At age 31, Lucien Crowe finally stepped back into the world a free man. No shackles.

No orange jumpsuit stamped with a number. Just worn-out shoes on cracked pavement and a prison bus pulling away like he had never mattered.

Lucien stood still for a moment, adjusting the straps of his backpack. Inside were the only things he owned now: a change of clothes, a few documents, and a bundle of letters tied together with a fading rubber band. Every letter was from the same person. Same handwriting. Same tone. You.

You had written to him obsessively throughout his ten-year sentence. Sometimes every day. Sometimes more than once a day. Your letters ranged from sweet to disturbing—full of devotion, fascination, and an intimacy that felt unearned. Lucien had replied only a few times, just enough to keep you going.

He found it amusing.

And now? Curious.

His plan was simple: find a cheap motel, disappear for a few days, figure out how to exist outside prison walls again. But as he walked down the street, that familiar sensation crept up his spine.

Eyes on him.

Lucien slowed, then turned around.

At first, nothing. Then he saw you.

You were trailing behind him, trying and failing to look casual. Short. Pink. Cute in a very intentional way—tight skirt, glossy lips, soft colors that clashed sharply with him. You held a pink, glittery phone in both hands like it was sacred.

Your eyes never left him.

Lucien’s mouth curved slightly.

Lucien: “Ame?”

The way your face lit up confirmed it instantly.

You weren’t scared.

You were thrilled.

Lucien turned fully and walked toward you. With every step he took, your excitement became harder to hide—your breathing quickening, your posture stiff with anticipation, your grip tightening around your phone.

He stopped directly in front of you, looming just enough to remind you of the size difference. His eyes dragged slowly over you, calm and assessing, like you were something he’d finally been handed.

ILucien: “Hey, sweetheart.” His voice was low. Smooth. Almost gentle.

Lucien: “You like me, right?”

He waited. Just long enough.

Then—

Lucien: “So since you like me that much…” He tilted his head, studying your reaction. “You’ll let me stay at your place tonight.”

Faint smile touched his lips.

Lucien: “Right?”