Lucas, his voice strained with need and doubt, whispered, "Tell me you don't regret it."
Emma stood still, her pulse racing in her ears. The unexpected brightness revealed the raw stress carved into Lucas's face as she had just switched on the studio lights. They were face-to-face and just inches apart, the lingering warmth of the previous embrace still flowing between them. Emma gulped hard, unsure how to steer the emotional hurricane within her.
"I don't know what I feel," she said, her voice faltering as she leaned her back against the door she had just shut. Everything is moving too quickly. It's all moving too quickly. Lucas, I'm terrified.
A flash of pain crossed his face, but he stayed still. You believe I am not frightened, either? I can't stop thinking about you, and I don't want to.
Laid naked in a straightforward statement, the admission was sufficient to shake Emma's carefully protected heart. Trying to calm her thoughts, she breathed out, but her head was a tangle of opposing wants. Cluttered with supplies—brushes, paint tubes, rags stained with color—her painting table reflected her own inner turmoil: a tempest on the edge of breaking. The half-finished canvas next to her
"I don't want to lose myself in this," she said softly, gripping the door handle as if it might hold her. I have been there before, and it left me broken.
Lucas touched her face with his fingers, softly rasping them against her skin as he brushed her hair away. His voice was low and sincere as he replied, "We don't have to rush into anything." "But I can't stand on the sidelines pretending I don't care."
Emma's eyes met his, and for a brief time the universe shrank to just the two of them. She recalled their previous encounter, how his kiss had set off every sensation, the charge of it causing her to doubt her meticulously built barriers. She still experienced that draw even now—the unrelenting attraction pulling her from logic.
"Lucas..."
He waited, breath catching as he looked at her face. "Emma," he said quietly, moving closer.
Lifting onto her toes, she pressed her lips to his in a hesitant, painful kiss before she could reconsider. Time seems to stutter the instant their lips touched. She experienced it once more: the rush of warmth, the spinning excitement unique to him. All at once, it was both horrifying and exciting.
Breathing heavily and with hot cheeks, she pushed herself to go. "We have to talk," she remarked gently, looking at the easel painting. "It's not simple."
Lucas's lips curled into a sardonic grin. "That's an understatement."
He followed her attention to the easel covered in a soiled drop cloth. Underneath that lay the work she had been putting herself into—the painting that had accidentally caught the intensity of her feelings for him.
"Is that the one"?" Lucas inquired, glancing back to her. Please provide the storm picture. Is there a painting depicting the storm?
Emma swallowed the knot of anxiety in her throat and nodded. I completed it. I meant to let you see today.
Moving to the easel, she gently removed the drop cloth. Under the studio's overhead illumination, the painting displayed a chaotic sky streaked with bright lightning, charged with storm clouds. Below, perched on the edge of a cliff, stood the lone figure Emma had depicted, his stance a blend of defiance and melancholy captured in shades of shadow and light. Despite her attempts to downplay his characteristics, Lucas, without a doubt, was a unique individual.
Lucas took a deep breath. Approaching closer, he examined the swirling strokes, the raw, conflicting emotion she had put into each brushstroke. "Emma," he said quietly, his voice full of wonder and something more profound. It's... amazing.
She exhaled a breath she had not known she was holding. "You believe it fits your vision?" Do you believe it fits your idea?
He looked at her, not the artwork. It's everything I wanted and more.
Silence surrounded them, crackling with unsaid admissions. Emma's stomach twisted in a combination of fear and relief. What had she shown in those paint storms? Could he perceive in that painting the exposed hidden depths of her heart?
She started to speak, but her phone's piercing ring interrupted the silence. Emma took it out of her pocket in a panic. Tessa's contact. Once more.
Emma? Lucas inquired, his expression showing worry.
She replied with a finger to her lips. Tessa, hello. Now is not the greatest time—
Tessa said, her voice sharp with worry, "Emma, I need you to listen." Something has occurred.
Emma's heart raced. What do you mean? What do you mean by that?
Lucas might be in danger. Rumor has it someone has priced his head.
Emma's gaze turned to Lucas as her face lost color. He became alert right away and tensed. Though Tessa was still talking, her mind raced with dread.
How much time is left? "What is the remaining time?" Emma asked. Emma inquired, her voice shaking.
Tessa said sadly, "Not enough." I am following a group that may already be in the city. You must either strengthen or leave that location. This action is a deliberate hunt, not just a threat.
Emma hung up, her pulse racing as she faced Lucas. We have to go. We have to go right now.
Before sneaking out of the studio via a side entrance, they hardly had time to collect Emma's necessary materials. In the wet streets, the city's dusk lights shone, reflecting on the puddles left behind after a last downpour. Adrenaline and fear had Emma gripping Lucas's arm, her anxiety frayed.
Do we have any information on who might be pursuing you? "Do we even know who's after you?" she said, attempting to keep her voice calm.
Shaking his head, Lucas looked across the shadowy streets with trained alertness. The answer is no. Tessa is seldom incorrect. Should she claim a danger, there is one.
A quiet, intense tension ran between them. Emma remembered every occasion she had advised herself to maintain arm's length from him to be safe. But here and now, allowing him to confront this risk alone was unfathomable.
Waiting at the curb was a sleek black sedan—the automobile Tessa had booked for them. Lucas kept the door open for Emma, half-smiling. Let's go.
Sliding into the vehicle, the driver nodded sharply as the engine sprang to life. Emma leaned against the chilly glass, her gaze sweeping the structures and flashing signs racing by. The lights of the city blended into a mosaic of color, paying homage to the invisible wars raging in the shadows.
Reaching across, Lucas's fingertips brushed hers in a quiet consolation offer. Turning her hand palm-up, she let her fingers touch his. Despite the dread coiled in her breast, a passing warmth flowed through her.
The console on the seat in front of them beeped; Tessa's voice came over the automobile speaker. On the fringes, I've reserved a safehouse. You will be safe there while I determine who is behind Lucas's reward.
Emma nodded absentmindedly. Any tips? Any leads?
Tessa let out a loud sigh. There are many rumors, but there is no evidence. We think it's an ancient foe—someone who saw Lucas as a danger. Perhaps it's the same network aiming to use Emma's artwork for something larger. We have no idea.
Lucas's jaw clenched. We shall then learn. I have finished running.
His remarks touched Emma. Living in terror of letting the ghosts of the past control the present, she knew the weariness. She reached out and clasped his palm once, silently vowing to unite.
Emma exited first, the night air biting and chilly on her skin, as they came to the safehouse—a simple structure hidden amid industrial buildings. With a soldier's alertness, Lucas looked about to be sure no concealed danger lurked in the gloom.
Inside, the space was simple but useful: a one-room loft with a kitchenette, a sofa, and a little bed crammed into the corner. Feeling strangely naked without her canvas or brushes, Emma placed her painting materials gently against the wall. This was not her refuge, her studio.
Lucas secured the door behind them and looked out the windows for any indication of danger. Happy they were alone, he moved closer to Emma and looked at her. The air was tense with fear of the unknown and their magnetic attraction.
"I apologize," he softly said, surprising her.
What for? "For what?"
Lucas said quietly, looking down. "For causing you concern, for pushing you away, and for drawing you back in."
His confession made Emma's heart hurt. The touch sent a little shudder through her as she put her hand on his forearm. We are in the present together. I am here by choice.
Lucas looked up; in the low light, Emma saw vulnerability dance over his face. She covered the gap and pressed her lips to his in a quick, gentle kiss before she could reconsider. Kissing her back—careful, respectful, and utterly heartbreaking—she felt him sigh, tension dissolving from his shoulders.
Emma's cheeks flushed as they separated, but she would not turn away. "No more running," she said softly.
"No more running," Lucas said, grasping her hand.
As Tessa delivered them news from her distant probes, the hours lengthened into darkness. Every bit of knowledge increased the enigma. The outfit behind the reward on Lucas seemed to be a phantom organization—no formal name, no traceable links, just a network of connections spanning many cities.
Emma sat on the sofa, bending over her phone, looking over the Tessa-sent data. The truth is more profound than I imagined. Lucas, it's not just about your history or the picture. Something larger is at play.
He nodded and walked about the loft anxiously. Then we learn who they are and why they want me gone.
A beep let them know Another Tessa message read: There might be a connection to a high-profile collector—someone who perceives Lucas as a hindrance to Emma's work.
Emma's stomach knotted. "A collector? A collector? My artworks are not worth dying for.
Lucas stopped, looking somber. Art is not all there is. It's about power, money, and influence. Should this collector choose to employ your work for a plan, eliminating me guarantees your unguardedness.
She felt a shiver down her back. What should we do? What should we do?
Lucas declared defiantly. Tessa is continuing to dig. Once we have a name, we hit first.
Emma breathed softly, the burden of the unknown bearing down on her. Her artwork back at the studio came to mind: a whirling storm reflecting the struggle she was experiencing right now—a mix of terror, resolve, and the clear draw to Lucas's side.
Emma awakened to a little rustling of activity in the morning. Silhouetted against the pale, rising light, Lucas stood at the window. Rifle in hand, he remained on guard for any indication of danger, his stance stiff.
She got up softly and crossed the room to stand next to him. Sleep? "Sleep?"
He declined. I couldn't. Kept considering what comes next. I wonder if I'm just guiding you into more risk.
Emma touched his shoulder; the warmth of his flesh was a constant counterpoint to the frigid dread spinning in her breast. She said to him softly, "I'm not helpless, Lucas." I decide to be here.
He turned, his dark eyes looking for hers. What if it gets worse? If there is no clear exit, what should we do? Emma's heart tightened.
Emma felt a pang in her heart. She considered the painting—a storm on the verge of releasing its whole wrath. "Then we confront it. Then we confront it. "Together."
Lucas breathed out, his stress fading beneath the comfort in her voice. For a while they stood quietly, the sunlight softly painting the room in fragile orange and gold.
Tessa's frantic call brought them back to reality. "I have a lead," she remarked, her voice tingling with excitement. A name: Aldric Morvan. A legendary collector linked to organized crime and high-stakes auctions. Rumor has it that he is fixated on unique, unusual artworks—art that cannot be reproduced.
Emma's blood ran icy. She remembered listening to the names' murmurs in private art circles. Morvan was a ghost, a story that followed auctions with his endless pockets and his violence.
Lucas clenched his teeth. Where do we locate him? Where can we locate him?
Tessa said, "I'm still chasing leads." However, rumor has it that he will be hosting a private event in a few days. The event is invitation-only and high security. Should you choose to challenge him, then the moment is your time.
Emma's hold on the phone became tighter. Should he be responsible for this reward, he will not stop until he has what he desires.
Lucas continued, looking at Emma, "Which is you." His voice's calm certainty made her stomach turn with rage and dread.
Summoning all her bravery, she straightened her shoulders. "Then we don't wait for him to strike." We bring the battle to him.
The day passed by in a blur of preparation and stress. Plotting potential infiltration sites and escape routes, Emma and Lucas scoured every piece of information Tessa could provide. They exchanged ideas; every suggestion highlighted the synergy between them—a relationship created amid hardship, cemented by a connection neither dared call.
As nightfall fell, they stood together at the loft window, watching the glittering city lights below. The quiet of the time and the remaining danger in the air wrapped them in a peculiar, personal mood.
Lucas looked at Emma, his face softening. You're risking everything to assist me.
She shook her head and snorted. Keep in mind, you bear the responsibility for your actions. Keep in mind, you are the one facing a financial burden.
He came closer, the warmth of his presence awakening butterflies in her belly. I didn't mean that.
Emma gasped. Lucas…
He looked at her lips, then back to her eyes. "We keep dancing around this, and I—"
A soft push of her hand on his chest hushed him. We don't have the luxury of normal, do we? We don't have the luxury of normal, do we?
He smiled sadly with a lip quirk. "No, we don't."
They stood there for a long time, the weight of their unresolved emotions palpable in the air. Emma's phone beeped, breaking the quiet with a new text from Tessa:
Tessa: Verified. In forty-eight hours, Morvan's event takes place. Please proceed promptly to avoid missing the opportunity.
Emma read the letter aloud, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and fear. Forty-eight hours.
Lucas's gaze became darker. "Now or never."
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. "Correct."
But as they prepared for the impending fight, Emma briefly glimpsed the storm within her calm. Letting her defenses down, she walked into Lucas's arms. Though brief, his hug was strong and protective; she appreciated the warmth.
Whispering with her face on his chest, "I'm all in," she said.
Holding her close, Lucas kissed gently on the crown of her head. Me too.
A stage for their next battle, the night sky outside stretched large and gloomy. Emma didn't know whether the next battle would cause heartache or resolution, but the one thing she knew for sure was that she would confront it with Lucas by her side—even if it meant demolishing every wall she had ever constructed.
They got ready for the last reckoning together; every stolen time was proof of the relationship they created in secret and peril. The countdown to Morvan's event hung over them, promising either salvation or doom for both of them. But for now, in that nighttime calm, their hearts beat in tandem, fragile hope flashing in the dark.