Later that night...
Elsa found herself in the bar. The rain beat heavily on the rooftops. The bar was quiet—so was Paris.
Elsa sat in a corner, lips stained red, her glass half-empty and her eyes full of rage.
She was a mess. A beautiful one.
The kind that made people stare... then look away.
Lucien stepped in. Maybe for a drink. Maybe by chance.
She looked up—slowly, deliberately.
"If it isn't the executioner himself," she slurred.
He looked away.
"You're drunk."
"Only sharper than your tongue tonight."
"You're clearly drunk. You should go home."
"You ruined my home, remember?"
Guilt flickered across his face—brief, but unmistakable.
"You don't know everything, Elsa."
"But I know enough to hate you!"
She snapped, then stormed out, slamming the glass doors shut behind her.
Outside, the rain greeted her like an old enemy.
She broke down in tears.
For the first time in a long while, she found her tears again.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her.
"You wanna see how weak I am now?"
She didn't turn around. She had already guessed it was Lucien.
But to her surprise, a hand grabbed her hair—
She was dragged down the street.
"Let go!"
She struggled, hitting the attacker's arm with all her might, but failing miserably in her drunken state.
Suddenly, she was released.
Her knees buckled, sending her crashing to the ground.
For a moment, she kept her eyes shut. She couldn't understand what was happening.
She heard muffled voices. Loud thuds.
"Are you okay?"
It was Lucien.
He helped her to her feet, a faint expression of worry on his face.
"Mhm..." she hummed, barely coherent.
"Be careful, Moreau. The city's colder than you remember."
"Why did you help me? Scared to lose me already?" she slurred.
If only she knew what she was saying.
"No one gets to hurt you but me."
His voice carried dominance… and something else. Possessiveness?
"I hate you."
"Then shut up and hate me properly."
Their mouths crashed. Angry. Raw. Breathless.
A kiss like war.
Her hands tangled in his hair.
His grip on her waist—fire.
No rhythm.
No romance.
Just pain and hunger.
They pulled apart, panting.
"This never happened," he said coldly.
"You're so funny," she slurred again.
"You'll regret it."
"I already do."
With that, she stumbled away, disappearing into the night.
He watched her vanish before getting into his car.
---
The next morning...
Elsa woke with a pounding headache.
She sat up, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before.
"Ugh... What did I even say to him?"
She shook her head and brushed it off, trusting herself.
Surely, she hadn't done anything too stupid—no matter how drunk she was.
She walked into the office, freshly dressed, her heels echoing on the marble floor.
And there was Lucien.
Leaning against her desk like he owned it.
Well... he did.
He smirked as she approached.
"Well... look who remembered how to walk straight," he teased.
"Excuse me?" she snapped.
He leaned in closer.
His voice dropped to a whisper—just for her.
"No need to be shy."
"Don't start with me. What are you talking about?"
"You don't remember?"
"What?"
"Ouch, that hurts. So you really don't remember what you did?"
"What did I do?"
"Oh, Elsa..."
"Stop with this suspense already!"
"Rough night, Moreau. Rough night."
"What are you saying?"
"Okay... You kissed me."
He smirked.
"What?! No. You're lying."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm not. You kissed me. Mouth, hands... a full dramatic flare."
"You're making it up."
"You wish I was."
"If I kissed you, I regret it."
"Don't worry," he said smoothly, walking past her.
"I regret it enough for both of us."
And just like that, he was gone—leaving her fuming in anger... or shame.
"I kissed him? No! I wouldn't. Would I?"
She questioned herself, over and over.