Chapter Five: Bruised Boundaries
758 Words
The rain came without warning.
A sudden downpour lashed against the windows of the mansion, drumming like war. Aria stood at the balcony doors of the second-floor lounge, wrapped in a soft cashmere throw, watching the storm through glass. Thunder rolled over the hills.
She didn’t know how long she’d been here anymore. Five days? Seven? Time bent strangely within Lucien’s world. There were no clocks, only rhythms—meals left silently, notes exchanged through the journal, footsteps echoing in the corridors like ghosts.
He hadn’t touched her again.
But he was always there.
She felt him long before she saw him. The way the air shifted. The tension spooling tight in her gut. Her breath slowed as his reflection appeared in the glass beside hers.
Lucien.
Dressed in black again, a glass of bourbon in one hand. He didn’t speak.
She didn’t turn around.
“Still playing the silent game?” she asked softly.
He stepped closer—just a breath behind her. Not touching. Never touching. But her skin tingled as if he had.
“You looked beautiful yesterday in the library,” he said, voice low. “Curled up with your walls down.”
“I didn’t know I was performing.”
“You weren’t. That’s what made it so…” He paused. “Unfair.”
She turned then, sharply. “Unfair?”
“I built this place to control everything. Every camera. Every breath. But you...” He took a sip of bourbon. “You slip through cracks I didn’t know I had.”
Aria’s heart thudded hard. Her instincts screamed to retreat—but her feet stayed planted.
“Then why keep me here?” she asked.
He studied her, eyes tracing her face like a secret map. “Because you make me feel things I don’t trust. And I want to see how far they go.”
“That’s not desire,” she said. “That’s obsession.”
“I told you from the beginning.” He tilted his head. “I’m not a safe man.”
“And I’m not yours.”
A small smile ghosted his lips. “Not yet.”
She hated that word. Yet. It was a promise, a dare, a thread that coiled tighter each time he said it.
He moved past her toward the balcony doors, slid one open, and stepped out into the rain.
She blinked.
“Lucien—”
He turned his head. The rain soaked through his shirt, plastering it to his skin. Drops slid down the sharp angles of his jaw.
“Come,” he said.
“I’m not going out there.”
His smile deepened. “Why not? Afraid to get wet?”
Her jaw clenched.
Without thinking, she dropped the throw and stepped into the storm.
The rain was cold—shocking—but it cleared her head like glass shattering. The marble balcony was slick beneath her bare feet. Her robe clung to her instantly, sheer and nearly see-through. She crossed her arms, glaring.
“This is your idea of seduction now?” she snapped.
“No,” he said, turning to face her. “This is my idea of surrender.”
She stared at him.
He extended the bourbon glass to her.
She took it, slowly, brushing his fingers with hers. The contact sparked heat through her bloodstream, even as rain chilled her skin.
“You think I’ll fall for this?” she asked, voice low.
“I think you already are,” he said, honest and unflinching.
She took a sip of the bourbon. It burned down her throat, smoother than it should’ve been.
Silence stretched between them.
Then Lucien moved closer—slowly, deliberately, watching her with the patience of a predator that knows it doesn’t need to chase. He lifted one hand and gently, slowly, tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
She didn’t pull away.
“You feel it too,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to.”
“But you do.”
His hand lingered at her jaw, thumb brushing just under her cheekbone. His other hand touched her waist, barely there, a whisper of contact.
“Lucien…” Her voice faltered.
He leaned in—but stopped just short of her lips. Breathing her in. Letting the tension stretch and burn.
Then he pulled back.
“Not tonight,” he said, and stepped away. “Not until you ask.”
She stood there, shaking with fury and something else she couldn’t name.
Rain poured down around her like applause.
- Writer
