29. InOut. #2
He's leaning one shoulder against the heavy wooden mantel of the unlit fireplace, his arms crossed over his massive, bare chest.
He has a lethal, dark aura, and seems completely at ease amidst the chaos he just unleashed.
We are watching the scene in almost absolute silence, forming a circle around the two of them. We're all intrigued by the fact that, apparently, they know each other very well. And by the fact that Susan completely lost her shit the second Lucien revealed his face.
"Yeah, well..." he comments, his voice a glacial, ruthless rasp. "What's absurd is that you were about to screw that little lab rat in the hallway."
"Who I screw is strictly my own fucking business!" she yells back, taking a step forward, her fists clenched at her sides. "And besides, look who's talking... coming from you! The guy who literally fucks anything that breathes!"
Lucien doesn't flinch. In fact. One side of his mouth lifts into a slow, arrogant, and fucking cruel smirk.
"Jealous, little sister?"
Our jaws drop in unison. I freeze, exchanging a shocked look with Emma and Carolina.
"Or should I say Susan?" he continues, pushing off the mantel to tower over her. His calm begins to crack, letting a possessive rage leak through. "What the fuck is this, some perverted roleplay?"
"Go to hell, Lucien."
She breathes heavily, her chest rising and falling convulsively beneath her wrinkled dress. Then, she tears her gaze away from his. She slowly turns toward us.
She bites her lower lip, hesitating for a long, agonizing second.
"Guys..." she murmurs. Then her eyes seek out me, Carolina, Indya, and Emma. Probably because she was starting to bond with our group. "Girls... I... I have to tell you something."
"That you have a ridiculously hot brother?" Indya cuts in, breaking the ice with her usual, brazen lack of filters.
Emma gives her a quick swat on the arm.
"What?" Indya defends herself, holding her hands up. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking. He's the literal earthly incarnation of the dark cowboy, you can't ignore the objective facts."
Despite the dramatic situation, a tiny, involuntary smirk tugs at the corner of Susan's mouth.
"No... I mean, yes, this arrogant prick is my brother," she admits, waving an annoyed hand at him.
Lucien rolls his eyes with an exasperated expression.
"But wait a second..." Katherine interrupts her, pushing her glasses up her nose with an analytical look. "In your intro video, you clearly stated that you weren't a cowgirl. We all saw it."
"Yeah... that's what I need to tell you." Susan takes a deep breath, her shoulders dropping as if she's shedding a massive weight. "The truth is, I am. And... my name isn't Susan. I'm Melusine."
And with that, she reaches both hands up to her thick, teased blonde hair. Her fingers slip under the hairline, pulling. With a sharp sound, she literally rips the blonde wig off her head.
The contrast is stunning. A cascade of wavy, brunette hair tumbles messily over her shoulders.
"B-but why?" Emma asks, her big eyes going wide.
Melusine clutches the wig in her hands, dropping her gaze for a moment. "I just wanted to be someone else for... a little while. To be different. I'm sorry, girls..."
Carolina surprises us all. With unexpected sweetness, she closes the distance separating her from Melusine. She steps up beside her and rests a hand on her shoulder.
"Who cares what your name is or... what you do outside of here," she tells her, her voice stripped of any trace of her usual sarcasm. "You're our friend. We'll call you whatever the hell you want, and more importantly, you can be whoever you want to be."
Carolina's words hit me. I'm not used to seeing her so empathetic and profound; usually, she's just an unstoppable whirlwind of energy and carefree vibes.
But then... I vaguely remember reading her story in the tabloids that occasionally flood the internet.
The oppressive pressures of the crown. The royal scandals.
Her, her twin sister, and her brother constantly in the ruthless crosshairs of the paparazzi.
I think Carolina knows a thing or two, much more than anyone else in here, about what it means to desperately want to be someone else.
Empathy is contagious. Indya nods, taking a step forward. Emma smiles sweetly at her. In a silent chorus of female solidarity, we let her know that the wig and the lies don't change anything about what we've shared so far.
The only one who remains completely immune to the tender moment is the massive dark shadow standing behind Melusine.
"Okay... very sentimental. I'm tearing up," Lucien comments. His voice is a block of ice. He pushes off the mantel, towering over us. "Which room is ours, Melusine?"
I stare at his hard gaze. He really seems like a fucking dickhead. It doesn't surprise me at all that she can't stand him.
I'm about to turn to Carolina to comment on the pathetic scene, when a puff of hot air tickles the nape of my neck.
"What's going on?"
The low, raspy, unmistakable voice vibrating right against my ear sends shivers from my head to my toes. An electric jolt that paralyzes my breath.
I whip around.
And, in the exact moment my eyes meet his, everything else vanishes, swallowed by nothingness.
Because Ron Willers is standing right behind me. And he's giving me a slow, lethal wink.
My gaze drops inexorably downward.
Resting against his right thigh, gripped firmly in his hand... is the branding iron from the challenge.
The one he promised to get for me.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.