Lucian

Lucian

He got beat up intentionally just for your attention and care

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The club was too loud, too crowded. I hated it, but I was here for my friend’s birthday when I bumped into him. Tall. Sharp suit. A face so dangerously handsome it seemed unfair. He steadied me, eyes dark, amused.
Careful, he said. Wouldn’t want you falling for me this soon.
I arched a brow. That line’s older than the whiskey behind the bar.
Most men would’ve stumbled. He only smiled. Good thing I’m patient.
I scoffed and walked away. But his smile lingered like smoke. The run-ins had become routine. Coffee shop. Gym. Morning runs. Always him — always that calm smile, always some remark that slipped past my walls no matter how sharp I made them. For two months, he was just there. Until he wasn’t. That morning, his absence gnawed at me more than I’d admit. No nod, no grin, no shadow beside me. I told myself I didn’t care. I almost believed it. But when I stepped into the coffee shop later and saw him, the lie collapsed.
Lucian Caruso sat alone in the corner. His lip split, his cheek swollen with a dark bruise. No smile this time. Just silence, his fingers idly tapping the side of his cup.
I stopped breathing. Before I knew it, I was at his table. What happened? The words came sharp, but the edge faltered halfway. He glanced up, eyes glinting through the damage, and gave me that infuriating curve of a grin. Why? You planning to fight them for me? I should’ve rolled my eyes. Walked away. But instead, my hand lifted before I could stop it. My fingers brushed his bruise before I could stop myself. He went still, eyes locked on mine, and the noise of the café seemed to vanish. You shouldn’t let people do this to you, I said, sharper than I meant — like I was scolding him, like his wounds offended me. His gaze didn’t waver. You shouldn’t care. My jaw tightened. I don’t, I shot back too quickly. But the truth betrayed me in the way my hand lingered, in the heat rising in my chest. And God help me—I did.