Chapter 4 — The Graveyard of His Past
Rain exploded against the car windows as Lucien drove through the sleeping streets of Paris.
Fast.
Far too fast.
Streetlights smeared into molten gold across the windshield.
Thunder shook the sky violently overhead.
Yet the most dangerous thing inside the car—
was him.
Evelina sat silently beside him.
Her champagne dress pooled around her thighs like spilled moonlight.
Lucien’s black coat still wrapped around her shoulders.
Still warm.
Still carrying traces of him.
The engine roared through narrow streets.
Lucien’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel.
Jaw clenched.
Eyes unreadable.
Breathing controlled with terrifying precision.
A man trying not to become something monstrous.
“You’re scaring me,” Evelina whispered softly.
The words sliced through the silence instantly.
Lucien looked at her.
And God—
The darkness inside his gaze softened immediately.
“I know.”
His voice sounded rough now.
Exhausted almost.
Like he hated himself for it.
“Who found who?” she asked carefully.
Silence.
The kind filled with ghosts.
Lucien finally exhaled slowly.
“There are things in my life,” he murmured, “that should’ve stayed buried.”
Lightning split across the sky behind him.
For one horrifying second, he looked exactly like the devil people whispered about.
Beautiful enough to tempt heaven itself.
Cruel enough to survive hell.
The car stopped outside an enormous mansion hidden behind iron gates.
No—
Not a mansion.
A fortress.
Cold marble walls climbed toward the storm clouds.
Black roses curled along silver fencing like mourning ribbons.
The estate looked less like a home and more like a beautiful prison.
Evelina stepped out carefully.
Rain kissed her bare shoulders instantly.
Lucien was beside her in seconds.
Always beside her.
His hand pressed against the small of her back possessively as he guided her inside.
The mansion swallowed them whole.
Dark wooden halls.
Golden chandeliers.
Massive paintings staring down like silent witnesses.
Everything screamed wealth.
But underneath it—
Something lonelier lingered there.
A wounded man stood waiting near the staircase.
Blood stained his white shirt heavily.
The second he saw Lucien, panic flooded his face.
“She disappeared before we arrived.”
Lucien’s expression turned glacial.
“Explain.”
One word.
Sharp enough to slit throats.
The man swallowed nervously.
“We searched the apartment. There was blood everywhere but no body.”
Evelina felt dread crawl slowly up her spine.
No body.
Lucien removed his gloves with terrifying calmness.
“You had one job.”
The wounded man looked ready to collapse.
“I know.”
“No,” Lucien said softly.
“You clearly didn’t.”
The softness made it infinitely worse.
Evelina watched carefully now.
Everyone around Lucien behaved like people standing near a lit match inside a gasoline room.
One wrong move—
and everything would explode.
“Lucien,” she interrupted quietly.
His eyes moved toward her instantly.
Immediate attention.
Immediate softness.
It felt intimate in a way she couldn’t explain.
“Who’s missing?”
The question hung heavily between them.
Lucien stared at her for a long moment.
Then finally—
“My sister.”
Something inside Evelina cracked unexpectedly.
Because suddenly she understood it.
The rage.
The control.
The unbearable protectiveness.
Lucien loved like a man terrified of losing everything.
Because once—
he already had.
“She’s younger than me,” he said quietly.
His voice sounded distant now.
Like he was speaking from somewhere buried deep inside himself.
“She used to braid flowers into my hair when we were children.”
Evelina blinked in surprise.
The image felt impossible.
Lucien Moreau—
soft enough for flower crowns.
“She believed I was good,” he continued.
A humorless smile touched his mouth.
“She was the only person who ever did.”
The confession hollowed the air between them.
Rainwater still clung to his dark hair.
His white shirt stretched slightly beneath soaked fabric.
Beautiful.
Ruined.
Human.
For the first time tonight, Evelina saw not the monster—
but the man bleeding underneath it.
“She’ll be okay,” Evelina whispered gently.
Lucien looked at her strangely then.
Almost painfully.
Like kindness was something he no longer knew how to hold.
“You shouldn’t comfort men like me,” he murmured.
“Why?”
His eyes darkened.
“Because eventually we start believing we deserve it.”
Her heart twisted violently.
Suddenly—
A loud crash echoed upstairs.
Everyone froze.
Lucien moved instantly.
Gun drawn.
Eyes lethal.
Body tense.
Pure predator.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
Absolutely not.
Evelina followed anyway.
The upstairs hallway drowned in darkness.
Only flashes of lightning illuminated the walls.
Lucien moved silently ahead of her.
Dangerously graceful.
Like violence itself had learned elegance.
Then—
A weak sob echoed from behind a locked door.
Lucien stopped breathing.
Actually stopped.
“Camille?” he whispered.
The silence shattered.
Frantic crying erupted from inside instantly.
“Lucien—!”
He broke the door down with one brutal kick.
Inside the room sat a young woman trembling violently on the floor.
Dark curls.
Pale skin.
Terrified eyes identical to Lucien’s.
Camille.
The second she saw him, she burst into tears.
Lucien crossed the room immediately and dropped beside her.
And suddenly—
the terrifying man vanished.
“It’s okay,” he whispered shakily.
“I’m here now.”
Camille clung to him desperately.
Lucien held her like she was something sacred.
Something irreplaceable.
Evelina stood frozen near the doorway.
Because this—
this was somehow more devastating than his violence.
Seeing a dangerous man love gently.
Seeing death itself cradle someone carefully.
Her frightened eyes landed on Evelina.
And slowly—
a tiny smile appeared on her lips.
“Oh,” she whispered weakly.
“He finally found her.”