The morning sun spilled into the mansion, but Elara felt anything but bright.
Yesterday's confrontation with Lucien had left her heart racing, her thoughts tangled. She'd tried to focus on the tasks at hand, the errands, the endless emails and phone calls she had to make to manage her mother's hospital bills—but nothing could keep her mind from replaying his touch, his words, the way he had claimed her so completely.
She didn't hear the front door open.
"Elara," a familiar voice called from the living room.
Startled, she dropped the papers she was sorting.
Lucien.
Already dressed, already impeccably composed, already radiating the cold, commanding aura that made her chest tighten every time he was near.
"We have guests coming," he said simply.
Elara blinked. "Guests? Today?"
"Yes. Important ones. And one of them is… curious about you."
Her stomach dropped. Curious about her?
By the time the guests arrived, the mansion was alive with laughter, polite conversation, and the faint clink of crystal glasses.
Elara forced herself to smile, to play the role of Lucien's wife. But she felt exposed, vulnerable.
One guest in particular caught her attention immediately.
Adrian Kane.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
And yet… there he was, leaning casually against the grand staircase, his charming smile aimed at her.
Her chest tightened.
Before she could react, Lucien's hand found hers under the table.
"You will stay close," he whispered, jaw tight. "And don't… don't even think about looking at him."
Elara's pulse quickened. The possessiveness, the control, the danger—it thrilled her even as it terrified her.
Dinner began.
Polite conversation. Laughter. Lucien's arm around her waist when she walked. His eyes constantly scanning, protective, warning.
Then it happened.
Adrian leaned a little too close, his hand brushing hers under the table.
Elara froze.
Lucien noticed immediately. His grip on her hand tightened, almost painfully.
"Do you want to embarrass yourself?" he murmured, voice low, threatening.
Elara's cheeks burned. "I—he didn't—"
"Doesn't matter," Lucien snapped, his eyes darkening. "No one touches you like that."
Her heart hammered. She could feel the heat of his body pressing against her side, the tension radiating from him. The room suddenly seemed to shrink around them.
Adrian noticed the sudden cold in Lucien's gaze. He froze, then slowly pulled his hand back, hands raised in surrender.
Lucien leaned closer, whispering just for her.
"You are mine. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she whispered, trembling.
The rest of the dinner passed in a tense blur. Elara could barely focus, her mind spinning with every glance, every unspoken word, every tiny movement that reminded her just how much control Lucien had—and how much she wanted him to have it.
After the guests left, she followed him silently to the balcony, needing air, needing space to think.
"Why does it have to be like this?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer immediately. He lit a cigarette, the glow from the tip reflecting in his dark eyes.
"Because I don't tolerate threats," he said finally. "And you… you're everything I can't lose. Understand?"
Her lips trembled. "Yes…"
He stepped closer, the smoke curling between them. "Elara… you're mine. Not just by contract. Not just by law. You… you're mine in every way that counts. And if anyone ever forgets that…" His voice dropped low, dangerous, intimate, "…I'll make them regret it."
Her breath caught.
That night, as the city lights blinked below them, Elara realized she wasn't just living under a contract.
She was living under Lucien Blackwood's claim, and she didn't know if she wanted to escape—or if she even could.