Chapter 20
T he silence in the limo feels thick and suffocating, pressing down heavily between us. Lucian sits rigidly at my side, his jaw clenched so tightly that I can practically hear his teeth grinding.
His gaze is fixed straight ahead, eyes distant yet smoldering with barely-contained fury. He’s nearly shaking with it, his breathing measured in careful, controlled breaths.
I stare down at my hands, shoulders tense, still replaying the incident in my mind. Seeing Lucian move like that—swift, brutal, precise—made it clear this wasn’t new to him.
This isn’t something he learned just to protect his companions. He’s done worse. Probably killed before.
And yet, despite knowing that, I can’t deny the unsettling rush of attraction that surged through me when I watched him handle that asshole.
It’s insane. Completely irrational. But I've never felt safer than I do right now, sitting next to Lucian Vale.
I glance toward him subtly, noticing the way his fists rest clenched in his lap. There’s blood smeared across his knuckles, a jagged line split open from striking that asshole’s jaw.
Without thinking, I lean closer, concern tightening in my chest.
“You’re hurt,” I murmur softly, reaching instinctively toward his hand.
He barely registers my voice, eyes flicking to me only after I’ve moved.
He glances down at his knuckle like he’d almost forgotten it was there, but his expression remains impassive, betraying nothing.
“Dammit, Lucian,” I mutter, scooting forward quickly toward the small built-in bar across from us. I snatch up a napkin, pressing it gently to the bloody gash on his knuckle.
My touch is cautious, hesitant, but his hand remains perfectly still beneath mine.
“You shouldn’t have fought him,” I scold quietly, pressing lightly on the wound. I glance up and immediately frown when I see amusement flickering in his eyes.
“You find this funny?”
“Not funny,” he replies evenly, his voice low and smooth—infuriatingly calm compared to my own anxiety. “But your sudden concern is rather charming.”
I huff out a breath, irritation flaring. He’s humored by my worry—of course he is. But despite the annoyance, I keep tending to his hand.
He doesn't pull away, even though part of me fully expected him to brush off my attempt and do it himself.
I don’t know why he’s letting me help, but I can’t deny the warmth blossoming in my chest at the simple intimacy. My fingertips linger on his skin longer than necessary, my pulse quickening slightly at the roughness of his hands, the strength beneath.
He watches silently, carefully studying every movement as if memorizing them.
I set the bloodied napkin aside and grab a fresh cloth one, scooping a handful of ice cubes from the bucket. Wrapping it neatly, I gently press the cold bundle to his knuckle.
“You seem to have a lot of drama and crisis in your life.” I look from the napkin to him and maybe shouldn’t have. There’s an intensity in his gaze, dark and so close—much closer than I realized.
“Y–you should have a Crisis and PR department at the Ledger. Let them handle these things for you.”
A hint of amusement flickers in his eyes, breaking through some of the lingering tension. “You think my problems can be solved with a press release?”
I shrug, fighting a smile. “I don’t know. Have you tried solving things without punching someone?”
Lucian tilts his head slightly, studying me with renewed curiosity. “You have a better idea, then?”
“Maybe,” I tease lightly, dabbing the ice carefully against his knuckles. “Why solve problems yourself when you can pay someone else to make them disappear?”
He chuckles softly, the deep, rich sound resonating through the enclosed space, sending warmth pooling in my stomach. His gaze softens just enough to make my breath hitch.
“If you're so good at crisis management, why didn’t you go into PR when you graduated? You’re smart. You certainly could have.”
I huff out a breath, rolling my eyes instinctively. His palm twitches beneath my touch, fingers curling into a tight fist again, and a thrill of satisfaction ripples through me.
I love getting that reaction from him.
But I answer plainly, quietly, deciding suddenly that honesty feels safer than playing games.
“My ex-boyfriend,” I say simply, eyes trained on his hand, avoiding his gaze. “He didn’t exactly encourage ambition.”
Lucian’s posture shifts subtly. His hand tightens once more, knuckles whitening, before he forces it to relax again. He turns his face toward the window, the muscle in his jaw twitching.
I bite back a satisfied smirk at his reaction, enjoying it far more than I should.
The limo fills with silence, tense and charged, before he finally speaks again, voice deceptively calm.
“This ex,” he murmurs carefully, still staring out the window. “It was serious, then?”
I swallow, suddenly aware of the heat radiating from him, how close we're sitting, our knees almost brushing. My heart pounds harder in my chest. “We dated since high school. He was the first—the only—boy I ever loved.”
I allow myself to lean in slightly, savoring the faint tremble of tension rolling off him.
Inspecting the cut, I press the ice more gently now, my voice dropping as I concentrate. “Hell, he’s the only boy I’ve ever even kissed.”
His head snaps back around, eyes blazing fiercely into mine, the possessiveness clear and unguarded for one brief, heated moment.
This time I don't hide my smirk, a small thrill racing through me at his jealousy.
Good. Let him think about that.
If only he knew how many other firsts I’ve yet to experience. Like oral.
I’m no virgin. Ben and I had sex plenty of times since we were seventeen. I learned how to suck dick, testing things out on him. But he would never go down on me. No matter how much I showered or shaved. If the room was dark. Nothing.
Hell, I could’ve jumped clean off a bar of soap, ready to be devoured, and he still would’ve told me he couldn’t do it.
I wonder what Lucian would do if he knew. Would he lay me down, pull my panties to the side, and give me a long, slow lick?
Jesus.
This line of thinking is dangerous, especially since I’m currently holding Lucian’s hand in my lap. It would be so easy to spread my legs just a bit, guiding his hand between them, letting him feel how wet I am just imagining his mouth there.
Thankfully, the limo slows to a stop in front of my building, dragging me out of my fantasy.
Lucian gently slips his hand from mine, stepping out first. He straightens, gaze sharp as it scans my building, the street, and the shadowed corners nearby. Even now, he's alert, protective. It sends warmth curling through me again, though in a different way than moments ago.
When he’s apparently satisfied we’re safe, he extends his hand, helping me out of the limo. His touch remains firm, possessive even, as he guides me toward my door.
“You don’t have to walk me up,” I murmur softly, suddenly shy beneath his intense scrutiny.
“I’m walking you up,” he replies firmly, leaving no room for argument.
Okay.
We enter the building, stopping at the elevator. The silence settles over us again, punctuated only by the soft hum of machinery.
Lucian finally breaks it, voice low and carefully neutral. “Your ex. He still bother you?”
I shake my head, shrugging slightly. “No. Not exactly. He just—he still has a key to my apartment. It weirds me out sometimes, but the landlord refuses to change the locks.”
Lucian’s entire body stiffens beside me, his jaw tightening again into that now-familiar scowl. Clearly, he doesn’t like that one bit.
“That’s unacceptable,” he says coldly, anger barely concealed. “You shouldn't have to worry about your own safety.”
“I don’t think Ben would ever?—”
“Doesn't matter,” he cuts in sharply. “You shouldn't have to question it. Ever.”
I swallow, heat rising in my cheeks as we step onto the elevator, tension heavy between us. When we reach my floor, he insists on walking me right to my door, clearly still bothered.
“Thanks for tonight,” I whisper softly, fumbling with my keys, certain he’s about to turn and leave now that I'm safely home.
He doesn’t move. Instead, he looks down at his injured knuckle again, flexing his hand briefly before looking up, voice unexpectedly gentle.
“You wouldn’t have a band-aid, would you?”
My heart skips a beat, warmth spreading through my chest at the quiet intimacy in his request.
“Yeah,” I reply softly, stepping aside and opening the door wider. “Come on in.”
The moment we cross the threshold into my apartment, something shifts in me. Lucian’s presence here feels startlingly intimate—maybe even invasive—and my heart pounds unevenly in response.
A flush of self-consciousness overtakes me as I glance quickly around the room, suddenly seeing everything through his eyes.
Is it too messy? Too small?
Does he think it’s childish or pathetic?
Lucian remains quiet as he enters, glancing around discreetly, clearly trying not to make it obvious he’s checking my apartment for threats.
The gesture should annoy me, but instead, it sends another wave of heat rushing beneath my skin. Still, I roll my eyes slightly and say,
"If you want to make sure there are no boogeymen lurking around, feel free to look."
He pauses, a brief smirk touching his lips before he abandons the pretense entirely, stalking quietly through my home. He flips on lights, looking inside closets and behind doors, meticulously ensuring everything is safe.
It’s oddly comforting, watching him prowl like that—protective, thorough, his powerful frame moving with calm, controlled purpose.
But my blood freezes in my veins when he reaches my bedroom doorway and stops abruptly, body going tense. My stomach drops.
Oh no.
I’d completely forgotten my vibrator was still sitting boldly on the nightstand, charging.
After last night’s stunt with Lucian’s "hands on the desk" command, followed by the Devil pinning me possessively at The Masquerade, I’d practically burned the thing out trying to find release.
For a full, agonizing minute, Lucian doesn’t move.
He simply stares at the nightstand, unmoving, before finally walking into the bedroom, checking the rest of the space. Heat surges over my entire body, embarrassment mingled with a perverse thrill that he now knows exactly what he does to me.
He finishes quickly, inspecting my bathroom, closet, and the balcony, carefully checking the locks. I remain rooted in place by the kitchen counter, hands flat on the cool surface, heart hammering so loudly he can probably hear it.
When Lucian returns to the living room, he stands there silently, tall and devastatingly attractive, hands planted firmly on his hips as he slowly sweeps his gaze around my apartment again.
Watching him like this, all lethal intensity and restrained strength, sends desire coiling low and tight in my belly.
"Can I get you?—"
“You should get an alarm system,” he cuts me off firmly, meeting my eyes with fierce seriousness.
I press my lips together, fighting off a smirk that I’m sure shows anyway. “Okay.”
He studies me silently for another beat, tension flickering between us before he takes a deep breath, straightening. “I should go.”
My throat feels dry, and my heart sinks at the idea of him leaving, but I force a small smile. “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lucian gives me a final, lingering glance that sends chills dancing over my skin, then turns and quietly lets himself out.
I exhale shakily as the door clicks shut behind him, unable to deny the burning ache still pulsing steadily between my legs—or the realization that Lucian Vale, in my home, feels far more dangerous to me than any threat he just checked for.
* * *
I wake up feeling... weirdly amazing.
The kind of sleep that settles deep into your bones and doesn’t let go until morning. I blink slowly at the ceiling, stretched comfortably in my sheets, and let out a little sigh of satisfaction.
Must’ve been the combination of three toe-curling orgasms—thank you, newly-charged vibrator—and the residual adrenaline from watching Lucian beat the ever-loving shit out of a creep in a tailored suit.
Apparently violence and orgasms are the key to restful slumber. Who knew?
By the time I’m showered, dressed, and out of my robe, the apartment smells like toasted bagel and fresh coffee. I spread my favorite honey-walnut schmear over the warm bread, humming softly, when a sharp knock at the door makes me pause.
I glance at the clock, frowning. It’s still early. Too early for unexpected visitors.
I peek through the peephole and immediately groan.
Great. My landlord.
Mr. Jenkins stands in the hall, arms crossed and mouth turned downward in his usual disapproving way. He always looks like a pissed-off rat with an oily comb-over and a vendetta against joy.
I open the door cautiously. “Morning?”
“There’s a locksmith here,” he grumbles. “Needs about fifteen minutes. Says he’s here to change your locks.”
I blink, stunned. “Wait—what?”
Before I can even gather my thoughts, he shoves a glossy packet into my hands. “And this too. Security alarm’s been activated. You just gotta set the code.”
I stare at the pamphlet and know without a shadow of doubt who did this.
Of course.
Lucian.
My shock gives way to hot, bubbling irritation. My blood starts to simmer.
Oh, he did not.
He did not go over my head, tangle up my already miserable landlord, and take control of my apartment without saying a damn word.
If he gets me evicted for violating some weird clause in my lease, I will skin him alive.
Mr. Jenkins is already walking away by the time I manage a strained, “Thanks, I guess.”
I let the locksmith in. He’s polite, quiet, and disturbingly fast, installing a shiny new electronic deadbolt in record time. When he hands me two fresh keys and tells me the system is ready to program, I give him a tight smile while fantasizing about throttling a certain steel-eyed control freak.
By the time everything’s finished, I check the time and nearly scream. I’m going to be late.
Fucking fantastic.
No doubt Lucian will use it as an excuse to sentence me to another humiliating stand-off in “time out” at his desk—like a misbehaving toddler in need of public shaming.
And it’ll be his fault. But that won’t matter.
I glance longingly at my untouched bagel, now slightly cold on the counter. I’m too pissed to eat it. I shove it into a napkin, toss it into my purse, and slam the door behind me after punching in the new alarm code.
Letting out a deep breath, I storm through the lobby, fuming, heels clicking with purpose. I’m ready to let Lucian Vale have it.
But the moment I push open the front doors, a man in a black suit steps forward from the sidewalk.
“Sienna Knight?”
My shoulders sag as I catch sight of the sleek black SUV parked behind him, polished to perfection. And then I see the logo—etched in gold, small and subtle on the rear passenger window.
BL.
Ledger transport.
Of course he sent a car.
The driver opens the door smoothly, offering me a respectful nod. “I’ll be driving you to work, ma’am.”
I stare at him for a second, debating whether to launch into a tirade here and now. But... fine. This guy is an innocent bystander.
And at least this way I might actually get to The Ledger on time and spare myself whatever demeaning punishment Lucian’s cooked up for tardiness.
With a huff and a dramatic eye roll, I climb into the backseat.
He thinks he’s clever.
Let’s see how he likes getting a taste of his own medicine.