When Shadows Fall in Love

The rain had been falling for hours—thick, relentless sheets of water slapping against the glass like desperate fingers. Thunder growled through the sky, shaking the very bones of the grand estate. The wind howled low and long, curling around the mansion like a vengeful ghost. Inside the mansion, all lights were dimmed, matching the vibe of the storm. The corridors lay drenched in shadows, save for the occasional flicker of lightning that illuminated the walls. Somewhere above the storm, a clock ticked softly.

Lucien entered quietly through the front door, rain dripping off his coat. His grey shirt clung to him from the damp air, his hair slightly tousled. He didn't bother calling for anyone. His footsteps echoed down the long hallway, purposeful and silent. He went ahead to his parents room and took a shower in their bathroom, crying over all the memories he had with them. But he didn't bother to sleep in his own room.

He turned toward the only room that mattered now—his angel's.

The door to her bedroom creaked slightly as he pushed it open. The warmth inside hit him like a gentle wave after the stormy cold. Seraphine lay curled beneath the thick covers, her breathing even, but her face visibly scrunched in a half-dream, half-frown.

He stepped closer.

As though sensing his presence even in sleep, she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the dim light, and for a moment she just stared at him, as if trying to decide whether this was a dream.

"Lucien?" she whispered.

He didn't answer with words. He simply shrugged off his wet towel and threw it on the couch, kicked off his slippers, and climbed into the bed beside her. The warmth of her body pulled him in like gravity. She rolled over, resting her head on his chest, but her brows were still furrowed with concern.

"Something happened, didn't it?" she murmured.

Lucien exhaled, brushing his hand through her long, straight, silky strands. "It was just an emergency meeting, my angel. Nothing more." His voice was low, soothing—like a lullaby wrapped in gravel.

But Seraphine's thoughts refused to settle.

Why is his heartbeat so fast? Why is his breathing still heavy? she wondered, her fingers brushing against the cotton of his shirt. And why did his eyes look like he'd just stared into hell and walked out with a scar across his soul? Wait, since when did I start caring about him?

Still, she said nothing. Not now.

Lucien shifted, his hand moving gently to her hair, tousling it with a rough gentleness. "You know," he muttered with a crooked smile, "your hair is an entire mess, but somehow it suits you."

Seraphine laughed softly, a sound that broke the heaviness in the room like sunlight cracks through storm clouds. That laugh—Lucien's eyes lit up with it. It was the sound that saved him every time.

He looked down at her, memorizing every inch. Her cheek pressed against his chest. Her breath brushing the space between his collarbone and jaw. She felt fragile in his arms, yet powerful enough to ruin him with just a single word.

His hand wandered down to her waist, and without warning, he yanked her hard toward him. Seraphine gasped quietly, now completely pressed against him. She could feel the rhythm of his heart, hear the harshness of his breathing as though he had run miles just to reach her.

"You smell like rain," she whispered.

"And you smell like the heaven you are," he replied, voice husky.

A soft sigh left her lips as she buried her face into his neck. The scent of creamy sandalwood lingered on his skin—smooth, masculine, intoxicating. It wasn't a scent from a bottle. It was him. His warmth. His chaos. His safety.

Lucien kissed her forehead lightly. "I almost lost my mind today."

"You say that every day," she replied teasingly.

"This time, I meant it," he said. Then, after a pause: "But holding you like this brings it back."

They stayed tangled in each other's arms until sleep slowly pulled them under.

The morning came with golden light peeking through the curtains. Rain had stopped, but the sky was still dressed in silver-grey clouds. A gentle knock came at the door.

"Breakfast is ready, sir," a maid's voice called softly.

Lucien groaned and buried his face in Seraphine's hair. "Ignore her."

But Seraphine ran a hand over his head, yawning as she stretched. "Nope. I'm hungry and so are you, so get up now."

She got on her bunny slippers and opened the door. The maid guided her towards the table.

Lucien's only response was a groan before he got up and went after her like a dumb puppy running after its owner. He made his way to the breakfast room, still barefoot, his hairs rustled and equally as messy as Seraphine's. A buffet of freshly made waffles, honey-drenched croissants, omelettes, and warm tea and juices awaited them.

Lucien sat down with a sigh, pouring himself some black coffee.

"You know," he said, stirring slowly, "I never thought I'd live long enough to bury my parents."

Seraphine looked up.

"I realized yesterday," he added, "how much I've grown... that now even my parents aren't here anymore."

Seraphine reached across the table, her hand resting over his. "You still have us. You're not alone anymore."

A soft smile touched his lips. "That's the first time someone's ever said that to me without a motive."

Seraphine grinned. "Well, I have a motive."

He raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"To steal your eye colour."

Lucien chuckled. "Not possible for you, my angel."

She pouted. "Rude."

"But," he leaned closer, until he could count every eye lash of hers "our kids can have it."

Seraphine's eyes widened. "Lucien!"

He smirked and winked at her, clearly proud of himself, as he chucked to himself.

Before she could respond, he casually pulled an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table. "Speaking of stealing things… I stole something too."

She blinked. "What's this?"

"Open it."

She tore it open and gasped. "Lucien, is this—"

"Two first-class tickets," he said, grinning. "To Miami Beach Resort. Honeymoon starts in a few hours, my angel."

She squealed, rushing over to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I can't believe you did this! But we did no packing?"

He kissed her cheek. "It will be done by the maid and carried by the guards, you just take what you need to."

After looking at the shock on her face he added, "Believe it, baby. Only the best for the love of my life."

She replied, "Don't tell me that Asher told you A to Z of me?"

"He didn't I inquired all that" he smiled softly at her.

A few hours later...

The private jet exuded silent luxury—white leather seats with diamond stitching, soft lighting that cast a buttery glow, and a crystal fruit platter glistening with chilled grapes, mango slices, and strawberries already laid out for them. The faint hum of the engine lulled the cabin into a cocoon of stillness.

Seraphine sat by the window, her snow-white fingertips gently tracing the misty glass. Below them, the clouds floated like cotton fields, slowly swallowed by the orange-pink tint of a dying sunset. She leaned into the window, eyes half-closed with wonder, whispering soft thoughts to herself.

Next to her, Lucien's head rested heavily on her shoulder. His lashes were long, his breathing deep, and his entire posture screamed asleep.

Except—he wasn't.

Not even close.

Lucien was fully, painfully awake.

And incredibly annoyed that she hadn't noticed.

He nearly groaned loudly.

He shifted just slightly, dramatically even—nose brushing her neck "accidentally," breath warm against her collarbone—but Seraphine didn't flinch. She just sighed dreamily, still staring at the sky like it held all the secrets of the universe.

He peeked one eye open and muttered under his breath, "Unbelievable. Ignored in a private jet. By my own wife."

Still nothing.

He tried again, this time letting out a deep, exaggerated sigh right into her ear.

Seraphine blinked. "Are you awake?"

"No," he replied instantly, eyes still closed. "No, Pfft, this is my performance art piece. It's called Neglected on a Jet I bought by my own wife. Clearly I'm in a coma with excellent hearing."

She burst out laughing, finally turning to look at him. "You were pretending?"

Lucien sat up slowly, brushing back his tousled hair with a look of mock offense. "I gave you every signal known to mankind. Shoulder lean, breath on the neck, dramatic sighs—I was practically begging."

"Well, you looked peaceful. I didn't want to disturb your beauty sleep."

"My angel, you disturb my peace just by existing. Your breathing just sets my heart beating wildly. Now please stop watching clouds and pay attention to the man who chartered this sky-chariot for you."

Seraphine smirked and handed him a grape. "Here. Royal tribute for the restless prince."

Lucien popped it into his mouth, grinning. "Not bad. But I'd rather have your attention."

They landed a little while before sunset, still busy laughing and chatting. 

Their suite overlooked the ocean, a breath-taking panorama of endless turquoise meeting the sky in a seamless kiss. Below, waves crashed rhythmically against the soft white sand, sending sea foam dancing along the shore in graceful arcs. The sound was both soothing and alive—a living lullaby that wrapped around the room like a warm breath. The salty breeze filtered in through the open balcony doors, carrying with it the scent of the ocean and the distant fragrance of coconut and hibiscus from the gardens below.

The suite itself was more like a dream carved into reality. It was massive—airy and sun-kissed—with floor-to-ceiling windows that invited the entire coastline in. Sunlight poured in like liquid gold, casting gentle reflections off the glossy marble floors and the shimmering blue of the infinity pool just outside. The walls were a soft cream, accented with pale gold trim and abstract art that hinted at waves and stars. Each detail whispered luxury: gold-handled doors, plush ivory rugs, and silky throw blankets tossed casually on an oversized velvet couch. A four-poster bed stood at the centre of the suite like royalty—draped in sheer, gauzy white curtains that moved lazily with the breeze. The sheets looked like fresh clouds, fluffed and untouched, and a small cluster of white orchids rested on the bedside table, their petals perfectly still as if even they were listening to the sea. Across from the bed, a large flat-screen TV was embedded in the wall, though it remained off—who would want to watch anything else when nature itself was performing a masterpiece outside?

The balcony stretched the entire width of the room, lined with swaying palm trees that filtered golden sunlight through their leaves. Two woven loungers waited there under a linen umbrella, and a round breakfast table was already set for two with hand-painted porcelain, silver cutlery, and a bottle of sparkling juice cooling in a bucket of ice. Sheer white curtains billowed dramatically, as if performing for the new couple. They danced with the breeze, brushing softly against Lucien's arm as he leaned against the doorframe, watching Seraphine. She stood by the edge of the glass, her fingers trailing along the window pane as she took in the endless blue below. Her hair was slightly tousled from the wind, and the sunlight illuminated her in soft, golden tones—turning her skin almost translucent and her silhouette impossibly delicate.

Lucien didn't speak. He didn't need to. The way his eyes drank her in said enough. This wasn't just a room—it was a memory forming itself in real time. A perfect moment frozen between ocean winds and the warmth of love unspoken. It was where luxury met intimacy, where time slowed, and nothing else mattered beyond the sound of the waves and the woman standing by the window, looking like a dream. And in that moment, with the sea humming its lullaby and heaven painted across her skin. Lucien knew one thing for sure.

This with his little angel was home.

Seraphine wandered to the window, fingers brushing the glass as she pushed it open, in an instant her white, silky floral dress was pushed back by the warm wind. And leaned forward her waist bended forward as she gazed at the setting sun. The golden glow of the setting sun lit up her face, turning her eyes into shimmering pools of bronze.

Lucien stood behind her, frozen in place.

He didn't speak. He didn't move. Her reflection shimmered in the glass, more vivid than the ocean beyond.

Because in that moment—barefoot, her curls tousled by the sea breeze, moonlight draping her skin like silk—she wasn't just beautiful. She was breathtaking. Otherworldly. The kind of sight that made time kneel in reverence.

And for the first time in years, the man who had seen everything, feared nothing, and survived hell… forgot how to breathe.