The mansion was quiet. The gala's chaos was a distant memory, but the echoes of last night's accidental kiss and the public tension still lingered between them.
Elara sat on the balcony, wrapped in a soft cashmere blanket, watching the city lights twinkle below. Her heart refused to slow. Every moment from the gala, every brush of Lucien's hand, every lingering look… it haunted her.
"You're still awake," a deep voice said behind her.
Lucien stepped onto the balcony, his dark eyes fixed on her. The faint city lights reflected in them, making him look impossibly intense.
"I couldn't sleep," she admitted, pulling the blanket tighter around her.
He walked closer, his presence dominating the small space. "Neither could I," he said quietly. His voice wasn't commanding now. It was raw, unguarded—a side of him few people saw.
She swallowed hard. "Lucien… about last night…"
He raised a brow, stepping even closer, until the distance between them was almost unbearable. "I'm aware," he murmured.
"It… it shouldn't have happened," she whispered, looking down, ashamed.
His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "It wasn't a mistake," he said softly. "Not for me. Not ever."
Her heart skipped. "I—" she began, but the words caught in her throat.
He leaned closer, and the space between them shrank until their foreheads almost touched. The warmth of his body, the weight of his presence, made her pulse race uncontrollably.
"You're mine, Elara," he said, voice low and husky. "I don't care about rules, or appearances, or contracts anymore. You—you are mine. And I… I can't stop thinking about you, wanting you, needing you."
Her chest burned. She wanted to deny it. She wanted to pull back. But deep down… she knew he was right. She felt the same.
"Lucien…" she whispered, voice trembling, "I—"
He pressed a finger under her chin, lifting her face to meet his gaze. "Say it," he demanded softly, almost painfully. "Say you feel the same. Admit it."
Her lips parted. Her heart pounded. Her entire body trembled.
"I… I feel the same," she confessed, barely above a whisper.
His eyes darkened, intense and magnetic. "Do you?" he murmured, leaning closer, their lips just inches apart. The heat, the tension, the desire between them was suffocating.
"Yes," she breathed. "I can't… stop thinking about you either."
He closed the remaining space between them, just enough that their breaths mingled, their hearts racing in perfect synchrony.
Lucien's hand brushed against her cheek, lingering, tender yet possessive. "Then stop resisting me," he whispered. "Because I'm not going anywhere. And I will never let you go."
Her knees trembled. She wanted to reach for him, to finally close the gap—but she stopped herself, savoring the tension, the anticipation, the dangerous pull between them.
Lucien rested his forehead against hers, dark eyes searching hers, reading her like he always did. "Tonight," he murmured, voice husky, "we don't need to fight it. We just… feel. Together."
Her lips curved into a trembling smile. "Together," she whispered.
And for the first time, the slow-burn tension that had haunted them for weeks finally shifted into something undeniable, private, and intimate.
The city lights twinkled below, but all that mattered was the heat between them, the unspoken promises, and the realization that neither of them could deny it any longer.