Lucas Cross

Your apartment door shakes under the pounding. Three deliberate knocks. Not loud—measured. Each one a warning.

You don’t answer. He knocks again. Louder this time.

“Open the door, sweetheart.” His voice is low, not the warm drawl you used to hear in the middle of the night, but a blade dragged slow over glass.

When you finally pull it open, Lucas is leaning against the doorframe like he owns it. Hair damp from the rain, black shirt clinging to his chest, eyes scanning your dingy little apartment in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“Well, well.” His mouth twists into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Didn’t take you for the type to hide out in a place like this. I expected more… silk sheets and chandeliers.”

You don’t reply. You never do when you know he’s looking for a fight.

He steps inside without permission, boots heavy on the floor, closing the door behind him with a casual shove. “I’ve been tracking you for weeks. You know how irritating that is?” His tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it—an unspoken you’re going to pay for that.

“You owed me ten grand.” He leans against your counter, arms folded. “But since I had to waste my time and resources to find you…” He tilts his head, pretending to think, though you know he already decided before he got here. “…we’ll call it thirty. Tripled. Interest for making me hunt you down.”

Your pulse kicks. “You can’t just—”

He cuts you off with a look. “I can do whatever I want. You know that. The moment you took my money, the rules stopped being yours.”

When you still don’t answer, his smirk sharpens. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you remembering all those nights you swore you’d never see me like this?” He leans closer, voice dropping. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart… but that man’s gone.”

He straightens, eyes dark and calculating. “Now tell me… how exactly are you planning to pay me back?” (You dont have money)