Lucas’s POV
The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that didn’t threaten rain but carried the weight of it anyway. Lucas stepped out of the car, the wind brushing past his coat as he walked the gravel path toward the edge of the cemetery. He hadn’t been here in four years. Not since the funeral. Not since the world split into before and after.
In his hand, a single white ranunculus. Kael’s favorite. Soft, layered, and stubbornly delicate. The kind of flower Kael used to tuck behind Lucas’s ear during rehearsals, laughing when Lucas scowled and left it there anyway.
The cemetery was quiet. Not empty—just still. The kind of silence that felt curated. He passed rows of headstones, each one a name sealed in stone, until he reached the one that had never stopped echoing in him.
Kael R. Saren
Beloved son, sealed partner, and light that never faded.
Lucas crouched, placing the flower at the base of the stone. His fingers lingered on the carved letters, tracing them slowly.
“I didn’t think I’d come back,” he said softly.
The wind stirred.
“I remember everything,” he continued. “The way you laughed. The way you pulled me into scenes I wasn’t ready for. The way you made me believe the seal meant more than magic.”
He closed his eyes.
Kael is in the dressing room, humming off-key. Kael is stealing his script and improvising lines. Kael is leaning in during a take, whispering, “I’d choose you. Even if the world didn’t.”
Lucas had smiled then.
He hadn’t smiled since.
He sat back on his heels, letting the silence settle around him. The ache was familiar. But something else was there too—something newer. Something quieter.
He hadn’t come just to mourn.
He had come because of her.
Elara.
He remembered the way she had looked at him when he was sick—not dramatic, not panicked, just present. She had felt something through the seal. A pulse. A warning. She’d called Riven. She’d come.
She hadn’t asked for anything.
But she had stayed.
She’d walked into his office, placed a hand on his forehead, and said, “You’re burning up.” She’d ignored his protests, helped him gather his things, sat beside him in the car with her arms crossed and her heart pounding—not from nerves, but from the seal’s quiet hum.
She’d dimmed the lights. Adjusted the blinds. Set his phone to silent. Pressed a damp cloth to his forehead. And when he’d tried to sit up, told to rest.
Then she’d stumbled.
And he’d moved to catch her.
And their lips had met.
Not planned. Not dramatic. Just a slip. An accident.
But the seal had responded instantly. A pulse. A flare. A wave of warmth surged through his body, easing the fever, steadying his breath. Not gone. But softened.
They had frozen.
Her eyes were wide. His gaze lingered—not with confusion, but with something quieter. Something searching.
She had pulled back slowly, whispering, “I’m sorry.”
He hadn’t answered.
But the silence between them had been louder than any words.
And in that silence, the seal had settled.
Not dormant.
Just… waiting.
He remembered the alley.
China. A narrow street, slick with rain. A puddle shimmered under a flickering streetlamp. Her foot slipped.
She stumbled forward—straight into him.
His arms had reached out instinctively, but the momentum was too much. They fell. He landed on his back. She landed squarely on top of him.
The impact knocked the breath from both of them. Her hands pressed against his chest, her knees straddling his hips. Her face hovered inches from his—close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, the startled tension in his muscles.
She shifted slightly, trying to push herself up, but her balance faltered. Her weight dipped forward. And her lips—soft, trembling—brushed his.
The seal ignited.
Crimson-gold.
No ritual. No words. Just contact.
Just fate.
Lucas opened his eyes and looked at Kael’s name again.
“I didn’t choose her,” he said. “Not like I chose you.”
His voice was steadier now.
“But she’s sealed to me. And I think… I think I’m supposed to protect her.”
He paused, letting the words settle.
“She’s not you. She never will be. But she’s part of me now. A partner. For life.”
He swallowed hard.
Then asked, barely above a whisper, “Is it okay… if I move forward?”
The wind stirred again. He didn’t expect an answer. But something in the air shifted—like the silence had accepted the question.
He stood slowly, looked down at the flower, then turned away.
The drive back to the estate blurred past him. The roads were familiar, but his thoughts were louder than the engine, louder than the rain beginning to tap against the windshield. He parked without thinking, walked the long halls of the Draeven manor, and found himself standing outside the East Wing—outside the room where Regulus and Vivianne had asked him the question he hadn’t answered.
So what’s your plan, Lucas?
If the Velmiras come for her, do you stand between them?
If she’s cast out, do you take her in?
If she’s forced to marry someone else, do you fight it?
You don’t have to love her. Not yet.
But you do have to choose her.
And if you can’t… then you need to say so now.
He hadn’t said anything then.
But now, standing in the quiet of the hallway, he knew.
He would choose her.
Not because he was ready.
Not because he was in love.
But because she deserved someone who stayed.
And maybe—just maybe—he was learning how to stay again.
He didn’t linger in the hallway. He turned and walked out of the manor without a word, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by the silence behind him. The drive back to his villa was quiet. The rain had started, soft and steady, tapping against the windshield like a rhythm he almost recognized.
By the time he stepped inside, the sky had darkened. The villa was as he’d left it—minimalist, untouched, cold. But something in him had shifted. The silence no longer felt like armor. It felt like space. Space to decide. Space to speak.
He walked to the living room, stood by the window, and watched the rain blur the lights outside. Then he reached for his phone.
The screen lit up. He scrolled to one name.
Regulus Draeven.
He tapped it.
The line rang once.
Then twice.
Then—
“Lucas,” came the voice, calm and expectant.
Lucas didn’t hesitate.
“I’ve made my decision,” he said. “I’ll protect her. Whatever it takes.”
There was silence on the other end.
Then Regulus spoke, voice low and firm.
"Good. Then the war for her begins."
But for the first time in years, he felt steady.
He ended the call, set the phone down, and stood there for a long moment—watching the rain, listening to the quiet pulse of the seal beneath his skin.
It didn’t flare.
It didn’t hum.
It simply settled.
It had been waiting for this.
Like it had known all along.