Chapter Two: Silk and Steel
691 Words
The food sat untouched.
Aria didn’t move from her spot on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the tray of fresh fruit, smoked salmon, and artisanal bread. It looked like a luxury hotel breakfast—except she was still shackled to the damn bed.
Lucien had brought it himself this time. No guards, no threats. Just a silent offer laid out on a silver tray like she was a guest, not a captive.
She didn’t touch it.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
The chain clinked softly as she shifted, drawing her knees up. Her camisole clung to her damp skin—nerves or anger, she wasn’t sure anymore. Hours had passed, and she hadn’t seen him again.
Good.
The door opened.
She didn’t look up.
Soft footsteps padded over the marble. She smelled him before she saw him—smoke, spice, and something dangerous.
Lucien stopped in front of her.
“You’re still not eating.”
“No.”
He sighed like he was disappointed in her. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
“I’m not here to make anything easy for you.”
She finally looked up. His suit today was charcoal grey, the jacket open. He looked as out of place here as she did—like a tiger in a glass cage. Tamed, but only on the surface.
“I had the chef prepare your favorite,” he said, nodding to the untouched tray. “You mentioned it once in an interview.”
Her stomach twisted—not from hunger, but from the realization that he had been watching her far longer than she thought.
“You’re sick,” she muttered.
“Possibly.” He crouched in front of her, his tone soft but warning. “But I’m not stupid. You’re not afraid of pain, Aria. That’s what makes you dangerous. That’s why I’m not going to break you with pain.”
He reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. His fingers grazed her cheek, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
“I’m going to break you with pleasure.”
Her breath stopped.
He smiled. Not cruel, not warm—just sure of himself. And that certainty felt more terrifying than a threat.
She slapped his hand away. “You’ll never touch me.”
He straightened. “I already have.”
Her face burned.
Lucien turned toward the bed. From a drawer in the nightstand, he pulled out something delicate—red silk, soft and shimmering in the light. A dress.
“What is this?”
“Dinner is in an hour,” he said. “You’ll wear it.”
“No.”
“You’ll wear it,” he repeated, walking toward her again, “or I’ll take off what you’re already wearing and you’ll come to the table as you are.”
He dropped the dress in her lap.
It was stunning. Low-cut. High slit. Too elegant to be decent.
Aria stared at it, heart hammering.
“What’s this? Your idea of foreplay?”
“I don’t need foreplay, Aria. I need control. And right now, I’m being very patient.”
“Let me go.”
He tilted his head, as if the idea amused him. “Say that again.”
“Let. Me. Go.”
He moved faster than she expected. One hand gripped her chin, firm but not painful. His eyes burned into hers, no longer teasing.
“Do you really want to leave? Or do you want to see how far I’ll go to keep you?”
“I hate you.”
“I know,” he said. “And hate is so close to desire, it’s practically foreplay.”
Her pulse thundered. Her mouth opened—but no words came.
He let her go.
Lucien stepped back, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Dinner. One hour.”
Then he was gone again.
The door clicked shut.
Aria sat frozen, staring at the red silk in her lap. Her hands trembled as she touched it. Light. Smooth. Sensual.
She hated him.
But her body… her body wasn’t so sure.
- Writer
