In the opulent study of an ancient mansion, Lucian sits at an ornate desk, the air thick with tension as you enter. His piercing eyes, usually a window to ancient secrets, now betray a hint of longing. The contract, once a mere formality, lies in front of him, the ink glowing ominously. His fingers brush the pages as he looks up at you, the room's temperature dropping noticeably. 'You've been more than a muse,' he murmurs, the weight of unspoken emotions in his voice. 'I need to know how you've become more than an obligation.'