Sinfully Yours

Episode Five: Blood on Velvet

Lucien didn’t speak a word as they left the Delacroix.

Aria sat in the passenger seat of his sleek black McLaren, heart hammering in her chest. The heat between them was still thick, unfinished, but it had been buried under the sharp edge of that call.

Someone had broken into his office.

The drive was short but tense. Lucien’s hands gripped the wheel like he wanted to crush it. His jaw ticked with every red light. His suit still carried the scent of her skin, her perfume clinging to his collar. But the fire in his eyes was no longer lust—it was rage.

They pulled up to a high-rise on the east side. Lucien entered a code and parked in a private underground garage. Then, without a word, he led her to an elevator with mirrored walls and no buttons.

He held his finger to a scanner.

The elevator rose.

“Lucien,” Aria said finally. “You don’t have to bring me with you. I—”

He cut her off. “You want to know who I am? This is part of it.”

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened to a space she could only describe as lethal luxury.

Black leather furniture. Sculpted steel. One wall was entirely glass, looking out over the city. Another was covered in books—titles on finance, warfare, and psychology. A sleek bar stood in the corner, and beside it, a large desk lay overturned, papers scattered everywhere.

And on the center of the white marble floor—

Blood.

Not much.

Just a smear.

But enough to still Aria’s breath.

Lucien moved fast, scanning the room, checking locks. He bent beside the desk and picked up a small black velvet box.

Crushed.

“What was in it?” Aria asked quietly.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he crossed the room to a hidden panel and typed a passcode. A small drawer opened behind a painting.

Inside was a gun.

Aria stepped back. “Lucien—”

“I won’t use it,” he said. “Unless I have to.”

“Do you always keep weapons in your office?”

“I keep secrets in my office,” he said. “Secrets people would kill for.”

He looked down at the smear of blood again. “They sent a message.”

“Who did?”

Lucien’s gaze met hers. Cold. Focused. Predator.

“The same people who made Genevieve disappear.”

Her throat went dry. “You said she jumped.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s what they want you to believe.”

He turned toward her, walking with purpose, the gun now holstered beneath his jacket.

“But you—you’re not like her,” he said. “You don’t crave the fantasy. You crave the truth. The raw, ugly truth.”

Aria’s back hit the glass. His hands caged her in, arms braced on either side of her head.

“So tell me,” she whispered. “What truth are you hiding?”

He stared at her, silent.

Then—he kissed her.

Hard.

Possessive.

Like he wanted to forget everything else but the taste of her lips.

Aria moaned as he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist. His mouth devoured hers, his hands tugging at the hem of her dress.

“No rules tonight,” she breathed.

Lucien growled.

“No rules.”

He carried her to the desk, cleared it in one violent sweep, and laid her across the cool wood.

His mouth moved lower—neck, collarbone, chest.

Then lower still.

He kissed her inner thigh, teasing her, tasting her, driving her mad with every slow, sinful flick of his tongue.

She writhed beneath him, gasping, trembling, pleading.

And when he finally gave her what she craved—his touch, his mouth, his body—it wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Unhinged.

Like he was trying to brand her.

She came undone in his arms, crying out his name as the world shattered around her.

⸻

Later, they lay tangled in silk sheets in a private room behind his office. Aria traced a scar on his chest, one of many. Thin, white, deliberate.

“How did you get this?” she asked.

Lucien stared at the ceiling. “Knife. Paris. 2017.”

She frowned. “You’ve been attacked before?”

“More than once.”

She sat up. “Lucien… what are you involved in?”

He turned toward her. His voice was low, heavy.

“My company handles information,” he said. “Dangerous information. I know things about very powerful people—things they’d do anything to keep buried.”

Her skin prickled. “Like what?”

“Like how a billionaire senator had a girl trafficked to silence her. Or how a tech CEO faked his own death last year to avoid a scandal. Or how Genevieve found something on someone she never should’ve seen.”

Aria’s heart raced. “What did she find?”

Lucien’s expression hardened. “A ledger. A coded list of offshore accounts tied to human trafficking. She didn’t realize what it meant—until it was too late.”

“Where is it now?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But someone thinks I do.”

“And you think whoever broke into your office is after it?”

Lucien nodded. “Which means they might come after you next.”

A cold wave of fear washed over her.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

He gripped her chin gently, tilting her face toward his.

“Aria, if you walk away now, they’ll still come. But you’ll be alone.”

She swallowed. “And if I stay?”

“You’ll be protected,” he said. “But you’ll belong to me.”

Her breath hitched.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I…” She trembled.

“I’m yours.”

Lucien’s phone vibrates again.

A video message.

He plays it.

Aria gasps—on screen is a live feed of her apartment building.

And a masked figure standing outside her door.

The message reads:

Tell her to choose wisely. The next girl won’t be so lucky.

—X