There was something off about the night. The city buzzed as always, the lights spilling into Lucien's penthouse like molten gold, but everything inside felt… cold. Amara stepped inside the apartment like a shadow. She didn't offer her usual playful smirk or brush past Lucien with a teasing look. Instead, she stood in the entryway, hands clenched around the small clutch she hadn't even opened. Her shoulders were stiff beneath the sleek black silk of her dress. Lucien noticed. He always noticed her. Every flicker of emotion. Every unspoken word that danced in her eyes. But tonight, those eyes gave him nothing. "You're quiet," he said, watching her.Amara gave a small nod. "Rough day." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Want to talk about it?" She hesitated. Then shook her head. "No. I just… I need the distraction."Lucien stared at her for a beat longer than usual. He knew what that meant. When she wanted to disappear, she craved intensity. She wanted to feel something—anything—to drown out what she didn't want to face. And he could give that to her. He always had. "Alright," he said softly. "Strip."
It was automatic now, the way her fingers moved, undoing the zipper, letting the dress slide to the floor. She stood before him in nothing but lace and vulnerability she tried so hard to conceal. But tonight, her movements lacked something—energy, fire, presence. He ignored the alarm bells and reached for the blindfold. She didn't resist. He tied it gently, brushed his lips against her temple."You trust me?" he asked, as he always did. "Yes," she replied, her voice barely audible. But it wasn't the same yes as before. It wasn't laced with teasing or power. It was hollow. Lucien didn't catch it. The session began the way they'd done many times—his hands commanding, his voice low and steady. She obeyed his every word, but her responses were slower, like her body was there and her mind was elsewhere. "Good girl," he whispered against her neck. "You're mine tonight." The words that usually made her tremble in anticipation now made her stiffen. A flicker of the past surged through her—images she tried to keep buried. A different man. A darker room. The same words. But they hadn't come from care, from play. They had come from control. From pain she hadn't agreed to. Lucien didn't see the shift—at least not at first.
He trailed his fingers down her spine, kissed her shoulders, but her skin was cold. Her breath was shallow. Her fists were clenched, Something inside her was screaming. But she said nothing. She wanted to use the safe word, to stop time, to press pause and run. But it felt like admitting weakness. Like ruining something that had once made her feel powerful. She thought she could push through. Lucien's voice pierced the moment. "Say it," he murmured. "Say you belong to me." Silence. "Amara?" he asked again, his tone softer. She trembled. Just once. Then whispered, "I can't."He froze. She pulled off the blindfold, her eyes glassy. "I'm sorry," she said, barely able to meet his gaze. "I thought I could do this tonight. But… I'm not here.I'm somewhere else. With someone else. And I don't want to be." Lucien stepped back. The room suddenly felt too quiet. "I didn't mean to—" he started. "You didn't do anything wrong," she said quickly, shaking her head. "You've always been careful. Gentle. But something in me cracked tonight. I thought I had control over it. I don't." "Talk to me, Amara." "I don't know if I can. I don't even know where to start." Her voice was trembling now, all the emotion she'd been burying rushing to the surface. "I came here to escape, but I brought everything I was running from with me."
Lucien's heart ached as he watched her gather her clothes slowly, mechanically, like someone moving through fog. He could have stopped her. Could have begged her to stay. But she needed space. And he needed to understand what had just happened. "Will you come back?" he asked gently. She paused at the door, her fingers on the handle. "I don't know."Then she walked out, the sound of the door closing behind her echoing louder than anything that had been said all night. Lucien stood alone in the room, the ropes coiled neatly beside the chair, the wine untouched. Everything in place—except her. For the first time since they'd met, he didn't feel powerful. He felt powerless. And it terrified him.