Chapter 42 - Loosening Up

The car eased to a halt in front of an elegant boutique, its towering glass panes flaunting mannequins draped in flowing evening gowns, crisp suits, and glinting accessories. 

Ayra cast a sideways glance at Lucian, her brow furrowed in perplexity.

"Why are we here?" she asked.

Lucian killed the engine and stepped out. “We’re having lunch somewhere upscale, remember? That outfit isn’t exactly appropriate.”

Her gaze dropped to her jeans and cozy sweater. “It’s perfectly fine,” she said, brow raised. 

“It is.” he circled around the car to open her door. “But this is about more than fine. Humor me. And by the way, you've worn that since this morning, no?”

She slid out reluctantly, her steps dragging as she trailed behind him into the boutique. Quite like the hotel, the interior was a study in luxury. 

The floors were polished to a shine, the air smelled of lavender, and sleek racks of clothing were arranged with museum-like precision. 

A soft piano melody played in the background, as if to tell everyone that they weren’t just shopping.

A sharply dressed saleswoman glided over immediately. Her practiced smile was unwavering as her eyes darted between the two of them. 

“Good evening. How may I assist you?”

Lucian inclined his head toward Ayra. “She needs something suitable for an elegant afternoon. Most likely something like that over on the mannequin - just change the -”

Ayra’s eyes narrowed at him. “I can pick my own clothes, thanks.”

Lucian gave her a little smile and stepped back. 

The saleswoman’s expression didn’t flicker. “Of course. Right this way, miss.”

Ayra trailed after her, feeling oddly out of place despite the familiar trappings of wealth. It wasn't like she was unused to high-end boutiques, but today, it all felt… unreal. 

Maybe it was the way Lucian seemed to orchestrate every moment, leaving no room for argument, or the fact that she hadn’t done anything remotely like this in ages.

The saleswoman gestured toward a section overflowing with sequins, satin, and structured lace. Each dress was an epitome of glamour, demanding attention in a way Ayra had never cared for.

“Anything simpler?” she asked, trying to mask her discomfort.

The saleswoman tilted her head, a flicker of surprise breaking through her polished exterior. “Of course. Let me bring some options.”

....

Eventually, Ayra emerged from the fitting room in a pared-down ensemble: a flowing cardigan over a silk tank paired with tailored trousers. Simple, understated, and leagues away from the dazzling gowns she’d been offered earlier.

Lucian, seated comfortably on a plush armchair, barely glanced up from his phone until she stood before him. His eyes flicked over her outfit, and a small, approving nod followed.

“Well?” she prompted, folding her arms.

“Not bad,” he replied smoothly, setting his phone aside. “Though I told you to pick what you liked.”

“This is what I like,” she shot back.

“Fair enough.”

For a moment, they simply regarded one another, the boutique’s refined atmosphere settling around them like a veil. Then, as if from thin air, Lucian produced a small, velvet box.

“This is for you,” he said, flipping it open with a practiced motion. Nestled inside was a delicate necklace, its sapphire pendant shimmering like liquid light.

Ayra stiffened, unsure whether to laugh or bristle. “You carry jewelry around in your pocket?”

“I came prepared,” he replied, the barest hint of amusement in his tone.

She eyed the necklace warily. It wasn’t just an accessory; it felt like a statement, though she couldn’t decide what kind. 

Her fingers hovered over the necklace, hesitating. It was undeniably beautiful - and expensive, though the second one was just an afterthought. 

Yet there was an unspoken weight to the gesture, something deeper than mere accessorizing.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “But unnecessary.”

“I disagree,” Lucian said, his tone inscrutable.

Instead of donning it, she slipped the necklace into her pocket, her gaze flicking to his as if daring him to say something. He didn’t.

“Thank you,” she murmured awkwardly. 

Lucian’s lips quirked. “Don’t mention it.”

....

Their next stop was a high-end hotel tucked away in the heart of the city. Lucian parked the car in the underground garage and stepped out, rounding the vehicle to open Ayra’s door. 

She hesitated before accepting his outstretched hand, still wary after the morning’s ordeal.

Inside, the hotel lobby was a marvel of modern luxury, all marble floors and gilded chandeliers. Lucian led Ayra to a private lounge where a concierge greeted them with a polite bow. 

Within minutes, they were shown to a suite with an adjoining bathroom.

“Freshen up,” Lucian instructed. “We’ll be leaving shortly.”

Ayra bit back a retort and retreated to the bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to clear her head. 

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her thoughts a jumbled mess. Who was this man, really? And what the fuck was she doing?

When she emerged after a shower minutes later, Lucian was waiting by the door, his coat draped over one arm. Without a word, he extended his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Ayra took it.

Back in the car, Ayra leaned against the window, her thoughts swirling. Lucian’s gestures were impossible to pin down - thoughtful, perhaps, but it felt less genuine and more... calculated, in a way. 

The weight of the necklace in her pocket only deepened the riddle he seemed determined to present her with.

As the car hummed back onto the road, Ayra risked a glance at him. His hands were steady on the wheel, his profile unreadable under the glow of the dashboard lights. 

Whatever game Lucian was playing, she was quickly beginning to realize that she wasn’t just a piece on his board—she was the one being studied, dissected, WHATEVER. 

The point was, she did not quite know her role in everything that was happening to her recently and it was hellishly confusing. 

Still, she couldn’t quite decide if that terrified her or intrigued her.

.....

Their final destination was a private restaurant tucked away in one of the city’s quieter neighborhoods. The building exuded understated elegance, its exterior blending seamlessly with the surrounding architecture. 

A hostess greeted them at the entrance, her smile faltering ever so slightly when her eyes landed on Lucian. “Mr. Cyrus,” she said, her voice tinged with nervousness. “Your table is ready.”

They were led to a secluded booth, the soft hum of classical music filling the air.

Ayra looked around, her eyes widening slightly at the opulence of the place. “This is... a bit much, don’t you think?”

Lucian shrugged, unbothered. “Nothing but the best for you.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help feeling a tiny flutter of warmth at his words. They settled into their seats, the table adorned with fine china and crystal glasses. 

A waiter appeared, presenting them with menus that looked more like works of art than lists of food.

“What are you getting?” Lucian asked, glancing at her over the top of his menu.

“I have no idea,” Ayra admitted, scanning the unfamiliar dishes. “Half of this stuff sounds like it belongs in a museum, not on a plate.”

He chuckled. “I’ll order for us, then.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Confident, are we?”

“Always.”

The waiter returned, and Lucian rattled off an order with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. Ayra watched him, intrigued by the effortless way he carried himself. 

There was something magnetic about him, a quiet assurance that made it hard to look away.

As they waited for their food, their conversation shifted to lighter topics. Lucian’s wit was sharp, his stories entertaining, and Ayra found herself smiling more than she had in weeks. 

For a brief moment, the weight of her circumstances felt distant, the warmth of the restaurant and Lucian’s company wrapping around her like a comforting embrace.

When the food arrived, it was as exquisite as she’d expected—each dish a masterpiece of flavor and presentation. They ate slowly, their conversation flowing easily between bites. 

Ayra couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at ease.