"The only way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them." - Ernest Hemingway.

  Lucian

  The soft glow of the city lights painted long shadows across the polished floor of my penthouse. Aurelia's presence, a subtle shift in the atmosphere, lingered in the air like a phantom scent. I found myself drawn to the open doorway of the guest suite, the sliver of light a silent invitation.

  I wanted her to open up, to trust me, to reveal the secrets she held so close. Not to exploit them, but to understand them, to understand her.

  I watched her from the shadows, her silhouette framed by the balcony doors. She stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the city below, a picture of quiet contemplation. There was a fragility to her, a vulnerability that belied the strength she displayed on stage. And yet, beneath the surface, I sensed a resilience, a quiet determination that intrigued me.

  I wanted to know her secrets, to unravel the layers of her carefully constructed persona. But I also knew that trust was a delicate thing, easily broken. And I wanted to be the one she trusted.

  I retreated to my study, the silence of the room a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. Aurelia Thorne was a puzzle, a contradiction, a woman who defied easy categorization. And I, Lucian DeVaux, was drawn into her orbit, a moth to a flame, knowing full well that I could be burned.

  After a time, the silence grew heavy. I found myself restless, unable to focus on the papers scattered across my desk. I wandered back into the living room, drawn by an unseen force. Aurelia was there, standing by the large window overlooking the city.

  "Couldn't sleep?" I asked, my voice low.

  She turned, a faint smile playing on her lips. "No," she admitted. "The city's quite a sight from up here."

  "It is," I agreed, moving to stand beside her. "Would you like to watch a movie?" I asked, gesturing to the large screen mounted on the wall. "Something mindless, perhaps?"

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  She hesitated, then nodded. "That sounds… nice."

  We settled onto the plush sofa, a comfortable silence falling between us as the opening credits rolled. The movie was a lighthearted comedy, a welcome distraction from the tension that had hung in the air earlier. As the characters on screen stumbled through their own awkward encounters, I found myself glancing at Aurelia, wondering what thoughts were running through her mind. A subtle, floral scent drifted from her, very feminine, very… Aurelia. It was a delicate fragrance, a whisper of something wild and untamed.

  The warmth of her presence beside me, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her features, created an unexpected sense of intimacy. It was a simple moment, a shared experience, but it felt significant, a small step towards breaking down the walls between us. As the movie reached its conclusion, a sense of quiet contentment settled over me. Perhaps, just perhaps, trust wasn't as unattainable as I had once believed.

  Later, as I showed her to the guest suite again, I left the door slightly ajar as she'd requested. "Sleep well, Aurelia," I murmured, a genuine warmth in my voice I hadn't expected.

  Hours later, the insistent chirping of birds outside my window pulled me from sleep. I rose, the penthouse silent around me, and headed towards the kitchen for a glass of water. As I passed the guest suite, a muffled cry pierced the quiet.

  I pushed the door open, stepping into the room. Aurelia thrashed on the bed, her face contorted in fear, a strangled sob escaping her lips.

  "Aurelia?" I said softly, reaching for her shoulder. "Wake up, you're having a nightmare."

  Her eyes snapped open, wide with terror. Before I could react, her hand darted beneath her pillow, emerging with a glint of silver. A small but wickedly sharp pocket knife flashed in the dim light, held mere inches from my chest.

  "Lucian!" Aurelia's voice was thick with sleep and panic, but recognition flickered in her eyes. The knife clattered to the floor, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. "Oh my God, Lucian, I'm so sorry! I didn't— I didn't mean—"

  She scrambled back against the headboard, the sheets tangling around her legs. "I didn't know where I was, I thought—" Her voice cracked, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

  I held up my hands in a placating gesture, my heart still pounding. "It's alright, Aurelia. You were dreaming. It's okay."

  Shame washed over her face. "No, it's not. I could have hurt you. I—" She pushed the covers back, fumbling for her robe. "I should go. I'll just—"

  "Aurelia," I said firmly, stepping closer. "It's fine. Really. It was a reflex. You were scared."

  She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'm a mess. I shouldn't have imposed on you. I'll just get dressed and—"

  "Stay," I said, my voice softening. "Please. It's the middle of the night. We can talk about this in the morning. Or not. Just… stay."

  Her eyes met mine, a storm of emotions swirling within them. Hesitantly, she nodded.

  "Good," I said, offering a reassuring smile. "Now, how about we forget this ever happened and in the morning have some breakfast? I make a mean omelet."

  A weak smile touched her lips. "Alright," she whispered, the tension slowly easing from her shoulders.

  I retrieved the fallen knife and placed it on the nightstand. "Try to get some rest," I said, turning to leave. "And Aurelia?"

  "Yes?"

  "You're safe here."

  The words hung in the air, a promise I intended to keep. As I closed the door behind me, leaving it ajar as she had requested, I couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness towards her. This woman, with her secrets and her fears, had somehow found her way past my defenses. And despite the near disaster, I found myself wanting to know her even more.