"Thank you," Sarah whispered, her voice wobbling. "Thankyou for returning it back it's very precious to me" as she clutched the wallet to her chest. Her fingers ran over the worn edges of the photo inside—a timeworn photograph of her and her brother, her heart field with gratitude towards Lucien.
"You don't have to thank me," Lucien muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with the awkward grace."I saw it lying on the ground after you left the mansion," he said, his voice calm and refined. "Figured you might want it back."
"No big deal. Besides, your wallet's basically empty." Lucien stood expressionless, wearing the stiff posture of someone who'd just realized they'd overshared—and couldn't un-say it.
Sarah froze mid-sentiment. Her eyes narrowed.
"…Wait. Did you check my wallet?"
Lucien's eyes darted like a criminal in a lineup. "What? No. Definitely not. That would be… rude." He flashed a smile so crooked it deserved dental intervention.
"You liar!" Sarah snapped, pointing at him like a drama queen catching her cheating ex. "You totally looked inside!"
Lucien held up his hands, mock-offended. "I didn't look, look. I just... glanced. Like a respectful burglar."
"You're impossible," she muttered, shoving the wallet into her coat with exaggerated care.
Sarah's fear was starting to fade, slowly replaced by a hesitant curiosity. She found herself really looking at him now—the way his sharp, tailored coat stood out awkwardly against the mess of her cramped, cluttered apartment. He didn't belong here. Everything about him was too composed, too still. And yet, there was something captivating about him, like gravity had shifted slightly in his direction.
"So… like… umm you're not here to,umm like… drink my blood or something?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, caught somewhere between fear and a shaky attempt at humor. laced with sarcasam and nervousness.
At that, the Lucien froze. his jaw tightening ever so slightly. Then he let out an exasperated sigh, his hand raking through his hair. "You and your damn questions," he muttered, throwing his hands in the air."No, I'm not here to drink your blood. I came to return your wallet. That's it. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going before you come up with yet another ridiculous assumption."
He turned toward the door, his movements sharp with annoyance as he reached for the handle.
It finally hit Sarah—everything at once. The Halloween special. The old mansion. Her boss counting on fresh footage for the ghost-themed segment. Without it, she wasn't just risking her promotion—she might not have a job at all. Sure, she had a few clips, but nothing solid. No real proof. She needed something undeniable, a moment that would ground the entire story. Her chest tightened as panic settled in, the ticking clock growing louder in her mind.
"Oh no! Wait! " she blurted, scrambling to her feet.
In her haste, she misjudged the proximity of her bed's edge. Her shin collided with it at full force, sending her off balance. She yelped as she toppled forward, her arms flailing uselessly.
Lucien had just cracked the door open when he heard the commotion. He turned just in time to see her diving—quite literally—at his legs. She landed face-first near his boots, barely managing to catch herself with her hands.
For a beat, everything went still.
Lucien looked down at her, one brow lifting in dry amusement. "Well," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm, "I know you are a little cracked head, but no need to apologise like that."
Sarah let out a quiet groan, her cheeks flushing as she hurried to her feet.
"I—I wasn't trying to—"
"No need to explain," Lucien said, cutting her off with a lopsided smile that danced on the edge of amusement. "In my twenty-one years, no one's ever apologise to me by face-planting into my legs. But hey—first time for everything."
Her face went even redder. "I wasn't—!"
He reached out a hand, his expression hovering somewhere between faint annoyance and quiet amusement."If you're going to grovel," he said, voice light, "try to make it look a little more graceful next time..you know."
She paused, then slipped her hand into his, her fingers unsteady."Thanks... I guess," she muttered as he pulled her to her feet. "I wasn't groveling," she added quickly, voice small. "I just—ugh. Never mind."
She fussed with her blazer, tugging it down in a useless attempt to regain some dignity, eyes fixed on the floor. Her nerves were stretched thin—too thin.
Lucien moved toward the center of the room with the quiet confidence of someone used to owning every space he stepped into. Sarah swallowed, trying to steady herself. The fear was still there , tight in her gut, but she did her best to keep her face calm.
"Would you... Like to sit and talk.. a little ?" she asked, her smile tentative. "There's the dining table."
For a moment, Lucien just stood there. Of all things, the offer caught him off guard. People didn't invite him to talk. Especially not like this. For nearly twenty years, his world had been shadows and silence—just him and the butler.
He hesitated. Vulnerability flickered across his face before he masked it again. "Uh… sure," he said, voice softer than he meant. He winced inwardly at how uncertain he sounded.
Still, something about her—the awkwardness, the spark of courage beneath it—made him want to stay. To listen. Maybe even to talk.
He gave a short nod and followed her. She sat across from him, fingertips lightly tapping the table—no real pattern, just nerves finding a way out. The room was quiet except for that soft, almost hesitant sound.
Too much in that look. Too many questions.
Sarah could feel his gaze on her like static. Her heart pounded— nerves , fear, something else. She wasn't sure what unsettled her more: sitting across from a vampire or how natural it somehow felt.
Lucien tilted his head , eyes narrowing slightly. He looked at her like she was a riddle he hadn't quite figured out.
"Well..?" Sarah asked hesitantly, her voice breaking the silence like a pebble tossed into still water.
Before she could say more, Lucien stood abruptly and wandered to the fridge. He opened it, his brows furrowing. "sooo... there's nothing edible here " he said flatly, shutting the door with a soft thud.
"I don't cook much," Sarah replied, arms folding across her chest. "Takeout's easier."
Lucien shot her a look, one eyebrow rising. "So the appliances are just… ornamental?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "They came with the place, okay? Can we talk, seriously ?"
"Alright , alright," he said with a faint smirk, leaning back against the counter. "But when we're done, you owe me a snack."
She groaned but nodded. "Fine. So… how did you end up as a vampire?"
The glint in his eyes faded, replaced by something grim. He returned to his seat, posture tense, voice low. "My grandfather bit me when I was a baby. Six months old, I think. He was planning some ritual, trying to offer me to this… ancient being. My mom stepped in and stopped him." He paused, jaw tightening. "She didn't survive."
Sarah's chest ached with sympathy. She reached for something to say, finally settling on, "I'm really sorry."
He shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, though his eyes betrayed him. "It was a long time ago."
Trying to lighten the mood, she asked, "So… have you ever actually drunk human blood?"
Lucien recoiled. "Absolutely not, I dont need to survive on blood" he said, clearly offended.
Sarah's curiosity only grew. "What if I offered you mine?"
The air thickened. Lucien stared at her, horrified. "What—no! Gross! Why would you even ask that?"
She laughed, face turning red. "Relax! I was just asking. Hypothetically."
He gave her a look. "Your hypotheticals are concerning."
She gave him a sheepish grin. "I just want to understand what it's like. You know, for you. The blood, the cravings… all of it."
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Why are you so interested, anyway? What are you planning?"
She hesitated, then confessed, "I'm a journalist. I was going to write about you. It's not every day you meet a real vampire—it would be a massive story—"
Lucien turned as white as candle wax. "No. No, you can't!" he said, panicked. He leaned in, voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "You don't understand—if anyone finds out, I'm dead! My butler… that old man would actually kill me. Not metaphorically. He'd bury me."
Before she could say a word, Lucien bolted up, gripping her shoulders . "Please, Sarah, don't tell anyone," he begged. "He'd cut me off from everything good! No more late-night snacks! No more garlic lasagna! Just… bland, boring, tasteless punishment!"
Watching him unravel with such dramatic flair, Sarah couldn't help the small laugh that escaped. She gently pried his hands off her shoulders. "Alright, alright," she said, half-smiling. "I won't publish anything."
Lucien visibly deflated, like a balloon losing air. Sarah, on the other hand, felt the disappointment hit like a punch to the gut. Her chance at a career-making piece—gone. So was the raise, the recognition, the dream promotion.
She sighed heavily, but when she saw Lucien's relieved expression, the frustration faded. A wry laugh slipped out as she leaned on the table.
"You owe me big time," she said, mock serious. "I was so close to becoming someone important."
Lucien's smile was soft, genuine. "Don't worry," he said. "Whatever it takes—I'll pay you back in full."