts a brow, waiting. I swallow. Screw it, might as well say it. "They were telling the truth, you know. About me. About what happened when I was eighteen. About... having a kid out of wedlock."

The second I say it, my chest tightens. I expect him to flinch, to step back, to look disgusted, something. Instead, he just stands there, silent, eyes steady on mine. I try to read his face. Nothing. It's maddening.

Frustration seethes beneath my skin. "Look, I'm not going to pretend to be someone I'm not. I don't need your pity. And if-"

Before I can finish, he's there-close, too close. In one swift, fluid movement, he hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me firmly against his chest. I barely have time to suck in a breath before his mouth covers mine, hot and insistent.

My thoughts short-circuit. His lips pressed against mine, and I felt the softness and warmth of his kiss. It was unexpected and intense, making my heart race and my cheeks burn. The unfamiliar sensation between our lips grew hotter and more pressing, making it hard to think straight.

My palms fly up, pushing him back until the chill night air separates us again. "What the hell?" I demand, my voice shaking, heart thundering so loudly I'm sure he hears it. I try to reel in the rush of heat flooding my veins, but it's no use-my cheeks are burning.

He doesn't apologize. Not even close. He studies me with that calm, confident gaze, and when he speaks, his voice is low and even, "That's my answer. I don't give a damn about your past."

It's such a simple statement-quiet, sure-but it sets my nerves on edge, my pulse racing faster than I'd ever admit. "Why would you do that? You can tell me!"

His head tilts slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. "Because talk is cheap," he says, voice like silk. "Actions leave a mark you can't argue away."

Under the soft illumination of the nighttime city lights, his smile radiated an irresistible charm, making his features even more striking. His grey eyes, deep and enigmatic, held a mesmerizing allure. Each glance was both intense and inviting, drawing me into their depths as if revealing unspoken stories.

The anger I had been holding onto instantly dissipated the moment I saw his face. "You could've just said so," I snap, but my words stumble out, lacking bite. He's got me all twisted up inside.

His amusement barely concealed. "You would've kept fighting me, Serena. Found another reason to run." He pauses, letting his gaze travel over my face. "Now you know I mean it."

My mouth opens-ready to hurl some furious retort-but nothing comes. God, he's right. I hate that he's right. His confidence, his unapologetic claim, it's all spinning around in my head.

After a weighted silence, he leans in once more, not touching, just close enough that I can feel his warmth. His breath brushes my ear, sending a traitorous shiver down my spine. "Go upstairs. Get some rest."

I stand there, paralyzed by the memory of his mouth on mine, the heat he left behind, the way he shattered every excuse I had. He steps back, nods once-like we just sealed some deal-and turns to his car.

The engine of his Maybach hums as it pulls away, leaving me stranded on that quiet sidewalk, heart still pounding, lips still buzzing with the imprint of his kiss.