Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
LUCAS
A long, endless table stretches across the open field, draped in deep navy linens and soft ivory runners.
Tiny golden lights hang above like stars caught in a web, casting a warm glow over everyone’s faces.
Candles flicker between tall wine glasses and artfully arranged flowers, and the soft hum of music floats on the evening breeze.
It’s beautiful. Magical even. But all I can feel is the knot in my stomach.
Alex guides me to our seats, his hand still warm on the small of my back. We sit side by side, and his shoulder brushes mine in a way that feels deliberate. Protective.
There are already so many people here—maybe forty or more.
I see Ashley sitting beside Ivana, and she gives me a warm smile.
The table is alive with conversation, laughter, and silverware clinking against porcelain.
Servers move fluidly between guests, pouring wine, setting down plates of food that look like they belong in a magazine.
I don’t touch any of it.
I can’t.
I can feel her eyes on me. Vera.
She’s seated somewhere further down the table, her laugh soft, sweet, and calculated. I don’t even have to look up to know. I feel her gaze sliding over me like silk laced with thorns.
And it’s not just her. There are others, too, some guests whose stares linger a little too long. Whispers I can’t hear, but I can sense all the same. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe not.
Davika stands and says a few words about welcoming everyone, then gives a speech about her makeup brand and how it’s been going. She thanked a few people, including Vera. The rest of what she’s saying blurs in my ear since I couldn’t even concentrate due to the anxiety biting at me.
I push the food around with my fork, pretending. Hoping it’s enough.
“You’re not eating,” Alex says quietly beside me, his voice cutting through the noise like a thread of warmth. I glance up at him. His face is turned slightly toward me, brow furrowed. Concern etched into the sharpness of his features.
I sign quickly, “I’m just not hungry.”
He understands what I just signed because he watches me for a second too long, then leans closer, lowering his voice.
“You’re always hungry, Lucas.”
I give him a dramatic gasp, and he chuckles lightly.
It’s a sexy chuckle I’ve never heard from him before, and while it warms me and reduces my anxiety, it makes something striking travel down my spine.
Holy shit, I miss him.
I miss his lips on mine, the neck kisses he gives me, the things he says to me while he touches me and sends butterflies to my stomach.
The music shifts then, richer, more rhythmic. Laughter rises as people start leaving the table, drifting toward the makeshift dance floor near the edge of the garden, where an outdoor DJ has started to play something low and sensual.
Alex gets pulled into a conversation by someone across the table. I use that moment to slip away. Back into the house. Past the servants. Through the quiet halls. My shoes are too loud against the marble, the silence suddenly deafening after all the laughter and music outside.
I make it to the bathroom and close the door behind me, then grip the edge of the sink and breathe. My curls are starting to frizz from how much I’ve run my hands through them. I want to laugh at myself for thinking about Alexander like that. Please tell me how stupid I look right now.
Another wave of nausea rolls through me, sharp and fast. I grip the sink tightly and squeeze my eyes shut. Breathe, Lucas. Breathe. I let in a deep breath and slowly let it out through my nose, then wipe my clammy hands against my pants and reach for the door.
When I open it, he’s standing there.
Alex.
Tall, silent, unbothered—and his eyes are on me, locked in, like he’s been waiting. Like he knows something’s wrong.
We just… stare.
And suddenly, all I can think of is her.
Vera. Her skin against his. Her lips on his.
The way she talked about him, so casually, like he was hers.
Like she knew parts of him I hadn’t even begun to touch.
I imagine his hands on her body, the way they’d touched me in his penthouse.
I imagine his mouth on her neck, her hips in his grip. I feel sick all over again.
“Do you want me to take you home?” he asks, his voice low, soft. It cuts through the mess in my head, but I don’t answer. I just stare at him, caught again by how stupidly, cruelly handsome he is. Everything about him makes my chest hurt.
“Lucas—”
“Show me your room.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them.
I immediately want to pass out.
His room? What the hell, Lucas?
His brow lifts slightly, and he tilts his head, studying me. The hallway feels way too quiet. Way too bright. I can feel the heat rushing up my neck, crawling into my face.
“My room?” he says finally, voice unreadable.
I nod, swallowing thickly.
“I mean… You used to live here, right? You have your own room.” I try to sound casual, but my voice comes out all wrong. Tight and breathless.
I need someone to shut me up, please, please. I swear this is one of the reasons I hate that I can speak to him freely.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just keeps looking at me like he’s trying to solve something. Like I’m a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces, but he’s determined to put it together anyway.
Then, finally, he nods once.
“It’s upstairs,” he says. “I’ll show you.”
He turns and starts walking, and I follow.
My legs feel like they’re moving on their own.
***
The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.
I follow Alex through the east wing of the mansion, my heart thudding against my ribs like it wants to escape. The further we go, the more distant the sounds of laughter and music become, swallowed by silence and marble. Every step echoes. Every breath feels heavier.
His room is at the far end, tucked away from everything else. Of course it is. Of course, Alex would exist slightly outside the world like this—close, but never quite reachable.
He opens the door and gestures for me to get in.
My feet move before my brain catches up.
It’s warm in here. Unexpectedly warm. Soft lighting spills across the room, casting shadows on dark, elegant furniture.
The bed is massive. The walls are lined with shelves and lots of books.
A single painting hangs above the headboard: a stormy ocean, with all its churning waves and silver skies.
I glance around, trying not to let my nerves show.
“It’s… more cozy than your penthouse,” I murmur, then look back at him.
Alex hums, tugging at the collar of his shirt, his fingers unfastening the first button with deliberate slowness.
Then he pulls at his tie, loosening it with one hand.
I don’t mean to stare at his neck, but I do.
At the curve of it. The subtle pulse just beneath his skin.
His big, veiny hands. The muscles shift beneath his sleeves.
I should not stare, but I do
“You have ten seconds to stop looking at me like that,” he says, voice deep and smooth, “or I’m going to come over there and kiss you, and I will not stop with just that.”
The words land in my chest like fire.
I try to look away. I really do. But I can’t. My gaze clings to him, hungry, terrified, lost. Ten seconds. Ten seconds of thunderous silence stretch between us.
And then he moves.
His stride is slow but purposeful—like a predator who already knows there’s no escape. My breath catches. I instinctively take a half-step back. But he reaches me, his hands grip my waist, pulling me in like I belong nowhere else but here.
Then, his mouth is on mine.
There’s nothing gentle about it. No patience.
Just heat and desperation and something raw, something I can’t name but feel down to my knees.
It steals my breath. I gasp into the kiss, and it feels like relief, like I’ve been drowning all night and only now remembered how to breathe.
His lips are fierce, claiming and relentless, moving against mine like he’s trying to brand me, like he needs me to feel him.
His hands grip my jaw, tilting my face to deepen the kiss, to take more, and I give in without thinking because there’s no room for thought anymore. Just this ache and heat, and the way my body shudders as his mouth devours mine.
My hands tremble as I grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer like I’ll break if there’s even a sliver of space left between us.
And dear heaven, he tastes so good, so freaking mesmerizing.
His hands slide down my back, tugging at my jacket. He strips it off with ease, letting it fall to the floor. Then my shirt—his fingers slip between the buttons of my silk shirt and push it off my shoulders. I don’t stop him. I can’t. I want more.
He lifts me effortlessly, and I let out a breathless gasp as he sets me down on the edge of the table.
My thighs wrap around his waist on instinct, and his cock, already hard through his pants, rubs against mine with just enough friction to make me lose my mind.
My back arches. I moan, desperate and soft, biting my lip like that’ll stop me from falling apart.
His mouth moves to my neck.
“Can’t get used to how good you taste,” he breathes, then bites down gently, sucking until I shiver. I tip my head back, offering more.
My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, grounding myself while he keeps sucking and biting, keeps touching, keeps driving me insane.
There’s nothing in the world but him. His hands are on my bare skin.
His hips grind into mine again as he kisses me.
I let out a gasp against his lips, my voice caught somewhere between a whimper and a plea.
“Take off my shirt, Lucas,” He orders, voice rough, breaking our kiss.