Chapter. 5
500 Words
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Lucien didn’t return to the bed.
Not that I expected him to.
I found his side cold when I woke up, the imprint of his body already fading.
In the mirror, I looked like a woman satisfied.
But behind my eyes?
I felt unarmed. And I hated it.
---
He was already dressed when I stepped into the sun-drenched kitchen. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, coffee in hand.
“You didn’t say goodbye,” I said.
Lucien looked at me over the rim of his cup. “Would you have preferred a note?”
“I would’ve preferred honesty.”
He set the cup down, slow and deliberate.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
The air crackled. Our breakfast table could’ve doubled as a battlefield.
Still, he pulled out the chair for me.
And I sat.
---
Lucien left for a meeting by 10.
I gave it 30 minutes before I started walking the halls like I owned the place.
It wasn’t snooping.
It was survival.
Most of the penthouse was sterile—steel, glass, curated art that probably meant nothing to him. But the door at the end of the east hallway was… different.
Old. Wooden. And unlocked.
He must have forgotten to secure it.
His mistake.
---
It wasn’t just a room.
It was a study. Dark wood, books in perfect order, and a fire that hadn’t been lit in a long time.
Photos lined the wall.
Lucien and his father.
Lucien and a man I recognized from headlines—his former business partner, now mysteriously dead.
But one photo sat behind glass.
Carefully framed. Protected.
A courtroom.
Crowded.
Zoomed in on a girl in the corner.
Me.
-
I stared at it like it might explode.
I hadn’t even known the picture existed. I was young. Barely conscious of cameras back then. But there I was—hair braided tight, chin lifted. Looking straight into the storm.
And Lucien had kept it.
Why?
Was it a trophy?
A warning?
Or was it something worse?
Something personal?
---
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
His voice was behind me, low and unreadable.
I turned slowly.
Lucien stood in the doorway, tie loosened, expression carved in stone.
“You framed a picture of me?” I asked, teeth sharp.
“I framed a moment.”
“Of what? A win?”
He didn’t flinch.
“Of impact.”
---
I crossed the room until we stood breath apart.
“Why me?” I asked. “Why marry me? Why now?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
“Because I don’t trust anyone,” he said. “And you… you’re the most dangerous person I’ve ever met.”
“And you like that?”
“I crave it.”
Silence.
Then I turned, walked past him, and whispered—
“Craving is just hunger without reason, Lucien. Eventually, it eats you alive.”
He didn’t follow.
But I could feel his eyes on my back.
Burning.
- Writer
