CHAPTER 3
Three days passed before he touched her. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t violent either. It was deliberate, a controlled testing, like a predator circling its prey.
She had walked into his office unannounced, brave or reckless. She placed the photograph of her father and Lucien’s father on his polished mahogany desk.
“You lied,” she said, her voice tight.
Lucien didn’t sit. He circled the desk slowly, each step measured, echoing softly against the wood. “What exactly did I lie about?”
“My father wasn’t just some debtor!” she spat.
“No,” he agreed softly. “He was something much worse.”
Her chest tightened. Her pulse drummed painfully. She didn’t see him move. One second there was space, the next her back pressed against the bookshelf. His hand braced beside her head, not trapping. Testing. Waiting.
Her breath hitched as his proximity burned against her skin. She was shaking. He leaned closer. “You think you know what your father was?” His voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur. “You don’t.”
His other hand brushed the curve of her waist. The touch was fleeting, yet it left a heat that traveled straight to her core. She didn’t pull away.
“Go back to your room,” he said quietly.
“I…” she started, but he didn’t wait for her protest. “Before I forget why I shouldn’t touch you,” he said. Her stomach twisted. She realized with a pang that she already was.
Meanwhile, in another part of the estate, the machinery of the Viremont Syndicate moved silently. A man was dragged across cold marble floors, pleading for mercy. Lucien entered the underground chamber without expression. “Did you speak to Moretti before he died?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” the man choked out. “About… about what?”
Lucien’s fingers tightened around the gun. “About who controls the debt.” The gunshot echoed against the stone walls. Blood spattered. Lucien holstered the weapon calmly.
He checked his phone. A message,
You killed the wrong man.
He paused. Something had shifted. Something dangerous and above all, he wanted to see what she would do next.