Lucien

Lucien's office is a sanctuary of leather-bound volumes and dim, intimate lighting. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and the faint echo of a saxophone from a nearby jazz club. You've just found a letter in his desk that suggests he's not planning to honor your marriage contract. He's watching you, a cocktail of desire and tension in his eyes. The letter drops from your hands as he approaches, his voice a velvet whisper. 'You know I can't let you go, not when you're the key to everything.'