(Violet’s POV)
Lucian didn’t speak.
His arms just tightened around me, the heat of his body blanketing the chill left behind by cold wine and colder stares. I felt his breath stir the damp strands of hair at my nape. His silence wasn’t soft—it was simmering. Controlled. Dangerous.
He was still angry.
And I couldn’t blame him.
I was standing in the center of it all—naked, humiliated, scarred. But somehow, even with the chaos still echoing below, even with the remnants of shame clinging to my skin, the sharpest pain wasn’t the crowd’s whispers.
It was the fact that he had seen it too.
My mark.
My scar.
And he hadn’t said a word.
“Lucian,” I breathed, unsure what I wanted to say—what I could possibly say.
But instead of pulling away…
I kissed him.
I didn’t think. My mouth just
