I couldn't breathe.
Those eyes—
They weren't the eyes of a dying man.
They were sharp. Calculating. Alive in a way that made my stomach drop.
Predatory.
"Lucien…" My voice came out weaker than I intended.
He didn't answer.
He just watched me.
Like he was seeing me for the first time.
No.
Worse.
Like he had always been watching… and I was only just noticing.
A slow, deliberate sound broke the silence.
The creak of metal.
My eyes dropped.
His hand rested on the arm of the wheelchair.
Then—
He pushed.
And stood up.
I stumbled back.
"No…" I whispered, shaking my head. "No, that's not—"
But it was.
Lucien Valtieri stood in front of me.
Not weak.
Not fragile.
Not broken.
Tall. Steady. Powerful.
Every inch of him radiated control—the kind that couldn't be faked, couldn't be learned.
The kind that ruled.
My back hit the wall before I even realized I was moving.
"You…" My voice trembled. "You can walk."
A small tilt of his head.
Almost curious.
"Obviously."
The word hit harder than a slap.
Five years.
Five years of silence. Of distance. Of pretending.
Five years of me believing—
"You lied to me," I said, my chest tightening. "This entire time—"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No guilt.
Just truth.
Cold. Clean. Final.
My fingers curled into my palms. "Why?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he took a step toward me.
Slow.
Measured.
Terrifying.
I felt it—every inch of that distance closing like a trap snapping shut.
"Because," he said quietly, "you were never supposed to matter."
That hurt more than it should have.
More than I expected.
But before I could respond—
The TV behind him flickered.
The news still playing.
"…the victim, Elena Moretti, was pronounced dead at the scene…"
My breath caught.
My eyes snapped back to him.
Silence stretched.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
"Did you—" My throat went dry. "Was that you?"
Lucien didn't look away.
Didn't blink.
Didn't deny it.
"Yes."
The room spun.
"You killed her?" I whispered.
"She threatened you."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"That doesn't mean you—she was my sister!"
"Step-sister," he corrected calmly.
"Lucien!"
My voice cracked.
But he didn't flinch.
Didn't soften.
"She humiliated you. Repeatedly," he continued, like he was listing facts, not confessing to murder. "She put her hands on you."
I froze.
"She crossed a line."
A chill slid down my spine.
"And people who cross my lines…" His gaze darkened. "…don't get to live."
Something inside me snapped.
"That wasn't your decision to make!"
For the first time—
He moved fast.
One second he was across the room.
The next—
He was right in front of me.
Too close.
Far too close.
My breath hitched as his hand came up—
Not rough.
Not gentle.
Just… certain.
His fingers tilted my chin upward, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"You're wrong," he said softly.
The softness was worse than anger.
Much worse.
"It is."
My pulse went wild.
"You don't get to decide things like that!" I pushed against his chest, but he didn't budge. "You don't get to control everything!"
A pause.
Then—
A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips.
"I already do."
My stomach dropped.
"You were a contract, Ophelia," he continued, his voice low, wrapping around me like smoke. "A responsibility. Nothing more."
My chest tightened.
"Then why now?" I demanded. "Why tell me the truth? Why break the lie?"
His thumb brushed—just barely—against my jaw.
The first real touch in five years.
Electric.
Possessive.
Terrifying.
"Because you saw me."
My breath caught.
"That press conference…" he murmured. "You noticed."
I shook my head slightly. "It was just a silhouette—"
"And you still recognized me."
Silence.
Heavy.
Charged.
His eyes locked onto mine.
"And that," he said, voice dropping into something darker… deeper… "means I can't keep you in the dark anymore."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
This time, when he stepped closer—
There was nowhere left to go.
His body caged mine against the wall, heat and danger pressing in from all sides.
"Because," he said slowly, "you're no longer just my wife on paper."
My pulse stuttered.
His forehead almost brushed mine.
Close enough that I could feel his breath.
"From this moment on…"
My lips parted slightly.
"…you belong to me."
Everything went still.
My thoughts.
My breath.
The world.
"No," I whispered, even though my voice betrayed me. "That's not part of the deal."
"That deal is over."
His hand slid from my chin to my throat—not squeezing, just resting there.
Claiming.
Owning.
Rewriting everything I thought I knew.
"You lived in my house," he continued softly. "Wore my name. Carried my reputation."
His grip tightened—just slightly.
"Now you'll carry something else."
Fear curled in my chest.
"What?"
His eyes darkened.
"Me."
I should have pushed him away.
Should have fought harder.
Should have run.
But I didn't.
Because deep down—
I knew.
There was nowhere in this city I could go…
…where Lucien Valtieri wouldn't find me.