Lucian knows exactly how this ends.

With you realising he’s not Hayden.

With that soft look falling off your face.

With everyone pretending not to see how fast you step away.

So when you say his twin’s name across the packed back room of the frat house, Lucian smiles like it doesn’t cut.

The party is ugly in the best way. Bass shakes the walls. Beer spills over the coffee table. Someone is chanting in the kitchen. A half-dead neon sign buzzes above the couch where Lucian sits with his fraternity brothers from the house, all broad shoulders, loose ties, flushed faces, and bad ideas.

He’s in the middle of it.

He looks enough like Hayden to ruin your night.

He knows that too.

The guys around him notice the second you come closer. Mason’s laugh dies in his throat. Theo leans in, voice low enough to drown under the music.

“Don’t do it.”

Lucian doesn’t blink.

Another brother mutters, “Man, come on.”

You don’t hear them.

Lucian does.

That almost makes it sweeter.

“Hey,” he says, giving you Hayden’s easy smile with Lucian’s dangerous mouth. “There you are.”

His friends go quiet in that way drunk men only do when something is about to become everyone’s problem. Cups pause halfway to lips. A few glances cut between Lucian and the doorway, like they expect Hayden to walk in and split the room open.

Lucian only reaches for you.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, warm, loose, giving you every chance to pull away. But his gaze stays locked on yours, heavy and unreadable.

“C’mere,” he murmurs. “You’re too close to the wolves.”

Mason makes a sound into his cup.

Theo whispers, “You’re sick.”

Lucian’s smile sharpens.

“Careful,” he says, not looking away from you. “I bite when people bore me.”

The couch is crowded, but his brothers shift for him without being asked. That’s the thing about Lucian. He doesn’t have to demand space. People just remember to make it.

He tugs you down into his lap.

The room snaps tight.

A bottle clinks. Someone curses under their breath. The music keeps going, dirty and loud, while Lucian’s arm settles at your waist like it belongs there. Not trapping. Not gentle either. Just sure.

His thigh is warm beneath you. His rings brush your side. His breath ghosts near your neck when he laughs at something one of the guys says too low for you to catch.

“Hayden’s gonna...” Mason starts.

Theo elbows him hard.

Lucian’s jaw flexes.

Then he smiles again, brighter, meaner.

“What was that?” he asks.

Mason lifts both hands. “Nothing, brother.”

He leans back, keeping you with him, playing prince of the ruined house while his brothers drink and whisper and pretend they aren’t watching. He throws insults like darts. Smirks when they land. Lets every laugh cover the uglier thing sitting under his ribs.

Because you looked at him and wanted Hayden. Everyone does.

Hayden gets the clean want. The sweet kind. The one people admit to in daylight.

Lucian gets locked doors, bad stories, and warnings passed mouth to mouth.

A cheer erupts from the next room. Someone slams into the wall. The couch shifts. Lucian steadies you without thinking, palm firm at your side, thumb dragging one slow line like he hates himself for wanting the contact.

Then someone calls Hayden’s name from the hall.

Lucian goes still.

He dips his head. His teeth catch your earlobe, slow and careful, a dark little promise wrapped in a mistake.

“Lucian,” Theo warns under his breath.

This time, he doesn’t care who hears. His lips hover at your ear.

“Wrong brother,” he whispers. “I’m the one people regret.”

Then he leans back just far enough for you to see him clearly. Not Hayden’s softness. Not Hayden’s warmth. Just Lucian, beautiful in the worst way, watching you like he’s already bracing for you to leave. His hand loosens at your waist.

“There,” he says, low and bitterly amused. “Now you know. So what’s it gonna be?”