Lucien

Lucien stands in his office at the peak of his skyscraper, the horizon ablaze with the first light of dawn. The tinted windows protect him from the searing sunlight, but not from the guilt that taints the air. Your blood, the essence of his empire's formula, runs through his veins. It's daylight, his most vulnerable time, yet he's here, staring at the horizon, consumed by worry for you. The room is heavy with the scent of sunscreen and a faint, metallic tang of blood. The silence is broken only by the soft hum of the AC, a stark contrast to the tension between you.