Lucian Leclair finished his usual shift at the convenience store. He breathed a sigh of relief as he swung his jacket over his shoulders and slipped his phone into one of the pockets, getting ready to leave after a long, draining shift.
As he stepped out of the changing room, he spotted Styles from a distance, still stacking drinks into the refrigerator. As Lucian walked closer, Styles seemed to notice him—maybe because of his cologne, or just because they knew each other that well.
Styles was Lucian's roommate. They'd known each other forever, both growing up in the same orphanage. They were also on the same scholarship to study finance at York New University. In short, they knew each other inside out.
"Done with your shift already? I'm working overtime—gotta save up for that ticket to Taylor's show," Styles muttered as he pushed a pack of cans into the icy fridge.
"Do whatever you want. Just don't forget your part of the rent at the end of the month. See you at home—if you actually plan on coming home," Lucian replied coldly, already making his way toward the exit.
"Lucian! Lucian!"
The husky voice of a middle-aged man echoed through the nearly empty store.
Hearing his name, Lucian stopped at the half-open door, sighed, and turned around. He muttered to himself as he dragged his tired body back toward the counter.
"What does this old man want again? Doesn't he know my shift's fucking over? Can't I just have five minutes to myself?"
Soon, he stood before a man who looked like he was in his early fifties—grumpy-faced, not the most pleasant to look at. To Lucian, he was the walking definition of a crusty old geezer. What really annoyed him, though, was how the guy was still chasing young women at his age while his peers were planning their retirement.
"I need you to make a delivery to Pine Street on your way home. This is the package," the old man said in a warm tone, pointing to a wrapped box.
Lucian nodded and stretched out his hand. "Could you send the location to me? I'll drop it off on my way. Anything else?"
"Nothing else. You're free to go," the old man said with a wide grin, pleased he'd just saved himself some gas money.
Lucian didn't really have the option to say no. The old guy was the only employer willing to let him and Styles work beyond the limited student hours—something that helped them cover rent off-campus, since dorm fees weren't covered by their scholarship. Or, as they liked to joke, someone probably swindled that part of the deal.
Stepping out into the winter night, Lucian was hit by the cold breeze. It would've made most people shiver even through a double-layered jacket, but he didn't flinch. Maybe it was because of the orphanage—he'd grown up with no choice, no luxury, and no warmth except what life forced on him.
At the bus stop, he sat on a bench and scrolled through his phone, trying to catch up on the messages he'd missed during work. The old geezer didn't allow phones during shifts, so they had to comply.
A bus horn broke his focus. The driver, a man in his mid-thirties, leaned out of the window. "You coming?"
Lucian got up and walked toward the nearly empty bus, still looking at his screen.
"Where to, young lad?" the driver asked in a calm tone as Lucian boarded.
"Pine Street," he replied, sinking into a seat.
The driver took off, and Lucian resumed scrolling. Before he knew it—
"We're at Pine Street," the driver's voice called out again.
Lucian stood up, dropped a ten-dollar bill into the fare box, and stepped off. He glanced at his phone and exhaled in relief.
"The place ain't far. I should be able to finish this quick and get home," he muttered, walking down the street in search of the address.
Soon, he found it—a high-rise building, its sleek glass-and-steel façade gleaming under the night lights like a diamond in the rough. Easily the tallest building on the block.
He entered the building, took the elevator, and tapped the floor number. Ten seconds later, he was on the designated floor, standing outside the door, pressing the doorbell steadily.
Inside the apartment, Felix—early twenties, lounging in a white robe—called out, "I think the delivery guy's here. Can you get the door?"
He spoke to Liora, who was around the same age—and Lucian's girlfriend.
Liora stood tall, wrapped in a flowing white robe that hugged her hourglass figure. The soft lighting in the room traced her curves, the thin fabric revealing her nipples enough to draw one's attention. Her presence alone could pull men in like moths to a flame.
She opened the door—and froze.
"Lucian? What are you doing here?" she gasped, startled. "I can explain—it's not what you think!"