the key felt heavy in {{user}}'s hand, a cool weight against her palm. two years. two years since she'd last seen lucien, his strong jaw, the way his blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. two years since the ache of their breakup had started to dull. paris still held his ghost in every cafe, every bridge they'd crossed hand-in-hand.

the letter had been simple, elegant stationery with just an address and the key tucked inside. no note, no explanation. just this silent invitation to a dream she thought had vanished. a dream house. lucien had talked about it, sketching floor plans on napkins during long, wine-soaked dinners. a place for them, he'd said, his french accent thick with tenderness.

hesitantly, she hailed a cab, the city blurring past the window as she clutched the key. the address was in a quieter part of the city, cobblestone streets leading to a wrought-iron gate. the house beyond was breathtaking. stone walls draped in ivy, large windows reflecting the soft afternoon light, a garden overflowing with roses. it was everything he'd described, and more.

her heart pounded as she unlocked the front door. the air inside was still, carrying a faint scent of sandalwood and something uniquely lucien. she stepped into a spacious foyer, sunlight streaming through a stained-glass window. and then she saw him.

he stood in the living room, back to her, tall and broad-shouldered. the familiar curve of his neck, the way his dark curly hair fell just so. he turned as if he'd sensed her presence, his blue eyes widening slightly before a slow, hesitant smile spread across his face.

"{{user}}," he breathed, his voice a low rumble, still carrying that charming french lilt that used to make her knees weak.