His Contract Girlfriend

Episode Nine

The quiet of the apartment had been nice for the first time in weeks. Elara had just been finishing her mug of coffee, the steam curling up into the early morning sunlight, and she had almost, almost felt normal. That was before Lucien decided to pick her up for a party he insisted she needed to attend.

She had been dreading it. Parties were not her scene. People were not her scene. And the idea of being surrounded by people who smiled at her politely while hiding a thousand opinions behind their eyes was exhausting.

But somehow, despite her grumbling and rolling of eyes, she had ended up in a black dress that Nyla had described as dangerous in a quiet way. Dangerous in a quiet way. The words still made her want to snort. She had tried to tell Nyla she looked fine without the melodrama, but Nyla had smirked, patted her shoulder like she had been trained in sarcasm warfare, and said, “Trust me. You’re about to be a problem.”

And maybe Nyla was right.

From the moment they arrived, Lucien had been impossibly composed. That same calm that made everyone hang on his every word, the same quiet power that made her heart rate spike even when he was just standing in the corner observing. He had been standing close, almost guarding her, and she had to fight the urge to tell him to chill, she wasn’t some fragile artifact in a glass case.

Then it happened.

Another guy. Smiling, leaning, laughing, making the world seem just a little too casual. Elara hadn’t even noticed him at first, until she felt the space next to her shift, and a voice smooth and annoying in the best way said, “You look entertainingly unamused.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Unamused,” he repeated, grinning. “I like it. I’m Adrian.”

Elara squinted at him. “Elara.”

He nodded, too casually, too charmingly, and leaned back just enough that it made her feel exposed. Which, she reminded herself, was ridiculous. It was a party. She was wearing a simple dress. She was fine.

She thought she was fine until Lucien noticed.

From across the room, his eyes had locked onto her. It was not just a glance. It was the kind of look that could melt steel, rip holes in walls, and make people reconsider their life choices. He stalked across the room, or rather, moved like a predator who somehow always looked like a perfectly styled statue.

“Elara,” he said, calm, voice low, but carrying the kind of weight that could silence a room if it wanted to.

She turned. “Lucien. Hello.”

He did not smile. Did not even glance at Adrian. Not a flicker. His attention was all her. She felt a heat crawl up her neck.

“We should go,” he said, steady. Calm. Terrifyingly calm.

“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “Absolutely not. You do not get to drag me away because you feel like it.”

His jaw tightened. “Like what?”

“Like I belong to you,” she shot back, loud enough that a few nearby people paused mid-sip to watch the drama unfold.

Lucien’s expression shifted. Not anger exactly. Something sharper, something more dangerous. Something that made her stomach twist in a way that was equal parts excitement and frustration. “I was protecting you,” he said.

“From what?” she asked, incredulous. “A polite conversation? The canapé tray? Because last I checked, those were non-lethal.”

“From him,” Lucien said, his voice low, taut, eyes dark.

“Oh really?” she said, arching an eyebrow. “And you know him how exactly? Because you seem to have a perfect record of knowing everyone ever.”

He did not answer. Instead, he leaned just slightly closer, close enough that she could smell him, clean, sharp, a little intoxicating, and she almost wished he would not. Almost.

The tension between them had thickened so fast that Nyla, hovering a little too close and clearly delighted, whispered, “This is excellent. I might faint from entertainment.”

Adrian, never one to miss an opportunity, added under his breath, “Somebody should call the fire department because sparks are happening.”

Elara rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, you two are insane.”

Lucien’s lips twitched. Almost a smile. But not quite. “We should leave,” he repeated.

“Nope. Not happening. I’m staying,” she said firmly. “And yes, we are talking about this later. Possibly in great detail. Possibly with yelling.”

He did not argue. Instead, he did that terrifying thing where he just stared. Straight at her. And somehow that stare made her want to simultaneously punch him and kiss him.

“You are ridiculous,” she finally said, exasperated.

“And you are dangerously amusing,” he replied, voice flat.

“Flat?” she asked. “Flat does not cover it. That was intense. You were terrifying. I almost dropped my drink because I thought you might actually murder someone over nothing.”

“I’m aware,” he said, like this was normal behavior and she was overreacting.

Her friends, who had been hovering, decided to contribute commentary, because of course they did. Nyla smirked. “I think someone’s about to combust. Should I get popcorn?”

Adrian was doing the classic slow clap but silently, like a spectator at a gladiator match. “Bravo. Keep going. I need this drama.”

Elara groaned. “I can’t believe I let you drag me to these things. I am officially never attending another one.”

Lucien tilted his head, eyes glinting. “You love it.”

She laughed, a sharp bark of frustration and nerves. “Love it? No. Hate it. I am officially being tortured.”

“You’re smiling,” he said.

“I’m breathing,” she snapped. “That’s all. And don’t even think about pretending this is all part of the contract. Jealousy is not in the contract, Lucien.”

“I am not jealous,” he said.

“Right. You just basically stood over me like a human guillotine while I tried to exist,” she countered.

The air between them vibrated with energy. Sharp, tense, ridiculous energy. Nyla, who had been quietly observing, whispered, “I can’t decide if this is romantic or a full-on threat.”

Adrian nodded in agreement. “It’s both. I love it.”

Elara exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You are insufferable. Do you even realize how insufferable you are?”

“I am aware,” he said again, because of course he was.

“And yet you do it anyway,” she muttered.

Lucien leaned slightly closer, dangerously, just enough to make her shift back instinctively. “Because you’re entertaining,” he said softly.

Her stomach did the dramatic flip it had done too many times before. “This is not entertainment. This is a psychological war,” she said, glaring.

“We’re crossing lines,” he said quietly, almost as a warning, almost as a confession.

She froze. “Exactly,” she said, soft but pointed. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

The drive back was quiet. The kind of quiet that hummed with unspoken words, unresolved tension, and adrenaline from a battle that had somehow been fought entirely with words and stares.

When they arrived, Elara opened the door, pausing just long enough to turn and say, “We are definitely talking about this later.”

“I know,” he said, his voice low, calm, and terrifyingly certain.

“You know?”

“I overstepped,” he admitted quietly, and that quiet tone made her stomach flip in a way that was unfair.

“Why?” she asked softly.

“Because the idea of anyone else looking at you… it’s distracting.”

Her heart lurched. “That’s not your problem,” she said, softer now.

“I’m aware,” he said, and finally, his eyes softened just enough that she could see it, just enough that it scared her.

She stepped inside, and he stayed outside, chest tight, hands gripping the door handle like he was trying not to follow her inside and declare war over the next five minutes of her life.

Nyla sidled up, smirking. “I take back all the things I’ve ever said about drama. This is peak chaos.”

Elara glared. “You watched that?”

“From the corner,” Nyla said innocently. “Totally harmless. But hilarious.”

Adrian shook his head, grinning like a fool. “I am invested. Can we get season two tomorrow?”

Elara groaned, sinking into the sofa. “I hate all of you.”

But secretly, she didn’t.

And secretly, she knew, so did he, that the contract was not nearly enough to protect them.