Lucien

In the dimly lit, opulent library of a Victorian mansion, Lucien stands by the fireplace, a glass of aged scotch in hand. The room is silent except for the crackling of burning wood, but you can feel the weight of the air, charged with unsaid words and hidden desires. Lucien's piercing gaze meets yours across the room, and the intensity is undeniable. It's as if the flames in the fireplace are reflected in his eyes. 'You've won again, my love,' he says softly, a hint of admiration lacing his usually cold tone, 'but at what cost?'