CHAPTER THREE : HER NAME?
991 Words
Lucien’s phone went straight to voicemail for the fourth time.
He stared at the dark screen, his jaw tight. He didn’t lose control. Not ever. Yet here he was, sitting in the low light of his office with no strategy, no move, nothing—only the image of Aria in the doorway. Thai bag in her hand. Eyes wide with something heavier than anger.
Not rage. Not even sharp pain.
Just a quiet, devastating kind of acceptance.
As if she had been waiting for him to disappoint her all along.
He had delivered.
Diana had left a few minutes after Aria disappeared. Quietly. Like she always handled things. He hadn’t asked twice, she already understood.
Now the silence felt heavier than before.
He picked up his phone again and called.
Voicemail.
Lucien stood up quickly and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city spread out below loud, cold, and uncaring. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to become the version of himself who controlled boardrooms and destroyed competition without hesitation.
But that version wasn’t there.
Instead, all he could see was Aria’s face in that one moment they locked eyes. The way she straightened her shoulders before turning away. No shouting. No argument. Just a quiet, final exit.
She had expected this from him.
And he had proven her right.
His phone lit up on the desk.
He crossed the room in two strides and snatched it.
One new message.
From Aria.
We’re done. Don’t call.
He read it three times, slowly.
Then he sank into his chair, set the phone down, and stared at the words until they blurred.
He had ended things with women before. Many times. It was usually simple, it provided some relief, a clean break, moving on without looking back. He was good at endings.
But this was not like that.
This felt like something important had fallen through his chest and kept falling, with no end in sight.
He reached for his phone again, then stopped. She meant it. He knew the difference between anger and real finality.
Aria Monroe was done with him.
And he had no idea how to fix it.
That was new. Lucien Vale always knew how to fix things. Money. Power. Resources. The unshakable confidence that had carried him for thirty-two years. None of it mattered now. Aria had never wanted any of those things from him. That was what had made her different from the start.
It was also what made her unreachable.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
The door opened without a knock.
Victor Vale walked in like he owned the place, which in more ways than one, he still did. He went straight to the bar cart, poured himself a large glass of scotch, and slowly swirled it.
Lucien didn’t speak.
Victor took a sip, then looked over. “You look terrible.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re sitting alone in the dark.” Victor walked to the window and stood where Lucien had been. He looked out at the bright city, hands relaxed at his sides. “Rough day?”
Lucien remained silent.
Victor let the quiet stretch, then spoke as if commenting on the weather. “I heard things didn’t work out with the Monroe girl.”
Lucien went completely still.
Not a single muscle moved. Not an eyebrow. He had learned that expression from Victor years ago because the biggest mistake in any room was letting anyone read you.
He kept everything under control. Locked down.
But inside, something cold split open. Like winter air rushing in through a broken seal.
The Monroe girl.
He had never mentioned Aria to Victor. Not her name. Not a single detail. Their relationship had stayed carefully off the radar. No photos, no leaks, no public traces. Aria had insisted on it. He had respected it.
Victor should not know who she was.
Yet he had said her name casually. Like it was old information. Like he had been carrying it for a while and only now decided to deploy it.
Victor kept looking out at the city. “Probably for the best. These things distract you. You need a clear head right now.” He finished his drink in one go, set the glass on the windowsill, and adjusted his cuffs with neat, practiced movements. “Board meeting Thursday. Don’t be late.”
He left without saying anything else.
The door clicked shut.
Lucien stayed still for a long moment.
Victor knew her name.
He told it like it meant nothing. Like it was just a passing comment. But the timing—
Lucien thought about Diana leaning on the desk. The laugh. The hand on his lapel. How long it all went on.
Then Aria’s face in the doorway came back to him.
Then Victor’s calm expression just now.
His hand moved before he fully decided. He picked up his phone and called Aria again.
It rang.
And rang.
Voicemail.
He ended the call. Tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
Lucien stood, snatched his jacket, and headed for the door. He wasn’t going to sit here waiting for her to ignore him into oblivion. She wouldn’t answer calls. She wouldn’t read explanations.
But Victor knowing her name changed everything.
Someone had given him that information. Someone had been watching.
And Aria was out there alone, thinking the worst of him—while something tied to his own family was closing in.
He had to get to her before anything happened.
Before whatever had followed her father’s name decided she was next.
Lucien hit the elevator button hard, his pulse sharp with something worse than regret.
Fear.
Real fear.
Because if what he was thinking was right, then Aria wasn’t just walking away from a man.
She was walking straight into the crosshairs of the most dangerous man he knew.
And Lucien had just handed her over without realizing it.
- Writer
