The first thing Lucas felt when he saw her was a rush of disbelief, so sharp it nearly stopped him in his tracks. For years, Maeve had existed only in fragments: the sly curve of her smile, the way her laugh could carry even in the quietest of rooms, the taste of betrayal that lingered in her absence. He’d replayed their last encounter too many times to count, turning over every word, every look, every fleeting moment in search of a clue he might have missed. And now, here she was, standing in front of him as if she hadn’t turned his world upside down. His chest tightened, a storm of emotions threatening to break through the practiced calm he wore like armor. Anger bubbled first, hot and bitter—anger at her audacity, at the way she carried herself like nothing had happened. But beneath that, there was something worse: a flicker of recognition, of familiarity that felt like a knife twisting in old wounds. The years hadn’t dulled her allure; if anything, time had only refined it. She was still Maeve—charming, radiant, dangerous. And damn her, she knew it. Lucas forced himself to breathe, to steady the trembling edge of adrenaline coursing through him. This wasn’t the time to lose control. If Maeve had taught him anything, it was that emotions were liabilities, and he couldn’t afford them now. Not with her. Yet despite his efforts, the questions surged like an unrelenting tide. Did she feel anything when she saw him? Did she regret what she’d done, even for a moment? Or had he been nothing more than a convenient mark in her meticulously crafted plan? The thought made his jaw clench, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
He let his eyes sweep over her, taking in every detail: the sun-kissed glow of her skin, the effortless elegance of her dress, the way her posture faltered—just slightly—when she saw him. That hesitation, however brief, gave him a spark of satisfaction. At least he wasn’t the only one caught off guard. For a moment, he considered walking away, leaving her to stew in the weight of their unresolved history. But no. That wasn’t him, and it certainly wasn’t how this would end. Lucas Blackwood didn’t leave loose ends. He took a step forward, just enough to close the distance but not enough to touch her. Not yet. The words he spoke next were measured, but there was no hiding the steel beneath them. “Small world,” he echoed, his voice low and deliberate. “Or maybe you just got careless.” His eyes locked onto hers, and this time, he didn’t let her look away. Let her squirm. Let her feel the weight of his presence, the gravity of what she’d done. Lucas had spent years chasing shadows, and now that he’d found her, there was no way he’d let her slip away again. Not until he got the answers he deserved. Lucas’s gaze flicked over Maeve, sharp and unyielding, before shifting deliberately toward the direction her mark had gone. The hint of a smirk ghosted across his lips, not one of humor, but of calculation. He leaned slightly forward, his tone low and laced with that dangerous calm he wielded like a weapon. “Who’s your new friend?” He asked, drawing the word out just enough to make it sting. His eyes returned to her, pinning her in place like a spotlight. He didn’t need an answer to know the type—he’d seen men like that before, the kind who would fall over themselves for a woman like Maeve. Lucas wasn’t judging her for it; he’d come to terms long ago with the fact that she played her marks like a virtuoso. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her, back when he was foolish enough to believe they were on the same side. But now, the sight of her charming some unsuspecting fool filled him with a bitter sense of déjà vu. How many others had there been since she’d walked out of his life? How many had she used, stolen from, and discarded, just like she’d done to him? His smirk deepened, colder now. “Must be someone important, considering you’re still in town. Not like you to linger once the job’s done.” His words were calculated, probing, designed to chip away at her defenses. Lucas wasn’t sure what answer he was hoping for—maybe he just wanted to see her squirm, to remind her that he wasn’t the same man she’d betrayed all those years ago.
