Chapter 6
540 Words
I dressed with intention.
Nothing too obvious. Just silk. Red. Bare at the back. Tight at the hips. Enough to make a man pause mid-sentence.
When Lucien saw me, he didn’t speak.
His jaw tensed, then relaxed too quickly—like he was learning how to lie again.
“Dinner tonight,” he said. “Investors. Be civil.”
I smiled sweetly. “I’m always civil.”
“Try not to be a weapon.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
---
The car ride was silent.
Until I crossed my legs—slowly. His eyes flicked to the flash of thigh, then away.
Lucien never lost control. That was his entire brand.
But I wasn’t trying to seduce him.
I was trying to unnerve him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice a touch rough.
“Existing,” I replied, with a smile.
---
The restaurant was carved into the sky.
Glass floors. Candlelight. Money in the air.
I laughed when I wasn’t supposed to. Smiled too long at his investor’s son. Ate with my fingers when the dish begged for cutlery.
Lucien didn’t say a word.
Not until we were alone.
In the hallway.
Between the elevator and the exit.
Where no one could hear.
---
His hand hit the wall beside my head.
“Are you trying to embarrass me?” he asked, quiet.
“No,” I whispered, brushing past him. “I’m trying to see if you bleed.”
He caught my wrist.
I turned, slow and dangerous. Our faces inches apart.
“Do you want to punish me, Lucien?” I asked. “Or do you want to lose yourself in me again?”
His throat moved.
But he didn’t answer.
---
Back at the penthouse, I poured wine. He watched.
I kicked off my heels. He followed.
“You’re angry,” I said, draping myself across the couch.
“I’m something,” he replied.
“Want to fight about it?” I offered. “Or something else?”
His mouth twitched.
“You’re not scared of me, are you?”
I met his gaze dead-on.
“Should I be?”
---
He sat beside me.
Too close.
One breath and our knees touched. One twitch and his fingers could’ve been at my throat or in my hair—either felt equally likely.
Lucien reached for my wine. Took a sip from my glass.
Then placed it between us like a line neither of us would cross.
“Tell me something true,” he said.
So I did.
“I hate how much I want you.”
His hand clenched. His control cracked.
But still… he didn’t touch me.
---
When I stood to leave, he stood with me.
He didn’t ask where I was going.
But he followed to the hallway.
I turned to him there—alone, dim light, silence heavy.
“I think you’re afraid,” I said softly.
“Of you?”
“Of what happens if you let go.”
He stepped closer, chest nearly touching mine.
His voice dropped.
“And what happens if I do?”
My breath hitched.
I didn’t answer.
Neither did he.
But our silence said everything.
And nothing at all.
- Writer
