Celeste's POV:
The woman standing in the doorway was a ghost made flesh. A chilling echo of the man I had so willingly surrendered myself to.
The resemblance was undeniable – the sharp angles of her face, the intense, unwavering gaze, even the subtle downturn of her lips held a familiar cruelty. But where Lucien's eyes held a storm of complex emotions, hers were glacial, devoid of warmth.
"Hello, Lucien," she said, her voice a low, steady cadence that sent a shiver down my spine. "Did you really think you could escape your past?"
Lucien stood frozen, his face a mask of disbelief and dawning horror. The hand that had been so gentle on my cheek moments before now clenched into a white-knuckled fist at his side. The air in the opulent suite crackled with a tension so thick I could taste it – a metallic tang of fear and betrayal.
Marco Rossi stood beside her, a smug satisfaction radiating from him. His eyes flicked between Lucien and me, a predator enjoying the capture of its prey. But it was the woman beside him who held my gaze captive.
Lucien's mother. Alive.
And filled with such palpable animosity towards her own son.
"Mother?" Lucien finally choked out, the word a raw, wounded sound.
Her lips curled into a cold, mirthless smile. "Did you miss me, mon fils?" The French was laced with a venom that belied the endearment.
My mind reeled. This couldn't be real. This was a nightmare, a cruel twist of fate designed to shatter the fragile new reality I had found. Lucien's past, the darkness he had hinted at, had just materialized in the most devastating way imaginable.
"But… Adrien said…" Lucien's voice trailed off, the implication hanging heavy in the air. He had believed his mother was dead. We all had.
"Adrien believes what he is told," she said, her gaze flicking to me, a look of cold assessment that made me feel like an insect under a microscope. "Just like you always did, Lucien. So eager to accept the convenient lie."
"Why?" Lucien's voice was a ragged plea. "Why are you doing this?"
Her eyes hardened. "You ask me why? After all these years? After the path you chose?"
Her gaze swept the luxurious suite, a look of disdain twisting her features. "This… this is what you became, Lucien. A king of shadows, ruling over a kingdom built on deceit and violence."
"I did it to survive," Lucien countered, his voice rising, the carefully controlled mask finally cracking. "To protect myself."
"Protect yourself?" Her laugh was sharp, devoid of humor. "Or to amass more power? To become the very thing your father was?"
The air crackled with unspoken history, a legacy of darkness that suddenly cast a long shadow over everything Lucien and I had shared.
Rossi stepped forward, his eyes gleaming. "It seems the prodigal son has some family issues to resolve. Perhaps we should give them some privacy."
He reached out, his hand snaking towards my arm.
Lucien's reaction was instantaneous.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, and in a blink, he moved with a speed that belied his earlier shock. He grabbed Rossi's wrist in a vise-like grip, his eyes blazing with a fury I had only glimpsed before.
"Touch her, and you'll lose more than just a hand," Lucien snarled, his voice a dangerous undertone.
Rossi's smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of genuine fear. He tried to pull away, but Lucien's grip was unyielding.
"Enough, Marco," Lucien's mother said, her voice sharp. "He's predictable. His protectiveness is his weakness."
She turned her attention back to Lucien, her gaze unwavering.
"Let him go, Lucien. He's just a means to an end."
Lucien hesitated for a moment, his eyes locked on Rossi's. Then, with a visible effort, he released the man's wrist. Rossi stepped back, rubbing his arm, his eyes narrowed with resentment.
"What do you want?" Lucien asked his mother, his voice strained.
"What I always wanted, Lucien," she replied, her gaze sweeping over me again, a look of cold calculation in her eyes. "To cleanse the stain of your father from this family. And you, my son… you have become that stain."
Her words were like a physical blow, and I saw the impact on Lucien's face – a flicker of pain beneath the anger.
"And Celeste?" Lucien asked, his voice low, dangerous. "What does she have to do with this?"
"She is your weakness," his mother said, her voice flat. "Your vulnerability. And through her, we will finally bring you down."
The realization hit me with brutal force. I wasn't just caught in Lucien's world;
I was the target. The pawn in a twisted family drama that had been brewing for years.
Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through the confusion and disbelief. I looked at Lucien, his face a mask of fury and a dawning understanding of a betrayal that cut deeper than any blade.
The man who had promised to protect me was now facing his own ghosts, and I was caught in the crossfire. The echo of a ghost had shattered the fragile foundation of our world, and I had no idea what would remain in its wake.
The door to the suite was still open, a gaping maw leading into the unknown. Lucien's mother and Rossi stood there, their presence a palpable threat.
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken intentions and the weight of years of buried secrets.
I gripped Lucien's arm, my knuckles white, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
The game had changed. The rules had been rewritten by a ghost from the past.
And I had a terrifying feeling that the stakes had just become deadly.