Young Master Lucien’s Bride

Chapter Eight

Lucien’s POV

The next morning was an absolute circus. The mansion had always been quiet, almost dead, but by seven in the morning, the house was completely flooded with makeup artists, hair stylists, and high-end designers. They were bustling through the hallways, carrying garment bags, oversized vanity cases, and racks of clothing, all trying to turn my angry little bride into a billionaire's wife. The noise alone was giving me a massive headache, a constant hum of chatter, hair dryers, and heels clicking against the marble floors.

I stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, one hand shoved deep into my trouser pocket while the other adjusted the cuffs of my tailored suit jacket. I checked my watch for the fourth time in five minutes, getting increasingly annoyed with every second that ticked by. We were going to be late, and the media pool at the venue was already growing by the minute. I hated being kept waiting, but more than that, I hated the tight, anxious knot forming in my stomach. I didn't know what to expect when she finally walked through those doors.

Just as I was about to call up Arthur to check on the progress, the heavy double doors at the very top of the staircase finally opened.

She stepped out onto the landing.

My breath completely caught in my throat. The words I was preparing to snap at her completely died in my mouth, and I just stood there, totally paralyzed. She looked absolutely breathtaking.

She was wearing a stunning, emerald green silk dress that pooled slightly around her feet. The fabric caught the light with every shift of her body, clinging elegantly to her frame before cascading down into a soft, flowing skirt. I had specifically picked out that exact dress myself, spent hours looking through designer look books the previous night because Arthur had mentioned the small silver pendant with the raw emerald her mother had given her. I wanted her to have something that felt like home, something that connected her to her mother, even if she didn't know I was the one behind it.

Seeing her in it now, she looked like a literal queen. Her dark hair was styled in soft, loose waves that framed her face perfectly, and her makeup was subtle, enhancing the sharp, fierce beauty I had been captivated by for the last three years. The emerald color made her skin look radiant, and for a split second, I forgot how to breathe.

Then, she noticed me standing there.

Lila caught me staring, and the magical illusion shattered in an instant. She rolled her eyes so hard I was genuinely surprised they didn't get stuck in the back of her head. The soft, elegant look vanished, replaced entirely by her usual look of absolute disdain. She gripped the railing, lifted the front of the long silk skirt, and stomped down the stairs in her high heels like she was marching to an execution block instead of a five-star restaurant. Every single step echoed loudly through the foyer, a deliberate declaration of her fury.

"You're staring, Lucien," she snapped as she reached the bottom landing, stopping a mere two feet away from me. The scent of her vanilla perfume hit me, sweet and intoxicating, completely replacing the heavy scent of scotch that usually lingered in my senses. "Is something wrong with the dress? Did your designers fail to make me look sufficiently expensive?"

I forced my face back into a cold, blank mask, tightening my jaw to keep from letting any of my real emotions slip through. "The dress is fine, Lila. We're late. Let's go."

"Oh, heaven forbid the billionaire is kept waiting," she muttered under her breath, turning her back on me and heading straight for the front doors.

The ride to the venue was completely silent. Lila stared out the window the entire time, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, the tablet I had given her the night before resting safely in her lap. She didn't look at me once, and I didn't dare say a word to break the tension. I just watched the reflection of her face in the dark glass, my chest aching with a mixture of longing and frustration.

By the time the sleek black town car pulled up to the entrance of the restaurant, the noise outside was deafening. Even through the heavy, soundproof windows, the roar of the crowd was a physical force. The media had gone absolutely feral. Hundreds of reporters and paparazzi were pushing aggressively against the metal barricades, their voices blending into a chaotic wall of sound.

The driver got out and opened the door for us. The second my foot hit the pavement, camera flashes exploded against the darkness of the evening so fast and bright it looked like a terrifying strobe light.

Lila stepped out right behind me, and the crowd went completely wild. Microphones were thrust forward, and reporters began screaming over one another, throwing hideous, invasive questions into the air.

"Lila! Look over here!"

"Is it true you're just after the Knight's fortune?"

"Mr. Knight, is this a real marriage or a PR stunt?"

I looked down at her, and my heart sank. Lila instantly froze up, her entire body going rigid. It was just like she had done at the courthouse—the sheer volume of the crowd, the aggressive flashing lights, and the malice in their voices completely paralyzed her. Her face went entirely pale, her eyes wide and glassy with a sudden, overwhelming panic. I looked down and saw her hands shaking so hard against the green silk of her dress that the fabric was visibly vibrating. She took one step forward, her heel catching slightly on the uneven pavement, and I could see her completely losing her footing. She was going to fall, right in front of a hundred cameras that would love nothing more than to capture her humiliation.

Without even thinking about the rules I had laid out, or the cold, unbothered act I was supposed to be putting on for both our sakes, my body moved on its own instinct.

I slid my arm firmly around her waist, my large palm gripping her side and pulling her flush against my body. I took her entire weight against me, anchoring her to the spot so she could lean on me for support, using my own frame to shield her from the worst of the flashing lights.

She gasped, her body instantly stiffening even more as she tried to pull away from my touch. She hated me, I knew that, and the last thing she wanted was to be held by the monster who had trapped her. But her knees were trembling, and she had zero leverage.

I leaned down, my lips practically brushing against the shell of her ear, my warm breath tickling her skin. I kept my voice low, rough, but completely steady, projectable only to her over the roar of the crowd.

"Don't fight me right now, Lila," I whispered urgently. "Just hold on to me until we get inside. I've got you. Just breathe."

For a fraction of a second, she resisted. Then, as a reporter shoved a camera dangerously close to her face, a tiny sob escaped her throat. Her resistance completely crumbled. I felt her small hands instantly bunch into the expensive fabric of my suit jacket, gripping it like a lifeline. She buried her face slightly into my chest, hiding away from the blinding lights, her entire body trembling against mine.

I tightened my grip around her waist, lifting her slightly to keep her moving, and began guiding her up the stone steps toward the entrance. I glared at the reporters, my face dark and menacing, a silent warning that made the closest ones step back. I didn't say a single word to the press. I just kept my focus entirely on the girl in my arms, pulling her through the heavy glass doors of the restaurant and into the quiet, dim sanctuary of the foyer.

The moment the doors shut behind us, cutting off the worst of the noise, Lila let out a long, shaky breath, her hands still tightly gripping my jacket. She was safe, at least for now, but my heart was hammering so loudly against my ribs I was terrified she might hear it.