The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the tinted glass of the car, glimmering like fallen stars. Aveline sat quietly in the backseat, the container of food balanced carefully on her lap. It was past ten. Most offices would have gone dark by now—
but not Veyron Enterprises.
When the car stopped in front of the towering building, she looked up at the sleek glass facade. The company's name shimmered in gold above the entrance — powerful, untouchable. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass doors, small and fragile in comparison. She took a slow breath and stepped inside.
The lobby was quiet except for the soft hum of the night staff and the distant sound of polished shoes echoing against marble. Two women were stepping out of the elevator — tall, elegant, dressed in dark suits that exuded authority. Their voices were low, confident, their presence commanding.
For a brief moment, their gazes flicked toward Aveline — assessing, curious — then one of them smiled faintly before the pair disappeared through the glass doors.
Aveline exhaled softly and turned toward the elevator. She pressed the button for the top floor.
The numbers climbed slowly, one after another, and her reflection trembled slightly in the mirror-finished walls. When the doors opened, silence greeted her — a different kind of silence, heavy and composed.
Lucian's private floor.
Light spilled softly from the glass wall of his office. He was there — seated behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a faint gleam of exhaustion across his features. The glow from the desk lamp traced the edges of his face — sharp, refined, too perfect to seem real.
He looked up the instant she stepped in.
Their eyes met through the glass.
For a moment, time paused. His expression didn't shift, but the faintest spark of something unreadable flickered behind his calm gaze.
Aveline lowered her eyes, her heels making a quiet rhythm against the marble as she crossed the room. She set the food container on the small table near the couch — the table that always had untouched coffee cups and half-finished reports. Her movements were gentle, deliberate.
Lucian's eyes followed her the entire time.
She turned toward him and walked closer, stopping behind his chair. The glow from the lamp brushed her face, softening her features. For a second, she hesitated — then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
Her embrace was light, careful, as if afraid to startle him. She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
Lucian froze.
The sound of his pen against paper stopped. Slowly, he turned his head toward her. His hand rose, fingers brushing her wrist — then, without a word, he pulled her gently until she sat on his lap.
Aveline blinked, startled. His arms circled her waist firmly, drawing her close. His face lowered, his breath brushing her shoulder. For a long moment, he didn't move. His eyes were half-closed, and when he finally spoke, his voice came out low — deep, roughened by fatigue and something else she couldn't name.
"What's happened to you?"
He lifted his head slightly, his gaze finding hers. "You've changed."
His tone wasn't harsh. It was quiet, probing — like he was searching for something beneath her calm expression. His eyes held that same cold, unreadable light — the kind that could pierce through truth.
Aveline's lips parted. "Lucian…"
He waited.
"I just—" She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just want to fix things between us. I want our marriage to work."
The silence that followed was soft and heavy. Lucian's gaze softened for a fleeting moment, though something in his eyes remained guarded — as if he already knew more than she could explain.
He didn't answer. Instead, his hand brushed lightly through her hair, his fingers grazing the side of her neck — a silent gesture that said more than words could.
Aveline leaned against him, her heart steady but fragile. Then she slipped off his lap gently and took his hand.
"Come eat," she murmured. "I waited for you, but you didn't come back. So I brought dinner here."
Lucian didn't resist as she led him toward the small table. The faint scent of her perfume lingered between them — soft, clean, familiar.
She opened the container, setting out the food she'd prepared. The aroma filled the quiet office. Lucian sat, watching her quietly as she arranged the plates. His gaze was steady, his expression unreadable.
They began to eat in silence.
The sound of cutlery was the only thing breaking the stillness. Yet the moment felt almost peaceful — as though words weren't needed.
Aveline glanced up at him once, then again.
The way he held his glass — elegant, deliberate.
The faint crease between his brows as he chewed thoughtfully.
The way the warm light brushed across his jaw, tracing the sharp edges and calm authority of his face.
For the first time in a long while, she noticed everything — how composed he looked, how effortlessly handsome he was, how even in silence, he filled the room with quiet strength.
Lucian caught her looking once. His lips twitched faintly — not quite a smile, but something close. Aveline looked away quickly, pretending to focus on her food.
When they finished, she began packing up the containers. He leaned back in his chair, eyes still on her.
"It's late," he said finally, his voice low. "You should rest."
Aveline looked up, then nodded.
"Then… hold me while I sleep," she said softly.
He paused — not expecting it. His eyes searched hers for a second longer before he gave a small nod.
The lounge couch beside the window was long enough for two. The city's lights shimmered through the glass, reflecting faintly on their faces. Aveline curled up beside him, her head resting against his chest.
Lucian hesitated only briefly before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear — quiet, firm, real.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing slowed.
Lucian's gaze lingered on her face — calm, delicate, asleep. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
Outside, the city glowed in silence.
Inside, in the soft warmth of that dim office, two souls who had once grown distant found themselves quietly beginning to mend — not with words, but through the simple act of staying close.
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