Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Sophie
What happened to my nice, orderly life?
The question loops through me like a client’s compulsive spending cycle.
My stomach knots as Derek pulls to a stop in front of the towering glass building that houses Hawthorne & Pierce’s offices.
The sunlight has transformed the surface into a living mirror that reflects the neighboring skyscraper in perfect, shimmering detail.
Drawing a breath, I enter the revolving doors.
In the lobby, two men in dark suits nod as I pass, as if they already know exactly who I am and why I am here.
I push the elevator call button, and the doors part instantly, whisking me up so smoothly I barely register the motion.
Despite my bravado, I’m getting more and more frantic.
I haven’t been able to figure out how to get off this horrible roller coaster.
I spent another sleepless night, haunted by the memory of Lucian’s fingers curling deep inside me while Caleb’s hands tormented my breasts behind that velvet curtain.
Finally the compartment opens on the executive floor.
Massive double doors gleam ahead, solid wood reinforced with brass accents that speak of both elegance and deliberate, unyielding security. The company name is etched in clean, modern lettering across the brass plate.
I’m ready to turn and run when Caleb appears.
“We’ve been expecting you.”
Blushing, I look away. I’ll never see him the same way again after the way he had his hands inside my bra.
“Shall we?”
He opens the door, and Lucian is perched on the edge of the wide reception desk.
His midnight-blue gaze sweeps over me slowly, approvingly, lingering on the way my modest work dress skims my hips, the slight flush I can already feel rising along my cheekbones.
Heat slams into me without warning, vivid and unwelcome.
I hate how easily my body remembers, how the memory alone sends a fresh pulse low between my legs.
He stands, crossing to me with that measured stride that makes the air feel thinner, and he brushes a kiss against my cheek.
The contact is restrained for him—lips warm, breath brushing my ear in a way that feels far too intimate for an office—but still deliberate, possessive. Not that the man who has already decided he will be my husband cares about boundaries or appropriateness.
“We’ll show you around,” Lucian says, voice low and smooth, already turning toward the interior hallway as if my agreement is a given.
“No need.” The words leave me sharper than I intend, my fingers curling at my sides. “I won’t be spending a lot of time here.”
He does not take offense. If anything, the corner of his mouth lifts in that maddening half smile that makes my stomach flip.
Caleb falls in beside us without comment, and they lead me deeper into their domain.
His office comes first—strong, masculine lines everywhere, dark leather furniture built for power rather than comfort, a wall of monitors flickering with live feeds and market data that hums with quiet intensity.
A single heavy glass sculpture sits on the credenza, its edges sharp enough to look like it could double as a weapon if needed.
It fits him perfectly, rigid control wrapped in quiet luxury.
When his phone rings, he excuses himself with a brief nod.
Lucian’s office is next. The space feels like an extension of the man himself—polished walnut desk positioned to command the room, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Houston skyline in breathtaking detail, and on the far wall, a striking abstract painting.
Bold strokes of deep indigo bleed into gold, the composition both chaotic and precisely controlled, as if the artist captured the exact tension I feel every time Lucian looks at me.
It suits him in a way that makes my chest tighten. He guides me toward the windows, stepping close behind me until the hard length of his cock presses against my rear through our clothes.
He slides his hands around to cup my breasts, brushing his thumbs over my nipples through layers of fabric.
I consider trying to escape, but I’m scared that if I move, I will only lean into him instead.
“I like it when you please me,” he murmurs against my ear, breath hot, voice velvet gravel.
I swallow hard, the sound loud in my own head.
This feels naughty and dangerous, broad daylight pouring through the glass even if we are so high up no one could possibly see. The tinting helps, but still—why am I shocked that this man believes he rules the world and me?
He strokes his palms downward, over my ribcage, across the slight swell of my stomach, then lower, grazing between my legs with deliberate pressure.
Against my own better judgment I tilt my hips forward, inviting the touch, and his low sound of triumph vibrates through my back.
In an instant, he’s proved his mastery all over again.
I hate it. Despise how easily my body responds, how wet I already am just from the reminder and the feel of him hard against me.
“Am I interrupting something?” Caleb’s voice cuts through the haze, rough and amused, and the sound jolts me back to reality.
This time I do twist, using every ounce of strength to pull free of Lucian’s grip. Deep down, something scoffs—there is no real escape if he does not allow it—but the movement still creates space, enough for me to catch my breath.
“Not at all,” Lucian answers, completely unbothered, adjusting his jacket with casual elegance.
I am flushed, heart hammering, words tumbling out before I can stop them. “What is the relationship between the two of you, anyway?”
Lucian’s gaze holds mine, steady and certain. “I meant it all those years ago when I said you will be ours.”
“I can’t belong to both of you.”
“Oh you can.” His voice drops, intimate and absolute. “And you will.”
Caleb’s phone buzzes again. “The wedding planner, Mrs. Henderson, has arrived.”
They make my head spin. From a full-on sensual assault to business in the blink of an eye.
A little numb, I am escorted to the conference room with its long sleek table and impossible view of the city.
Caleb does not stay, excusing himself with a quiet word about an overseas call that leaves the door clicking softly behind him. The assistant—Dara—enters moments later, carrying a tray.
She sets down coffees, and one is a mocha, perfectly prepared with just the right swirl of chocolate on top. I glance at Lucian, eyebrows lifting in silent question. He shrugs, the motion elegant. “Dara called Elena.”
The simple gesture lands like a stone in still water, ripples spreading through my chest. These two men will get under my skin if I allow them to wear down my defenses, but the mocha is amazing: warm, rich, comforting in a way that feels dangerously like care.
Mrs. Henderson enters, her tablet already open and waiting.
“Shall we?” Lucian suggests, taking his place at the head of the table as expected, placing me on his right, Dara on his left, the wedding planner sitting beside me.
The venue comes first. Mrs. Henderson recommends the Sterling Downtown rooftop atrium.
She pulls up photos on her screen—lush greenery spilling over elegant edges, stunning city views that stretch forever, the kind of space that would have made my younger self breathless with fairy-tale hope.
When Lucian agrees, she offers to call and confirm availability.
He shakes his head and picks up his phone. “I’ll handle it.”
Moments later, he’s connected with Rafe Sterling, speaking with the quiet authority of a man who expects doors to open. We all blink as he locks in the details.
Panic/awful feelings flood me.
Once upon a time, I dreamed of a magical wedding. And he ruined it. Just to force this moment.
Mrs. Henderson moves the discussion along…to the cake.
“I really don’t care.” It’s not like I’m going to take even a single bite.
“We’ll leave that to you,” Lucian tells Mrs. Henderson smoothly. If he’s annoyed, he is hiding it well.
We leave flowers and decor entirely to Mrs. Henderson as well.
But wine, champagne, and food selections draw interest from Lucian. Nothing but the best for his associates.
When Mrs. Henderson mentions the dress, my gut twists.
“I’ll go shopping with you.” Lucian’s voice is smooth, and his gaze is locked on mine.
“No.” Maybe he can force me down the aisle, but he will not dictate what I’ll wear.
Mrs. Henderson steps in. “Ms. Langford may enjoy having a friend with her.”
I’ve never been more grateful for someone speaking on my behalf.
After exchanging glances with Caleb, he nods. “The bill comes to me.”
I smile, and I know it’s as fragile and bitter as I feel. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“And you’ll shop at Hautest Bridal Couture.”
You’re an ass.
But it’s hard to argue with his taste. They’re known for their exclusive shopping experience, and they carry numerous designer brands.
“I’ll get you set up with a private appointment.”
I finish my mocha. “It can be a short one.”
The tic in his temple becomes more pronounced. Good. He annoys me as much as I annoy him.
There are another million details, and we wrap up with me promising to send Mrs. Henderson my really short guest list.
Within moments, everyone begins to file out, and Lucian snags my wrist, gently, unlike the way Caleb had captured me last night.
“Dinner?”
“I’d rather not.”
He smiles. “It wasn’t a request.”
“I never thought it was.”
“Choose your attire carefully.” His eyes darken with promise, and the corner of his mouth curves.
“Meaning?” Why, oh why, did I ask that?
“You’ll be deciding whether you want to be rewarded.” He pauses, and tension crackles between us. “Or whether you’ll be receiving your first punishment.”