Chapter 12
Lucia
Garrett was waiting for us in his full uniform—hat and all. But the car wasn’t just any car. It was a limousine. He held the door open, and Mr Dubois helped me in while I gathered my dress.
I winced the moment I spotted another bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.
Was the man trying to get me drunk—or was he just a functioning alcoholic?
Nope. I was sticking to my two-drink rule.
I slid to the far side of the car, putting some distance between us. But when he settled in beside me, he spread his legs and his knee grazed mine. Too close. Close enough that I could smell his body wash or aftershave—maybe both.
The car rolled forward, and he reached for the champagne.
One glass.
Just one.
?? ?? ??
I sighed and sank deeper into the bedding. It was soft, clean, and the mattress firm—too firm.
Wait.
Dinner. There’d been dinner.
Laughter. Champagne. His voice.
How—?
My eyes blinked open to darkness. The kind that swallowed light whole.
For a moment, I lay still, trying to piece the night together. The last thing I remembered was the waiter setting down dessert. Then—nothing.
A sound. Soft. A shift in the air.
A shadow slid through the edge of my vision, too quick to place.
My pulse kicked.
This wasn’t my room.
The air felt wrong. Cooler. Quieter. Like the world outside didn’t exist. I was being paranoid.
I reached for the lamp.
Something smooth and foreign tugged at my wrist.
Silk.
The breath left my lungs in a single, sharp exhale.
I tugged again—slow, deliberate. My wrists met resistance, soft but firm. It didn’t hurt. Not exactly. But it held.
The darkness pressed in, thick and quiet. No streetlight slashed through the curtains. No TV glow. No hotel lamp casting its familiar golden wash over the room.
My heart began to thump.
I swallowed.
“Hello?” My voice cracked and I winced. I sounded weak.
The silence felt wrong. It wasn’t peaceful—it was expectant.
Then—something moved.
There, in the corner. A shift, the barest scrape of something on the carpet.
I bolted upright—or tried to.
My arms wouldn’t move the way they were supposed to. My shoulders strained, and the binds held firm. My head spun with the effort.
Think, Lucia.
Dinner.
Champagne.
God, how much had I drunk?
The memories skipped like a scratched disc.
His hand pouring. My hand holding the glass.
Toast. A joke I didn’t understand.
His eyes—dark, sharp. Watching me over the rim of his glass.
I shifted again, but I couldn't move my legs at all. My calves were bound to my thighs.
I lay frozen. The realisation that I was bound to this bed and unable to straighten my legs.
A shape moved.
The faintest gleam of something—buttons? A cufflink?
Then I heard him.
“You’re awake.”
The voice came from the far end of the room. Calm.
Mr Dubois.
I froze. My skin prickled.
“Wh-where am I?” I managed.
A pause. Then footsteps.
Slow and heavy, yet controlled.
He walked toward the window and pulled the curtain just slightly—just enough.
Moonlight bled into the room. I blinked at the light.
His outline emerged. Tall and poised.
A shadow carved in the silver moonlight.
“I was beginning to think you’d sleep through the night,” he said softly.
His hands slid into his pockets. His head tilted slightly, watching me.
My pulse stuttered.
“Why—why am I—” I couldn’t finish it. The words lodged in my throat.
He stepped back into the darkness, just out of reach of the light.
“You’re safe,” he said. “Very safe, in fact.”
I didn’t feel safe.
I felt like prey that had woken up in a hunter’s den.
Wrapped in silk, yes. But silk could still strangle.
In the silence, the only sound was my breathing—shallow, uneven—until the faint rustle of fabric broke through.
He was removing his black suit jacket.
“You signed an NDA while working in my office, Lucia,” he said, voice even. “But I’m a cautious man. Tonight, I’ll be taking note of some evidence—should you ever try to blackmail me.”
“W-What?”
What was he talking about?
What the fuck was he talking about?
I tugged at the silk again, but it only tightened, whispering against my wrists.
“Unfortunately,” he continued, tone calm in that way that was somehow worse, “I’ve been bitten before. And a man like myself can never be too careful.”
Buttons clicked. One by one.
The white of his shirt caught in the moonlight.
“Mr Dub—”
“I think,” he interrupted softly, “you can call me Laurent.”
A low chuckle followed, dark and sure of itself—like he’d already decided how the next few minutes would play out.
I was still mentally catching up while he reached for his waistband. That NDA. The specific NDA for working as his PA.
I’d read it several times before signing it in the presence of HR and legal.
No legal claims shall be brought against Mr Laurent Xavier Dubois by the undersigned.
Any attempt to disclose or malign Mr Dubois—whether regarding personal or professional matters—will result in immediate termination of employment and potential legal action.
“I don’t suffer fools gladly,” he murmured, settling on the edge of the bed.
“But something tells me you’re no fool. You were all over me tonight…”
He leaned in, breath warm at my ear. “Like a good breeding bitch should be.”
Did he just say—?
I couldn’t think.
The air hit my skin like ice.
He’d pulled the covers down.
I was naked.
My mind went blank.