Monaco, Early Morning
The sun rose like it didn't care what happened last night.
The sea was calm, but Lucia's chest wasn't.
She sat on the edge of her bed in the same gold dress. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were heavy. The house was quiet, but the silence felt cruel. It pressed on her chest, the way power always did.
Her phone lit up. Bianca.
Be ready by nine. Smile. Please don't embarrass us.
Lucia stared at the screen. She didn't cry. Not anymore. She had learned long ago that tears in this house only made people smile. She locked her jaw, pushed herself up, and walked to the mirror.
Her reflection stared back. She looked like a stranger.
Downstairs, the dining room glittered like a fake crown. Journalists crowded near the windows. Cameras flashed. The Vexleys and Morettis were putting on a show for the world.
Bianca's smile was perfect. Salvatore shook hands with reporters. The staff moved like shadows, silent but everywhere.
When Lucia walked in, all eyes turned.
She forced a soft smile, the one her mother taught her when she was twelve. A perfect face makes a perfect lie.
Damien sat at the table already. His tie was straight. His hands steady. He looked like he'd had the best sleep of his life. She hated how calm he was. She hated how good he was at pretending.
She sat opposite him. Their eyes met for a split second. Neither of them spoke. But the weight between them was louder than all the voices in the room.
The cameras clicked.
A woman laughed.
Bianca leaned close and whispered, "Keep smiling."
Lucia smiled. It hurt.
When the journalists left, the air changed. Bianca dropped the fake warmth the way a snake sheds its skin.
"You disappeared last night," she said without looking at her daughter.
"I needed air," Lucia replied.
"You don't need air. You need discipline."
Lucia clenched her teeth. "I'm not a soldier."
"No," Bianca said, turning her head slowly. "You're a weapon. And I decide when you fire."
Lucia's fingers tightened against her chair. Her mother's eyes were soft but sharp. That was the thing about Bianca, she didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. She could break you with a whisper.
Lucia left the house as soon as she could.
The wind outside hit her face, and for a moment, she felt like she could breathe again.
She walked down the garden path alone. The air smelled like salt and freedom she couldn't have.
"Miss Lucia."
She turned fast. It was Amir, the young security officer. His voice was calm, but his eyes studied everything around them.
"You followed me," she said.
"No," he answered. "I was told to watch the gate."
She almost laughed. "So, you're watching me."
He didn't deny it.
She kept walking, and he fell in step beside her. It annoyed her, but not enough to tell him to leave. His presence felt different from everyone else's. He didn't carry greed. He didn't fake smiles.
"Rough morning?" he asked.
Lucia gave him a sideways look. "You shouldn't ask questions."
He shrugged. "I'm not asking as a guard."
"Then what are you asking as?"
He paused for a second. "Someone who noticed you're trying very hard not to fall apart."
Her steps slowed. She didn't like how close that felt. "Be careful," she said softly. "People who get too close to me get burned."
"Maybe I don't mind the fire," he replied.
Lucia stared at him for a second too long. She turned away before he could see the small crack in her mask.
Upstairs, Damien sat in his office with the curtains drawn. The file from last night lay open. Money trails. Secret accounts. Names no one was allowed to speak.
He picked up his phone. No message from Elise. No surprise. She was like smoke, she came when she wanted, disappeared when she chose.
He rubbed his face with both hands. He hated this life. He hated the cage built out of gold. But most of all, he hated that Lucia saw it.
The memory of her standing on the balcony last night wouldn't leave him.
Her eyes. Her quiet strength. Her anger.
She wasn't like the women he had known. She didn't bend. She burned.
A message flashed on his screen.
| Meet me tonight. It's about Elise – Lena |
His jaw tightened. His sister never got involved without a reason.
Lucia walked through the old church near the harbor later that afternoon. The air smelled like candles and dust. Light from the stained glass fell on the floor like pieces of fire. She sat on the first bench and stared at the altar.
This is where I'll marry a man I don't love, she thought.
This is where I'll lose myself.
She pressed her hands together but didn't pray. God didn't live in the world she was born into.
A quiet voice broke her thoughts. "You're not alone, you know."
She turned. Amir stood near the door, hands in his pockets, eyes soft.
"I told you not to follow me," she said.
"I didn't," he answered. "I came here on my own."
"Why?"
He stepped closer. "Because I saw your face this morning. I know that look."
Lucia laughed once, but it came out broken. "Do you? Do you know what it's like to have your life sold like a watch at an auction?"
Amir said nothing. He didn't try to comfort her. He just stood there, steady and real. That was worse. It made her feel things she didn't want to feel.
That night, the house was quiet. Lucia returned to her room with her shoes in her hand. Her feet ached, but her heart hurt more.
She closed her door and leaned against it. Her breath came fast, like she had been running even though she hadn't moved at all.
Then she saw it.
A white envelope on the floor. No name. No seal.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
If you want the truth about Damien Vexley, meet me at the marina. Midnight. Come alone.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Outside her window, the sea moved like a secret waiting to be told.