Chapter Three
1145 Words
(Eleanor’s POV)
“What the hell Marcus,” I shrieked as my hands flew to my dress, the new slit trailing all the way up my thighs.
He let go almost immediately. “Sorry, I didn't mean to do that,” he backed away a little.
Stella sneered, “It adds a little bit of design, don't you think?” I looked up at her, people had started chattering and this was the last place I wanted to be.
With one last stride, I made my way up the stairs. He had just shredded whatever we had left.
The elevator doors shut behind me. The silence deafening.
I stared at the key card in my hands. I exhaled steadily. Ready for what I was getting myself into. My hands were steady.
Two yrs in hell. What could be worse than this?
Ding. I stepped out of the elevator into the dark hallway. Only moonlight seeped in through the floor to ceiling windows.
My heels clicked against the marble floor. Echoing in the emptiness.
Room 306. I stopped in front of the door. My heart pounded. Behind that door held the answers to the questions on my mind. Without hesitation, I pushed it open.
The room smelled like whiskey and cedar. Expensive. Dark. But surprisingly familiar in a way I couldn’t fathom.
A figure stood by the window. Back to me. Broad shoulders in a black suit. Sleeves rolled up. Like he’d been waiting for a long time. He didn’t turn when I entered. Like he already knew who I was.
“Took you long enough,” his voice came low. Rough. Amusement dancing in his tone. The sound wrapped around my spine.
“Who are you,” the words left my mouth.
And I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
He turned around. My breath caught in my throat. My heart thumping against my ribcage.
“Lucian?” I said his name. It felt dangerous on my tongue.
Tall. Dark hair. His face could put models to shame. His storm grey eyes centered on me. Like I was the only thing in the room. I felt seen. The feeling slightly unfamiliar.
Lucian Vale. Marcus’s older brother. The news had pronounced him dead. Tabloids had erased him from existence. But here he was.
Standing in front of me. Not a single hair out of place. He took a step toward me. Then another.
“You came,” it wasn’t a question.
It was a statement. Like he knew I would.
“I thought you were supposed to be—”
“Dead?” he chuckled. The sound hearty and warm.
His eyes stayed trained on me. Or rather, they never left me.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Len,” he stepped even closer.
Close enough that I could smell the whiskey on him. The scent comforting.
“Len?” The word rolled off my tongue. Like I was tasting it. The name sounded oddly familiar.
He didn’t reply. His gaze dropped to my shoulders. His eyes sharpened.
“You’re cold,” he didn’t ask. He noticed.
He stepped back and turned around. Picked up the coat lying hanging on the large seat.
Then, with one swift motion, he draped it across my shoulders. The coat was warm. Heavy. His scent clinging to the fabric.
“Does Marcus know you’re alive?” I asked. My eyes trained on his face.
“He doesn’t deserve to know,” he scowled.
“Now enough about Marcus,” he said.
“You look leaner than the last time I saw you.” “Has he not been feeding you?” he teased.
His voice was light and airy. Like a lion trying to sound like a bird. I visibly relaxed.
“I’m on a diet,” I squeaked. Embarrassment flaring up in my cheeks. I turned my face away to escape his teasing eyes.
He chuckled again. Then pulled out a chair for me. Right in the center of the room.
"Come sit," he said softly. But his eyes said obey. I sat down. Draping the jacket across the seat.
The room felt alive. Like a space I truly belonged in.
He opened the tray in front of me. The scent of my favorite rice cake balls wafted into my nostrils. Instantly stealing all my attention. My stomach rumbled slowly in anticipation.
“How did you know these were my favorite?” I asked. Eyeing the plate like a fat kid eyeing a piece of cake.
“It’s a coincidence,” his face lifted in a smile at my behavior. He pulled the plate closer to me.
Then handed me a spoon. “Go on, try it,” he urged.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I dug in. The food melted on my tongue. Teasing my taste buds.
Marcus had never let me eat these. Because he said it’d make me fat. I looked up at the man in front of me. I swallowed. Too fast
" Why are you being...kind?" I asked.
"Kind?" He said it like the word had insulted him.
"I'm not kind Eleanor."
"So you called me here today," I set down my spoon.
"Just to feed me rice cakes," I asked. He chuckled, eyes not leaving my face. As if I would vanish if he looked away.
"I want to offer you a deal," he poured whiskey into a glass and slid it across the table.
"I don't drink," I mumbled.
"Since when?" he smirked at my obvious lie.
"What's the deal?" I cleared my throat, changing the topic.
He picked up the napkin and handed it to me.
"Finish first," he coaxed. I took the napkin and wiped my lips, careful not to smudge my lipstick.
"I'm done. Let's talk" I probed. Sitting up straight with interest.
Just then—. Knock knock knock
Three sharp hits against the door. Heavy. Demanding.
Lucian didn't flinch. His eyes were calmer than a lake, and somehow that settled the unease in me too.
But the knocks came again. Louder this time, then a voice barked from outside.
"ELEANOR, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE," Marcus roared. My eyes narrowed, wondering what he was doing here. I trailed my eyes to Lucian, he was still focused on me. Like he wouldn't make a move unless I told him to.
"Aren't you going to open the door?" I said, carefully studying his expressions.
"Do you want me to?" his voice laced with something I couldn't pin a finger on. He was asking me for permission.
I smiled but didn't say a word.
Then with a loud bang, the door flew open. There stood Marcus. His chest heaving up and down, eyes narrowed and filled
with rage. Then his eyes flickered to the figure beside me. Shock passed across his face.
"L.. Lucian?.”
- Writer
