The bunker was cold at night.
Aria lay curled on one side of the narrow cot, back to the wall. Across the room, Lucien sat at the terminal, one hand pressed to his injured arm, eyes glazed with fatigue but refusing to sleep.
A strange silence settled between them.
Not hostile.
Just... charged.
She spoke first.
"Why do you have a vault like this? Hidden under your company?"
Lucien didn't look at her.
"People like me don't get to sleep easy. So I built a room for the nights when everything breaks."
A bitter smile touched his lips.
"I just never thought I'd be sharing it."
She studied him in the dim light. The billionaire who had everything. But up close, he looked... tired. Human. Haunted.
"Do you always keep everyone at arm's length?" she asked softly.
Lucien leaned back in his chair, turning slightly toward her. "It's safer that way."
"For them or for you?"
He didn't answer.
And for a while, the only sound was the hum of the servers and the shallow rhythm of their breathing.
Then she moved.
Slowly.
Silently.
She crossed the room, crouched beside him, and gently reached for his arm. "Let me look at that."
Lucien started to protest—but something in her eyes stopped him.
Not pity.
Understanding.
She peeled back the blood-soaked bandage, her fingers steady despite the pain that flickered across his face.
"Hold still," she murmured, reaching for the medkit.
He did.
He watched her as she cleaned the wound—her brows furrowed, lips slightly parted in concentration. So close now, he could smell the rain still clinging to her hair. Could see the tiny scar above her left eyebrow.
"Where did you get that?" he asked, nodding to it.
She hesitated.
"Orion," she said finally. "They put us through 'resilience tests.' They wanted to see how much pain we could take without breaking."
Lucien's jaw clenched.
"They tested that on kids?"
"No. They tested it on assets," she whispered. "We just happened to be children."
The wound was wrapped now. Her hands stayed on his arm a moment too long.
She looked up.
And for a moment—
Everything slowed.
Lucien didn't move. Neither did she.
Then he leaned in—slow, searching, questioning.
And Aria didn't pull away.
Their lips brushed.
Once.
Soft.
Then again—hungrier, fiercer. The kind of kiss that shouldn't happen. That both of them should regret. That neither of them could stop.
When they finally broke apart, Aria was breathless.
Lucien didn't speak.
He just looked at her like she'd broken into more than his vault.
She'd cracked something inside him.