Chapter.4
809 Words
I stared into the mirror as I clasped the choker around my neck. Velvet against skin. The charm sat like a brand at the base of my throat.
A lock without a key.
Suddenly, I was fifteen again.
---
FLASHBACK
“Hold still, baby.”
My father’s fingers fumbled with my school collar. It was stained. He couldn’t afford new uniforms anymore.
“You don’t have to go to the hearing,” I whispered.
“I do.”
His voice cracked. My mother watched from the couch—silent, pale.
Outside, reporters were gathering.
“Dad… they said we lost everything.”
He looked me in the eye.
“We lost money. Not the war.”
Then softer:
“Get smart. Then get even.”
That was the last time I saw him alive.
---
Lucien was waiting by the elevator, dressed in all black. A suit sharp enough to cut.
His eyes skimmed my choker, pausing on the charm.
He didn’t smile.
Instead, he stepped behind me. Lifted my hair. His fingers brushed bare skin as he adjusted the clasp himself.
“You remembered,” he said, voice dark velvet.
“I never forget anything,” I murmured.
He leaned in close, his lips just at my ear. “Then tonight... don’t forget who you belong to.”
---
We didn’t go to a gala.
We went to something worse.
A private event held in a mansion carved into the cliffside, hidden from the press. Billionaires whispered in corners. Power traded in half-smiles and veiled threats.
Lucien didn’t leave my side.
Until he did.
“You’ll be fine for five minutes,” he said, brushing my hand off his arm. “Stay by the champagne. Smile. Don’t talk to anyone you don’t trust.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
His smile sharpened. “Then you’ll be just fine.”
---
A man approached.
Not old. Not young. Hungry.
He offered me a drink.
“I’m married,” I said, coldly.
“To Lucien Blackthorne?” His eyes glinted. “That’s not marriage. That’s an arrangement.”
Before I could reply, Lucien returned.
He didn’t say a word. Just took the man’s glass, poured it on the floor, and handed him a cloth napkin.
“Wipe it up,” he said.
The man stared. Then laughed—nervous. “You can’t be serious.”
Lucien stepped closer.
“You tried to touch my wife. You’ll clean up after yourself, or you’ll bleed.”
The man wiped the floor.
---
In the car, I didn’t speak.
Lucien watched me like I was the most dangerous thing in the vehicle.
“You liked that,” he finally said.
“That you threatened him?”
“That you belong to me.”
I turned my face toward the window.
“You can put a ring on my finger and a collar on my neck, Lucien, but that won’t make me yours.”
His voice dropped.
“You’ve been mine since the moment you walked into my office and lied to me with that perfect mouth.”
---
When we got home, I walked ahead of him. Unclasped the choker. Dropped it on the floor.
A challenge.
He followed.
The bedroom door shut behind him with a soft click that sounded like a lock sliding into place.
Lucien said nothing as he walked toward me.
I said nothing as I backed up until the bed hit the backs of my knees.
He didn’t ask permission.
I didn’t want him to.
He kissed me like it was overdue. Hands in my hair, mouth hard, teeth biting my lower lip just enough to hurt. I gasped.
And he smiled.
Clothes came off like declarations. His jacket hit the floor. My dress slipped down my body. Heat rose. His mouth trailed my collarbone, down my stomach, across my hip.
“Say it,” he murmured, eyes blazing.
“Say what?”
“That you want this.”
I didn’t.
I needed it.
---
Lucien took his time like a man savoring something forbidden.
His hands were everywhere—fingers gripping my thighs, his mouth teasing the inside of my knee until I begged. Not with words, but with breath.
He pinned my wrists over my head. I arched.
“I can’t decide,” he whispered. “If I want to ruin you, or worship you.”
He did both.
Over and over again.
I climaxed under him, around him, with him—our hate blurred into something raw and unspoken. His voice broke on my skin as he said my name like it meant something.
After, we lay tangled in sweat and silence.
His fingers still brushed the keyhole charm.
And mine rested on the scar at his shoulder.
No one said it.
But something had changed.
And neither of us could take it back
- Writer
