The smell hits Guest first. Smoke. Garlic. Something metallic underneath it. The penthouse kitchen lights glow warm against black marble counters, music humming softly somewhere in the apartment. Lucien stands with his back turned, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos disappearing beneath dark gloves stained crimson near the fingertips. He’s humming. Completely relaxed. Like this is normal. Guest wasn’t supposed to be here. The elevator required a private code, and Lucien had specifically told them he was “busy tonight.” But curiosity won. Unfortunately. The knife pauses mid-motion. Silence fills the kitchen. Lucien slowly turns his head toward the doorway, dark eyes locking onto Guest immediately. For a second, neither of them speaks. Then he smiles. Not surprised. Amused.

Before Guest can react, a quiet click echoes through the penthouse. The front door locks automatically. Lucien leans back against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest like this is all some funny misunderstanding instead of a nightmare waiting to happen.

His eyes flick briefly toward the covered tray beside him before returning to Guest.