Friday. The day of prayer. The day of peace.
Aaliyah stepped into the mosque with her head low, hijab pinned tightly, sleeves ironed into perfection. Every movement was deliberate—measured, controlled, holy. She needed to feel clean. Needed to erase the ghost of Silas Vale from her memory.
But she couldn't.
His voice echoed in her mind like the low hum of temptation: "I'm the part of you you're too scared to meet."
She sat in the women's section, heart racing as the imam's words melted into the warm air. The Arabic floated beautifully from his tongue, but Aaliyah couldn't catch a single verse. She clutched her prayer beads, fingers trembling over each stone. She wanted to believe she still belonged here.
Until she saw him.
Not Silas.
Lucien.
He was at the edge of the courtyard, near the men's entrance. Not dressed like a worshiper. No kufi, no respect. Just dark jeans, rolled sleeves, and that mocking grin as he leaned against the wall—watching. Watching her.
Her chest tightened. She turned away, praying he'd disappear like a bad thought.
But Lucien Vale never left quietly.
He slipped inside. Not fully, just enough to cross the sacred threshold. It was a violation. A dare. His eyes found hers. His lips curled.
He mouthed: You look beautiful when you're afraid.
Her fingers froze mid-bead.
Why was he here?
The prayer ended. The women whispered blessings. Some rushed out. Aaliyah stayed seated, spine straight, dignity her final defense. But she could feel him waiting beyond the exit.
When she finally stepped outside, the sun had come out—brilliant, blinding. And there he was.
Lucien tilted his head. "You looked like you were begging for forgiveness in there. Who were you begging for, Aaliyah? God, or me?"
She slapped him.
Not hard. But enough.
His face turned slightly, cheek reddening. Then slowly—dangerously—he laughed.
"I was hoping it would be you," he said. "Guess I was right."
She didn't respond. She couldn't. Her hand still burned.
"You don't like my brother," he added. "But me… I think you might hate just a little less."
Aaliyah stepped back. "Don't ever follow me here again."
Lucien leaned in, his voice lower now. "This place doesn't deserve you. You walk into mosques like a prisoner, not a believer."
She blinked. Something in her cracked.
He was wrong.
But some terrible part of her wasn't sure anymore.
She left without saying another word, her footsteps hollow on the marble. Her chest heaved, her soul heavy. And deep inside, she felt it:
This war wasn't just between them.
It was between who she was… and who she was becoming.
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