Cute

Janet Winget POV

"Wake up, Janet."

At the sound of my name, I lazily opened my eyes, my body feeling unbearably heavy.

Cold air brushed against my skin as my gaze landed on Lucian—walking while carrying me in his arms.

Instantly, I jolted awake.

When the fuck did I fall asleep?

Maybe it was the way he’d been holding me, cradling me on his lap, his touch so careful, so comforting. It must've lulled me without me even realizing.

This man is so sweet to me—even though he claims it's all for his own benefit—something he refuses to explain.

But in my entire life, no one had ever treated me with such gentleness.

I didn’t want to trust it. I shouldn’t trust it. Yet somehow, his actions made it impossibly hard not to.

"I can walk, you know," I muttered.

Lucian looked down at me and smiled—God, he looked dangerously handsome when he smiled.

"And I can carry," he said. "That's what you should know."

My heart slammed against my ribs like it had a mind of its own. Not even with Dalton had it ever been like this.

Though, to be fair, Dalton never acted like this... so how could it?

I glanced around as we moved through the entrance of the hotel.

Lavish didn't even begin to cover it. From the grand chandelier overhead to the gleaming marble floors, everything screamed luxury.

One glance was enough to know this place cost more than anything I'd ever seen—even coming from the Winget family, where fancy venues weren't exactly new to me.

"I don't have money," I blurted, before my brain could catch up with my mouth. "If you're thinking about dinner here."

Lucian chuckled, a low, rich sound that somehow made the air between us tighter.

"Not asking for your money," he said. "Only your presence is enough."

Lucian carried me a little farther before finally setting me down, his hands lingering at my waist a second longer than necessary. I stepped back instinctively, my skin still tingling where he touched me.

Without a word, he reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine.

I stared at him, my heart a confused mess.

"You don't have to hold my hand," I said, trying to sound unaffected.

He smiled, unfazed. "I know."

I didn't pull away. Maybe I should have... but I didn’t.

The waiter approached immediately, dressed in a sharp black suit, bowing slightly as he spoke. "Mr. Ashford, your table is ready."

‘Of course,’ I thought. ‘He’s the type who has a reservation even at the fanciest places.’

We followed the man through the hotel. Crystal chandeliers threw soft light over velvet chairs and rich mahogany tables. Every step we took, I felt the eyes of strangers—curious, admiring, envious.

Lucian didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

He pulled out my chair when we reached the table, waiting until I sat before taking his seat across from me.

A white-gloved waiter appeared within seconds, handing over leather-bound menus with gold detailing.

I opened mine, nearly choking at the prices listed without shame.

Two thousand dollars for a bottle of wine?

Seven hundred for a steak?

"I really can't afford a salad here," I muttered under my breath, scanning for the cheapest thing.

Lucian leaned back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You're not paying. Relax."

I shot him a look. "Easy for you to say.”

He chuckled, clearly entertained at my expense."You make it sound like torture."

I narrowed my eyes at him but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips.

"Maybe it is."

The waiter returned to take our orders. Lucian ordered with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times before, choosing dishes I couldn’t even pronounce. When it was my turn, I picked the simplest thing I could find—a pasta dish that still probably cost more than my monthly phone bill.

After the waiter left, Lucian’s gaze settled on me, that lazy, dangerous smile returning.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, fidgeting with the napkin in my lap.

"Because you’re cute when you're pretending not to be impressed."

I felt heat creep up my neck."I’m not impressed."

"Sure you're not."

I glared at him, but he just laughed, the sound deep and genuinely amused.

The tension between us shifted, softening into something I couldn’t name but could feel thickening the air around us.

I looked away first, pretending to admire the glittering chandelier overhead.

"Why are you not looking at me? Embarrassed?" His voice—low and thick—wrapped around me, making it impossible to settle the racing inside my chest.

I straightened in my seat, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "It's you who should be embarrassed."

He tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. "Enlighten me—for what?"

"For dragging me here when I’m looking like this." I met his eyes directly, refusing to flinch.

I wasn’t delusional. I knew I didn’t look terrible—Dalton had made sure I looked at least presentable for Lia’s birthday party, the same party they all took turns tearing me apart. As much as I hated to admit it, Lucian had been the one who pulled me out.

But I'd just gotten out of jail this morning. No amount of effort could erase the exhaustion etched into my skin, the heaviness in my bones. No matter how hard I tried, I still looked... off.

Lucian’s expression darkened, his gaze sharpening like a flint. "This is the only time I want to hear that from you, Janet," he said, his voice low and edged. "Don’t you dare insult yourself like that.”

I blinked at him, the force of his words sinking deeper than I wanted them to.

"You don't get to tell me what to feel," I said quietly, forcing the tremor out of my voice.

If only I could have said the same thing to Dalton. I let that man walk all over me as much as he wanted — and now I’ve ended up like this.

Lucian leaned forward, elbows resting casually on the table, but there was nothing casual about the way he looked at me—like he could see every thought I tried to hide.

"I don't," he agreed. "But I'll remind you when you're wrong."

My chest tightened, something between anger and something far worse clawing at my ribs.

Stop it, Janet. Stop getting pulled in.

I looked away again, pretending to adjust the silverware, anything to escape the heat in his eyes.

The waiter arrived with the wine Lucian had ordered, pouring it into crystal glasses without a word. I watched the deep red swirl like blood, feeling more unsettled than before.

“You want to sleep with me?”