Chapter 6:
It was the dead of night..When Lucas recalled a past memory.
Lucas (Flashback)
The night Lucas first saw Elena was nothing like the polished, curated world he inhabited. It was chaos wrapped in neon and cigarette smoke, a dive bar tucked between a shuttered bookstore and a laundromat. He'd been running—running from a meeting that had gone sideways, from the gnawing emptiness that followed every victory, from himself.
He sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey that burned like regret. The music was loud, the crowd restless. He didn't belong here, but maybe that was the point.
She was a splash of color in the dim light—red hair wild and untamed, ink snaking up her arms, eyes sharp and unyielding. She was arguing with the bartender, laughing too loud, daring the world to notice her.
Lucas watched her, fascinated and wary.
When she caught his gaze, she didn't look away. Instead, she smiled—a slow, knowing curve of lips that promised trouble.
"First time here?" she asked, sliding onto the stool next to him.
He nodded, unsure what to say.
"I'm Elena," she said, holding out a hand, fingers stained with ink and paint.
"Lucas."
She studied him like he was a puzzle she wanted to solve. "You look like you're running from something."
He laughed, bitter. "Maybe I am."
She didn't press further. Instead, she pulled out a small sketchbook and began to draw—lines chaotic and beautiful, capturing the rawness of the moment.
"Art's like that," she said. "It doesn't hide. It shows everything."
Maybe it was the whiskey or the past that clings to him either way Lucas found himself opening up, telling her about the man he used to be—the one who believed in love, in passion, in something real. About the loss that shattered him, the nights spent chasing oblivion.
She listened without judgment, her eyes fierce and steady.
When the bar closed, she pulled him outside into the cold night air.
"Come to my studio," she said. "If you want to see what happens when you stop running."
He hesitated,then nodded. "Maybe someday if we ever met again"
At the back of his mind a doubt bubbled will we ever met again or remember each other? Highly doubt it.
Present Day — Lucas
He almost laughed at how fate played its games, what are the odds that they met again.
Now, sitting in Elena's studio, the memory lingered like a ghost. The scent of ink and leather surrounded him, the hum of the tattoo machine a steady pulse.
Elena traced the outline of a new design on his skin—a delicate, intricate pattern that seemed to capture both pain and hope.
Their eyes met, and the air between them thickened.
Without thinking, Lucas reached for her, pulling her close. The heat of her body against his was electric, a jolt that shattered the numbness he'd carried for so long.
Her hands were warm, moving over his chest, tracing the lines of his suit before slipping beneath the fabric.
He kissed her then—slow, searching, desperate.
Their bodies pressed together, a collision of need and fear.
Elena's fingers tangled in his hair as she guided him down onto the leather couch, the world narrowing to the sound of their breaths and the heat of skin on skin.
Clothes fell away, barriers dissolving.
Lucas marveled at the softness beneath his hands, the way her skin bore the stories of a life lived fiercely.
He kissed the curve of her neck, the rise of her collarbone, each touch a promise and a confession.
Elena's breath hitched as he traced the tattoo on her shoulder—a phoenix in flight, wings spread wide.
"Your turn," she whispered.
He shivered as her hands found the edge of his shirt, sliding it off to reveal the inked map on his arm.
Her fingers followed the lines, tracing the labyrinth.
"Every scar tells a story," she said.
Lucas nodded, voice rough. "I'm still writing mine."
They moved together with a fierce tenderness, a dance of power and surrender.
The world outside ceased to exist.
Elena (Afterwards)
Lying beside him, Elena felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. The man who had walked into her studio months ago—so guarded, so broken—was still there, but something had shifted.
He was still fighting, still afraid, but for the first time, he let himself be seen.
She traced her fingers over the tattoos on his skin, a silent vow to hold space for his pain and his hope.
Because sometimes, the deepest marks aren't the ones inked on skin—they're the ones carved into the soul.
To be continued...
The next chapter will be about Lucas past with Daniel