4SINS: DECEPTION OF LUCIAN MARCUS GREY

6

Over the next few weeks, Glaryse found herself caught in a peculiar web of growing tension and invisible strings, none of which she could fully see or untangle. It wasn't as though anything drastic had changed; on the surface, life continued as it always had—classes, late-night study sessions, quiet afternoons at Café Soul Ace. But there was an underlying shift that she couldn't quite put her finger on. The more she tried to focus on her studies, the more she found herself subconsciously seeking Lucian's presence.

At first, it was small things. A glance across the hallway. A brief but meaningful conversation in the library. Nothing overt. But Lucian, with his carefully composed demeanor, began to subtly weave himself into her life—always in the background, never demanding attention, but always there. And yet, what unsettled Glaryse the most was how others around her seemed to be... fading away.

Take Albie, for instance. Their easy camaraderie had always been a comforting part of her day. But recently, she noticed that whenever they shared a joke or an exchange of words, Albie would give her this look—a kind of hesitation, like he wasn't sure if it was okay to be too familiar with her anymore. And when he'd invite her out for lunch or casual hangouts, there was a strange tension in his voice, as though he wasn't quite sure where he stood with her. It was subtle, but Glaryse felt it, and it left her wondering if she was imagining things.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling lecture, she found herself walking toward the campus quad with Albie, laughing at some ridiculous anecdote he'd shared from his childhood. But when they reached the steps of the student center, Glaryse noticed that Lucian was standing just a few feet away, talking to a couple of other students.

Lucian's eyes met hers almost immediately. His gaze was calm, unreadable, but it lingered just long enough for Albie to glance between them, clearly sensing the undercurrent of something unspoken. Without a word, Albie shifted slightly, his posture stiffening. It was only a moment, but the shift was unmistakable. He offered a forced smile. "You know, I think I'm gonna head to the library. Gotta finish that assignment for History."

"Oh, alright," Glaryse said, frowning slightly as Albie turned to leave.

But before she could process the change, Lucian was beside her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her as he spoke.

"Need a break?" he asked, his voice low, with that casual, effortless charm of his. His presence felt like a calm storm—subtle but powerful.

Glaryse blinked, glancing after Albie who was already heading toward the library. "I... yeah, I guess I do," she said, trying to shake off the strange feeling in her chest.

Lucian's lips quirked upward, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You've been working hard. You deserve it."

The casual encouragement from him was almost comforting. She tried to dismiss the nagging sense that something was shifting between her and Albie. But as she walked with Lucian, her thoughts were scattered, and she couldn't help but notice how easily he had drawn her into his orbit—just by being there, just by looking at her. His influence was quiet, almost imperceptible, but it was unmistakable.

The next few days followed the same pattern. Albie would invite her to study, but she'd find herself politely declining, claiming other commitments—commitments that often involved Lucian, whether it was helping him with a student council project or having a casual conversation on campus. It wasn't intentional, but it felt like every time she spent time with him, the connections she had with others began to fray.

It wasn't just Albie. Even Zarisha, who usually thrived in the chaos of social dynamics, had started to withdraw a little. She'd throw Glaryse a raised eyebrow when she noticed Lucian's presence at their usual hangouts, but she didn't press the issue. She simply watched in quiet amusement, as though she understood that something was happening, even if Glaryse didn't.