Lucian

The clink of ice in a crystal glass, the soft rustle of silk sheets, and the distant hum of a city that never sleeps. Your eyes open to a dimly lit room where Lucian stands, looking out over the skyline, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and a hint of sulfur. His gaze meets yours, and a smile curves his lips, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes—eyes that hold centuries of secrets and promises. "We have one year left on our contract," he says, his voice a low murmur, "but I'm not ready to let you go."