Sinfully Yours

Episode Seven: Beneath the Skin

Aria stood at the tall window of Lucien’s penthouse, wrapped in one of his black silk shirts that swallowed her frame. The city below pulsed with distant life, but in this silence, it felt like they were the only two souls left in the world. The shirt still smelled like him—rich cologne, power, danger—and she found herself pulling it tighter around her.

She hadn’t seen him since last night. After what happened between them—what they did to each other—Lucien had vanished into the night like a storm retreating into darkness.

But he left a note.

“Stay inside. Trust no one. L.”

Aria’s heart was still trying to make sense of how vulnerable she’d felt beneath his touch—and how terrifyingly safe. She had every reason to run. Instead, she walked deeper into his world.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

“You think you know him. You don’t. Check the black drawer beneath his desk. And ask yourself what really happened to Genevieve.”

Her stomach dropped. She spun toward Lucien’s office, heart pounding. It was reckless. Stupid, even. But that’s what he did to her—made her curious enough to court danger.

She entered the office. Dark wood, leather, and cold power wrapped around the air. Every inch of it screamed control.

She crouched beneath the desk and found the drawer. Locked.

“Come on…” she whispered. She found a paperclip in a glass tray and bent it into place, remembering what her father once taught her before he became a ghost.

Click.

The drawer slid open.

Inside: a black flash drive and a manila envelope. Taped to the drive was a handwritten note.

“If anything happens to me—go to Avalon, find Dr. Hayes. Tell no one. Especially Aria.”

Her name.

She stumbled backward like she’d been slapped. The note was addressed to someone else, but her name was on it.

And then—something louder than her breath.

The door creaked.

“Lucien?” she called.

Silence.

Then glass shattered in the hallway.

She ran.

⸻

Lucien was already bleeding.

Three men. All masked. One holding a bloodied knife. Lucien stood barefoot in just black sweatpants, bruises rising on his ribs, but his eyes were pure fire.

“Aria, don’t!” he barked when he saw her.

She grabbed a vase and hurled it at one man’s head. It gave Lucien the half-second he needed to plunge his elbow into another’s throat.

The third attacker swung a blade. Lucien caught his wrist midair and slammed him into the wall so hard the drywall cracked.

But the second man had already recovered—and now he had a gun.

BANG.

Lucien’s body jerked back. Aria screamed.

The gunman ran.

Lucien collapsed.

“No—no, no, stay with me,” Aria cried, scrambling to press against the bleeding wound in his side. Her hands were slick with his blood. Her heartbeat thundered.

“I’m fine,” he grunted. “Graze…just a graze.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’ve had worse,” he whispered, eyes fluttering. “Don’t ever…put yourself in danger for me again.”

“You’d do it for me,” she shot back, furious and shaking. “You already have.”

His hand found hers, bloody fingers curling over hers tightly.

“Because I’m not afraid to die for you, Aria.” His voice was gravel. “But you make me terrified to live without you.”

⸻

Later, the men were gone. Lucien’s private medic stitched him up without questions.

Aria sat on the edge of his bed, still trembling. Lucien emerged from the bathroom shirtless, the bullet graze bandaged, his knuckles raw.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“What was in that drawer?” he asked quietly, standing in front of her.

She looked up slowly. “You tell me. Because someone thinks I don’t know who you really are.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped an octave. “Who messaged you?”

“I don’t know.”

He moved closer. “You opened the drawer?”

“Yes.”

“I told you not to touch anything in there,” he said darkly.

“And I told you I won’t be kept in the dark,” she snapped. “Not about Genevieve. Not about whatever you’re hiding. If you want me to trust you, Lucien, you need to bleed the truth, not just your body.”

He stared at her, breathing hard.

Then—he stepped forward and grabbed her face. Not harsh, but firm.

“You want the truth?” he growled.

Her breath caught. “Yes.”

Lucien kissed her. Hard. Devouring.

And she kissed him back like she was drowning.

He pulled her shirt open and shoved her onto the bed.

“You want to know who I am beneath the skin, Aria?” he rasped, lowering himself onto her. “You’ll feel it tonight.”

And she did.

Every touch, every thrust, every breath—he made her feel his torment, his fire, his obsession. She cried out his name until her voice broke. But through it all, she saw something else in his eyes.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For her.

⸻

Later, in the dark, he whispered, “The man who sent that message—he’s connected to Genevieve’s death. And he won’t stop until he finishes what he started.”

Aria turned in his arms. “Which is?”

Lucien’s voice was like a blade. “Destroying everyone I’ve ever loved.”

Outside, in the alley beneath Lucien’s penthouse, a shadowy figure lit a cigarette and made a call.

“She found the drive,” he said.

On the other end, a woman’s voice:

“Good. Time to wake the past up.”