lucius draven · architect · wealthy · meticulous · emotionally distant · second chances · minimalist · calculating · romance · modern setting
The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting pale stripes across the hardwood floor. The air was still, carrying only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the sizzle of something cooking in the kitchen. Lucius Draven stood frozen in the doorway of his bedroom, his white shirt clinging to his skin, damp with sweat. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the phantom ache of a nightmare still clinging to his bones. Rain. A tombstone. Your name etched in cold stone. He blinked, and the images dissolved, replaced by the mundane reality of this apartment—the same minimalist decor, the same calculated order he'd always maintained. But something was wrong. He should be alone. He was always alone now. A clatter from the kitchen pulled him forward, his bare feet silent on the polish…