Awakening The Beast

Chapter Two - The Devil in His Office

Addison Rin had been at Saint Catherine's for less than twenty-four hours, and she was already bored enough to consider committing a crime.

Not a serious crime, obviously.

Just something entertaining.

Something that would make Sister Margaret's eye twitch and give Charlotte something to talk about for the next three days.

Unfortunately, Addison had discovered a far more interesting way to spend her morning.

Father Lucien Moreau.

She wondered whether he was always so serious. Whether he ever laughed. Whether that perfectly controlled expression cracked when someone finally managed to get under his skin.

And, most importantly, whether he could be made to lose his temper.

There was only one way to find out.

By ten o'clock, Addison had skipped religious instruction, climbed through a side window to retrieve a book from the locked library, and talked three other girls into joining her for an unauthorised picnic in the courtyard.

By ten fifteen, Sister Margaret had discovered the missing girls.

By ten twenty, Addison was standing in the director's office, trying very hard not to smile.

"This is not a holiday resort!" Sister Margaret exclaimed.

"Then why does it have gardens?"

"Miss Rin!"

"Sorry. Reflex."

"You will report to Father Moreau's office immediately. He will decide your disciplinary consequences."

Addison's smile became genuine.

"Father Moreau?"

"Yes."

"How unfortunate."

But the sparkle in her green eyes suggested she felt anything but unfortunate.

---

Lucien Moreau was reading when the knock came at his office door.

"Enter."

Addison walked in without waiting for an invitation.

His office was exactly what she had expected: dark wooden shelves, neatly arranged books, a large desk, and a rain-streaked window overlooking the gardens. A leather chair stood beside the fireplace.

Lucien looked up.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then he removed his glasses and set them on the desk.

"Miss Rin."

"Father."

"Close the door."

She did, slowly.

"Am I in trouble?"

His expression didn't change.

"Do you genuinely expect me to believe you don't know why you're here?"

"No. I just wanted to hear you say it."

Lucien leaned back in his chair.

"You skipped your morning instruction, entered a restricted part of the building, and encouraged three other residents to disobey the rules."

"When you list it like that, I sound terribly productive."

"Do you find this amusing?"

"Honestly? A little."

He studied her.

Most girls became nervous when summoned to his office. They apologised, made excuses, or promised to behave.

Addison did none of those things.

She stood before his desk as though she had been invited to a private meeting rather than called in for disciplinary action.

"Sit down," he said, indicating the chair opposite him.

She sat, crossing one leg over the other.

Lucien's gaze briefly dropped to the movement before returning to her face.

"Do you always challenge every authority figure you encounter?"

"Only the interesting ones."

"And you consider me interesting?"

Addison smiled.

"You're asking an awful lot of questions for a man who supposedly knows what my problem is."

Something in his expression sharpened.

"Your problem, Miss Rin, is that you mistake defiance for freedom."

"And your problem, Father, is that you think obedience makes people good."

He was silent.

Addison leaned forward slightly.

"Tell me something. If I followed every rule, attended every prayer, and sat quietly in the front row, would that make me a better person? Or would it simply make me easier to control?"

Lucien folded his hands on the desk.

"Rules can protect people. Discipline can help people become accountable for their choices."

"And control?"

"Control can be dangerous when it leaves no room for a person's own judgement."

For the first time, Addison looked genuinely interested.

"Well," she murmured, "that almost sounded like an agreement."

"It wasn't."

"Shame."

A reluctant flicker of amusement crossed his face.

It disappeared so quickly that she might have imagined it.

But Addison had seen it.

And now she wanted to see it again.

---

"Why are you really here, Addison?"

The question caught her off guard.

She tilted her head.

"You mean apart from being kidnapped by religious people?"

"Your parents' explanation is incomplete."

Her smile weakened.

"They think I'm a disgrace."

"That isn't what I asked."

"Then perhaps you should ask a different question."

Lucien watched her carefully.

Beneath her confidence, there was anger. Beneath the anger, something more fragile.

He recognised the pattern.

He had once been a man who understood the difference between appearing in control and actually being in control.

Long before Saint Catherine's, before his collar and his carefully measured words, Lucien Moreau had lived another life.

A life of private rooms, strict agreements, carefully negotiated boundaries, and a form of dominance that demanded absolute responsibility from the person who held the power.

He had been a Dom.

Not a man who confused cruelty with strength, but one who understood that genuine control depended on trust, consent, and the ability to recognise when someone needed to be heard rather than commanded.

That life belonged to a past he rarely allowed himself to remember.

He had buried it beneath years of discipline.

And yet, sitting across from him was a young woman who challenged every instruction as if obedience itself were a personal insult.

Addison was not his responsibility in that way.

She was a resident under the retreat's care. He was a priest responsible for maintaining appropriate boundaries.

He reminded himself of both facts.

Then she smiled at him.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me as though you're trying to solve a puzzle."

"Perhaps I'm trying to understand why you seem determined to make your own life more difficult."

"Perhaps I like watching people struggle to understand me."

"That sounds exhausting."

"You have no idea."

For one brief moment, her voice lost its playful edge.

Lucien noticed.

Of course he noticed.

"Your parents cannot make your choices for you forever," he said. "But you cannot spend your life punishing everyone because you feel they have disappointed you."

Addison went very still.

Then she stood.

"Is that your professional opinion, Father, or are we getting personal?"

"Sit down, Addison."

The command was quiet, firm, and entirely unexpected.

She paused.

It was not the volume of his voice that caught her attention. It was the certainty behind it.

For a fleeting second, she imagined another version of Lucien Moreau—one without the clerical collar, standing in a different room, with that same unwavering gaze and an authority he had no need to announce.

The thought sent a curious shiver through her.

She sat again, slowly.

Lucien noticed the change in her expression.

And he disliked how much he noticed it.

"Do you always expect people to obey you?" she asked.

"No."

"Could have fooled me."

"I expect people to take responsibility for their decisions."

Addison smiled, her confidence returning.

"And if they refuse?"

"Then they must accept the consequences."

She leaned forward.

"That sounds like a challenge."

"It wasn't intended to be one."

"Everything sounds like a challenge when you say it."

"Then perhaps you should listen more carefully."

She laughed.

Actually laughed.

And Lucien found himself looking at her for a second longer than necessary.

That was dangerous.

Not because Addison possessed some irresistible power over him, but because he recognised the temptation to turn their conversations into a contest—a contest he had no business inviting her to join.

He stood.

"This meeting is over."

Addison rose as well.

"Already? And here I thought we were finally getting somewhere."

"You will return to your assigned duties. You will apologise to Sister Margaret and the residents whose instruction you disrupted. You will also help organise the library tomorrow as a consequence of entering a restricted area."

She grimaced.

"Library duty? You're cruel."

"You said you wanted something interesting to do."

"Not something educational."

"Then consider it a valuable experience."

She moved towards the door, then stopped with her hand on the handle.

"Father?"

Lucien looked at her.

"Yes?"

"Do you ever get tired of being good?"

The question landed between them with surprising force.

For the first time since she had entered his office, he had no immediate answer.

Addison's expression softened, just a fraction.

"Because you look like a man who's spent a very long time telling himself what he is and isn't allowed to want."

Lucien's face became unreadable.

"Be careful, Miss Rin."

"Why?"

"Because curiosity can lead you into places you're not prepared to understand."

She smiled.

"Then perhaps you should stop making them sound so interesting."

She opened the door.

"Goodbye, Father."

And before he could respond, she disappeared into the corridor.

---

Lucien remained standing beside his desk long after the door closed.

He looked at the chair she had occupied.

Then at the papers he had been reading before she arrived.

He could still hear her voice.

Do you ever get tired of being good?

He shut his eyes briefly.

There had been a time when he enjoyed challenges. A time when he had understood the appeal of resistance, the tension between authority and surrender, and the satisfaction of earning another person's trust rather than demanding it.

He had once known exactly who he was.

Now, he was a priest who had chosen a life of service, and that choice meant something.

It had to mean something.

Addison Rin was nineteen, rebellious, and desperate to prove that no one could tell her what to do. She deserved guidance, patience, and the freedom to discover who she wanted to become.

Not to be turned into a private test of his self-control.

He would not confuse her provocations with permission.

He would not allow old instincts to dictate his behaviour.

And he would certainly not encourage her flirtation.

Lucien returned to his desk and opened her file again.

There was something unusual about the circumstances of her admission. Her parents had provided a list of complaints but no meaningful explanation of the events that had led to her removal from home.

He intended to find out why.

For Addison's sake, he told himself.

Only for Addison's sake.

---

Meanwhile, Addison was halfway down the corridor when Charlotte appeared beside her.

"Well?"

Addison grinned.

"Well, what?"

"How bad was it?"

"Disappointing, honestly."

Charlotte frowned. "Why?"

"Because I went in there expecting a lecture, and I got a lecture from the most infuriatingly handsome man I've ever met."

Charlotte stopped walking.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

"Addison, he's a priest."

"I noticed the collar, Charlotte."

"And he's thirty-four."

"I noticed that, too."

"And he's responsible for the residents here."

Addison's grin faded into something more thoughtful.

"I know."

For a moment, neither girl spoke.

Then Addison looked towards the closed office door.

There was something about Lucien Moreau that she couldn't quite explain. He seemed composed, but not peaceful. Powerful, but not entirely comfortable with his own power.

She wanted to know what he was hiding.

She wanted to know who he had been before he became the man standing behind that desk.

Most of all, she wanted to discover what it would take to make him stop looking at her as though she were merely another problem to solve.

Addison Rin had never been good at leaving mysteries alone.

And Father Lucien Moreau was becoming her most dangerous one.

Neither of them yet understood how much the past could influence the future—or how important it would be for Lucien to remember that being in control of himself was very different from trying to control someone else.