CHAPTER THREE: THE CRACKS IN HIS AMOR
1856 Words
Aria didn’t sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lucian’s face the cold intensity in his gaze, the way his voice wrapped around her like chains, the strange heat that stirred beneath her fear.
She hated that part most.
She rose from bed before dawn, her body restless, her mind screaming for air. The mansion was quiet not asleep, but watchful. As if the walls themselves were aware of her every movement.
She slipped on a robe and left her room.
The halls were dim, lit by soft golden lights that cast long shadows across the marble floors. Her bare feet made no sound as she walked, heart pounding with every step.
She didn’t know where she was going.
She only knew she couldn’t stay still.
She wandered into the garden.
It was hidden behind tall iron doors, opening into a vast courtyard filled with roses, dark ivy, stone fountains, and ancient statues of warriors and angels. The air smelled of wet earth and night-blooming flowers.
It felt… alive.
She walked slowly, trailing her fingers along the petals of a rose bush. The thorns pricked her skin, drawing a thin line of blood.
She didn’t flinch.
Pain grounded her.
“Careful,” a voice said behind her.
She turned sharply.
Lucian stood at the edge of the garden, dressed in black workout pants and a fitted shirt, his hair slightly tousled, his eyes darker than usual.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said.
“I’m not a child,” she replied.
“No,” he said, “you’re collateral.”
Her jaw tightened. “I didn’t ask to be here.”
“Neither did I ask your brother to steal from me,” he said calmly.
She folded her arms. “You could’ve gone after him.”
“I did,” he said. “He ran.”
“And now I’m paying for it.”
“Yes.”
She stared at him. “Does that not bother you?”
“Very few things bother me,” he said.
“That’s sad.”
“Sadness is a luxury,” he replied.
She turned back to the roses. “Then why does this place feel like a graveyard?”
He didn’t answer.
She glanced at him. “You built all this, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“For someone who doesn’t believe in beauty, you’re surrounded by it.”
He studied her. “Beauty is just another form of control.”
She shook her head. “Not everything has to be about power.”
“It does in my world,” he said.
“What happened to you?” she asked softly.
His jaw tightened.
She continued, “You weren’t born this way. No one is.”
He walked closer, stopping a few feet from her. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Then tell me,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I don’t want to hate you,” she admitted. “But you’re making it very hard not to.”
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he said, “My mother was murdered.”
Her breath caught. “I’m sorry.”
“She was kind,” he continued. “Too kind. She believed people were good.”
She waited.
“She trusted the wrong man,” he said. “And he destroyed her.”
Her heart tightened. “Who?”
“My father.”
Shock rippled through her. “Your father killed your mother?”
“He didn’t pull the trigger,” Lucian said quietly. “But he arranged it. Then he married the woman who helped him.”
Aria felt sick. “That’s monstrous.”
“Yes,” he said. “And that’s the man who raised me.”
Silence fell between them.
“So you learned that love is a weapon,” she said.
“I learned that love is a lie,” he corrected.
She looked at him. “Then why do you look so angry every time I don’t fear you?”
He frowned. “What?”
“You don’t just want control,” she said. “You want something else.”
“And what would that be?” he asked.
She hesitated. “To be seen.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
Then vanished.
“You talk too much,” he said.
She smiled faintly. “And you don’t talk enough.”
He turned away.
Later that morning, Aria was in the kitchen.
She had wandered in, curious, only to find herself surrounded by chefs and staff who froze when they saw her.
“I’m just getting water,” she said awkwardly.
One of the chefs bowed slightly. “You don’t need to serve yourself, Miss Monroe.”
“I’m not royalty,” she replied.
“Yes, you are,” a voice said behind her.
She turned.
Lucian stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
“I am?” she asked sarcastically.
“You are under my protection,” he said. “That makes you untouchable.”
“That makes me owned,” she replied.
“Same thing,” he said.
She grabbed a glass and filled it with water. “Does everyone here know about me?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Do they hate me?”
“No,” he said. “They fear me. And therefore, they respect you.”
She shook her head. “That’s not respect. That’s obedience.”
“Again,” he said, “same thing.”
She took a sip of water. “You really don’t believe people can care about you without being afraid.”
“Why would they?” he asked. “Fear is reliable. Love is not.”
Her eyes softened. “You don’t think you deserve love.”
His jaw clenched.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
He turned away.
That afternoon, Lucian took Aria with him.
She hadn’t asked where they were going. He hadn’t told her. He simply instructed her to get dressed something “appropriate.”
Now she sat in the back of a black car, staring out the tinted window as the city rushed by.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” he said.
She sighed. “You know, normal people communicate.”
“I’m not normal,” he said.
“That much is clear.”
The car pulled up to a large building a hospital.
Her heart jumped. “Why are we here?”
He didn’t answer.
They entered the building and walked down a long corridor until they reached a private wing.
Lucian stopped in front of a room.
He hesitated.
That was new.
Then he opened the door.
Inside, a woman lay in a hospital bed, frail, pale, her dark hair streaked with gray. Machines beeped softly around her.
Aria’s heart clenched.
“Who is she?” she whispered.
“My mother’s sister,” Lucian said. “My aunt.”
“She’s sick?”
“Yes.”
“Why bring me here?” Aria asked.
He stared at the woman. “Because she’s the only person I’ve ever trusted.”
The woman’s eyes fluttered open.
“Lucian,” she whispered.
He walked to her side. “I’m here.”
She smiled weakly. “You always come.”
“Yes,” he said.
Her eyes shifted to Aria. “And who is this beautiful girl?”
Aria froze.
Lucian hesitated. “Her name is Aria.”
“That’s not what I asked,” the woman said gently.
Aria’s heart pounded.
“She’s… staying with me,” Lucian said.
The woman smiled knowingly. “Ah.”
Aria swallowed.
“Come closer, dear,” the woman said.
Aria hesitated, then stepped forward.
“I’m Miriam,” the woman said. “Lucian’s aunt. And you?”
“Aria,” she replied softly.
“Your eyes are kind,” Miriam said. “I can tell.”
Lucian stiffened.
“You look at him like someone who isn’t afraid,” Miriam continued. “That’s rare.”
Aria glanced at Lucian. “I am afraid,” she said. “But I don’t think he’s a monster.”
Miriam smiled.
Lucian looked at Aria sharply.
“Good,” Miriam said. “Because he’s not.”
Lucian exhaled slowly.
Miriam reached for Lucian’s hand. “You’ve grown so hard, my boy.”
“I had to,” he replied.
“No,” she said gently. “You chose to.”
He didn’t respond.
She turned to Aria. “Be patient with him.”
Aria nodded. “I will.”
Lucian looked away.
That night, something changed.
Aria noticed it in the way Lucian watched her — not just with control, but with something else. Something closer to uncertainty.
She was sitting in the library, curled up in an armchair with a book, when he entered.
“You read?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” she replied.
“What are you reading?”
“Poetry.”
He raised a brow. “Why?”
“Because it says what people are too afraid to,” she said.
He paused. “Read me something.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Read,” he repeated.
She hesitated, then flipped the page and read softly:
“I am not afraid of storms,
for I am learning how to sail my ship.”
He stared at her.
“Who wrote that?” he asked.
“Louisa May Alcott,” she said.
He nodded slowly. “She was brave.”
“Yes,” Aria said. “And gentle.”
He sat across from her.
“I didn’t think you were the kind of man who reads poetry,” she said.
“I don’t,” he replied. “But I listen.”
Silence fell.
“Do you regret taking me?” she asked quietly.
He studied her. “No.”
Her heart sank.
“But,” he continued, “I didn’t expect you to be like this.”
“Like what?”
“Unbroken,” he said.
Her throat tightened. “I don’t feel unbroken.”
“Good,” he said. “That means you’re human.”
She looked at him. “Do you think you’re human?”
He hesitated. “I think I stopped being human a long time ago.”
She leaned forward. “You’re wrong.”
He met her gaze. “Prove it.”
She stood and walked toward him.
Her heart pounded.
She stopped inches from him.
“You feel,” she said. “You protect. You hurt. You remember.”
He clenched his jaw. “Those are weaknesses.”
“They’re proof you’re alive,” she said.
Their eyes locked.
The air thickened.
For a moment, she thought he might kiss her.
Instead, he stood abruptly and walked away.
“Don’t test me,” he said.
She whispered, “I already am.”
That night, Aria dreamed of fire and shadows and of Lucian standing in the middle of it, holding out his hand.
When she woke, she felt something terrifying:
She was beginning to care.
- Writer
