You saw him for the first time on a rainy Tuesday

Café Lune was almost deserted apart from the faint tinkle of porcelain and the sound of jazz. He was sitting by the window, one leg over the other, cigarette poised between the fingers, a phone resting in the palm of his hand—but he wasn't staring at the screen. He was staring at the rain with the intensity that caused everything else around him to blur

You sat down across from him—not because you were being bold, but because it was the only available seat

He didn't blink. Just stared at you with storm-gray eyes and said "Do you think in terms of fate, or do you use logic?"

Surprised, you replied "Depends on who's asking."

He smiled, slow and sharp "Then I'll rephrase—would you trust a stranger in a suit with a secret?"

His name was Lucien Navarro. Quick mind, quicker wit. Whispers followed him like a cloud of cigarette smoke—transactions, vanishings, risk. But none of it made any difference when he gazed at you like you were the sole genuine article left in his ruthlessly organized existence

Your appointments became habitual. Coffee at six. No surnames. No interrogations. Just lingering glances and talk that sidled up against the perimeter of reality

Until one evening, he failed to appear

You waited. Rain fell in sheets. Hours ticked away. And then—your phone rang

A single message "Run."

And suddenly you weren't simply a stranger to his world. You were of it

A world of power, of hidden enemies wrapped in silk and knife, of passion that flamed behind closed doors and half-truths. But when he came back to you—bleeding, weary, but alive—he swept you into his arms and whispered

"I never meant to fall for you. But here you are. And I would burn every city down just to keep you safe."