╔═══ Author's note ════╗

  For better imagination, their buildings share a wall. Anyone wondering if Lucian bought this property to be next to Celine or did Celine got hold of it to be next to him? ??

  ╚═════════════════╝

  Lucian searched for his boot and found it under the window curtain. It looked like his self worth that he just tossed out the window. In this case, in the window of a scar-ridden past.

  It could have been her father or the king himself that threatened her; he was not a complete asshole to bme her for someone else's failure. Or make her pay the price for it.

  No matter who had cornered her, no matter what bde they pressed to her throat, she was smart enough to take a different approach.

  He rubbed Celine's forehead and underneath the thick yer of makeup, a bruise began to form. "..."

  She covered him in scars, so why should he give a rat's ass about some little bruise? She deserved it.

  He pulled a fountain pen from his vest pocket and broke the tip with the help of its cap, creating a sharp edge.

  He slowly pushed up her skirt; moved the tip down her ankle, along her calf, and all the way to her tights.

  She deserved worse.

  He cut, and the skin broke. His tears began to burn his cheeks as he dragged the tip across her flesh. More than a scratch, less than a stab. The more he went, the easier it was to go further.

  "Why would you provoke me like this?" he asked, his vision blurring, "Mistakes like these get people killed. Did I not warn you to be careful? That I might lose my mind one day?"

  He inched the sharp point of the pen to her inner thigh, where the skin was soft and delicate. Rewriting her betrayal might help him forgive her, he thought. That's what she wanted from him, didn't she?

  "Even if he hates me, I don't want him to forget me. I'll carve myself into his flesh and into his bones, so no one else can repce me... Is this what went through your mind? Is this how it felt when you cut me to pieces?" he whispered, his voice breaking like a twig.

  There was no response from her, not even a movement.

  He sniffled then ughed, "You expect me to come running to you after everything you've done, so I can expect you to forgive me after this as well, can't I? You'll understand why I did this, won't you? You won't hold this against me after an apology or two, right?"

  He was ready to get caught red-handed by her staff, but nobody stopped by, and it made him go beyond what he had intended.

  Her right leg was now covered in gnashly cuts and puncture marks, forming a sick pattern that resembled roots of a tree, ready to grow itself back into her life.

  He wiped his nose with his arm and pulled away from Celine, ying her on the leather couch. He went to the bathroom and dropped the pen into the sink before washing his hands.

  · · ─────── · ???· ─────── · ·

  Going through her drawers, he grabbed a bottle of alcohol and a roll of bandages.

  "You didn't even treat my wounds like this. You just left me to suffer," he murmured, disinfecting and bandaging her leg, "You don't get to compin, not until you've had at least a dozen of your own scars."

  Her stillness began to unnerve him, and he was less and less comfortable with it. An unresponsive Celine was the same as an uncooked chicken. Neither could entice Lucian's appetite. No matter how starved he was.

  So he turned away and tidied her room, slipping his foot back into his boot as if the action itself could bring back his noble self. And when there was nothing left to clean, he wandered. To her desk.

  He flipped through the pages of her notebook to check her schedule and if she was supposed to be somewhere or with someone else in the next few hours.

  Her schedule was so full that he was surprised that he had managed to get a hold of her in the first pce.

  Did she find out that he was right next door and postponed her pns? She should be overseeing her jewelers at the moment, to enure the samples lived up to her high standards.

  He went through more of her documents and found an old diary from years back. The handwriting was a bit childish but familiar enough.

  12.3.756... Scaldy has the brain of a pigeon. It can only store two thoughts at most: Food and money. If you are not food or money, you are nothing.

  13.3.756... Scaldy is an opportunistic bastard with a heart of stone, and the morals of a feral dog. If he has a soul, he probably sold it for a few coppers. Or a piece of pie.

  14.3.756... Scaldy's pride is as big as a dragon's. How could someone have nothing to be proud of, and still be so proud of it?

  15.3.756... Scaldy is an idiot, but he is not stupid. A lot of his actions are done to create the illusion that he is a harmless idiot. But the fact remains that he is still an idiot. And I hate him for it, but not as much as he hates me. And I hate him more for that too.

  16.3.756...Scaldy is not a man. He is a mythological creature. Part donkey, part dog, part rat. A dondogat.

  Lucian felt his lips twitch. He gnced at the little snot lying on the couch. He wouldn't call this fuzzy feeling inside of his chest love. It had since been tainted by a rotten seed of resentment.

  The need to touch her still didn't return to him, not when she was not present to reciprocate. It was strange how the desire to touch her was always accompanied by the need to be touched in return. And when that need was not met, he felt no desire to touch her at all.

  14.5.756... I caught a cold today and couldn't visit the town. He came to see me. I didn't expect him to. I was so happy, I cried. Whether his concern was fake or not, his company was real.

  The rest of the pages were ripped out and missing, leaving him with an unsettling feeling. As if the words had become alive at that very moment, and had started to choke him.

  He threw the book back into the drawer, smming it shut. He was rich, handsome, and young. Why should he be jealous of his own past, when his future could be even brighter?