Lucian sat in silence, his body stiff in the chair, the air in the suite too still, too heavy. The open file on the table stared back at him like an old wound. The morning light had shifted higher, cutting across his face in long stripes. But he didn’t move.
His eyes were on the papers — on her name — Elena.
Every line about her life burned through him like fire.
She had loved Liam. Loved him so much she chased after him for years, begged for scraps of affection. And he had given her nothing. Not love. Not respect. Just pity. He had watched her suffer and done nothing. He had even laughed, maybe.
Lucian’s jaw tightened until it hurt. His knuckles went white on the armrest.
Love. The word sounded like poison.
He had seen what love did to people. It made strong women cry. It made men c
