EPISODE 5
854 Words
Lucien entered the room moments later, immaculate as always. He didn’t look tired. Didn’t look guilty. Didn’t look like a man who had complicated anything.
“You look fine,” he said.
Fine.
I met his gaze in the mirror. “Your guest… “
“Is none of your concern,” he interrupted calmly. “Tonight is about appearances.”
There it was.
Appearances.
“I understand,” I said.
And I did.
More than he realized.
……………
At the venue, cameras flashed the moment we stepped out of the car. Lucien’s hand settled at my waist, light but firm. Performative. Perfect.
“Smile,” he murmured.
I did.
They didn’t know I’d met his lover less than twelve hours ago.
They didn’t know I was standing beside a man who could compartmentalize women like files.
All they saw was just a billionaire and his beautiful wife.
And as the flashes continued, I realized something quietly, decisively;
This wasn’t going to teach me, It was going to break me.
Lucien Vale did not walk into a room.
He claimed it.
His hand rested lightly at my waist, not possessive enough to look rehearsed, not distant enough to suggest disinterest. It was calculated, every inch of him always was. The black tailored suit, the calm arrogance, the expression that said he belonged to wealth the way the ocean belonged to salt.
And me?
I was draped in silk I could never have afforded in ten lifetimes. The gown hugged my body like it had been sewn with intention, every curve acknowledged without apology. I’d stared at myself in the mirror earlier, barely recognizing the woman staring back; soft, composed, expensive.
“Relax,” Lucien murmured near my ear as cameras clicked faster. “If you faint, it’ll trend for the wrong reasons.”
I swallowed. “You’re very reassuring.”
His lips twitched. Not a smile. Never that generous.
We moved through the crowd like a slow dance. Dignitaries, CEOs, investors, politicians faces I’d only see on screens smiled at me warmly.
“So this is the woman,” an older man said, eyeing me approvingly. “About time you settled down, Lucien.”
Another woman clasped my hands. “You’re stunning. He looks… grounded. You must be good for him.”
Grounded.
If only they knew.
Compliments followed me like perfume, too sweet, slightly dizzying.
“Beautiful.”
“Elegant.”
“She suits him.”
“Finally, one woman.”
I smiled until my cheeks hurt, nodded until my neck ached, played my role so well I almost believed it myself.
Almost.
Lucien leaned down during a lull. “You’re doing fine.”
“Is that your version of praise?”
“It’s rare. Treasure it.”
I huffed quietly, and to my horror, he chuckled, low and brief but it was gone before I could decide if it had really happened.
The speeches dragged on. Applause rose and fell. I listened, watched, absorbed. This world, his world, was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.
When it was finally over, my legs were trembling from standing, my mind buzzing from everything unsaid.
Inside the car, silence wrapped around us.
For a while, I watched the city lights streak past the tinted windows, gathering courage like loose change.
“My mother,” I said suddenly.
Lucien turned slightly, attention sharpening.
“She’s sick. Has been for a while. We’ve been managing, but… it’s getting worse.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“I know this marriage is an arrangement,” I continued softly. “But if there’s anything, anything at all you could do…”
“I’ll have her flown out tonight,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
“To the best hospital. Europe. Specialists. No delays.”
Just like that.
My chest tightened. “Lucien, I …”
“Don’t thank me,” he cut in. “It’s nothing, I’ll call another car for you and drop you off.”
Still, tears burned behind my eyes.
I saw my mother off that evening, holding her frail hands, promising explanations later, promising everything would make sense soon,even though I wasn’t sure if it ever would.
When I returned to the mansion, exhaustion weighed heavy on my bones.
The chauffeur parked. I stepped inside.
And froze.
The sound reached me before anything else.
Laughter but low, feminine. Then voices. Then unmistakable noises from Lucien and Camille that echoed down the marble hallway, bold and unashamed. The walls carried it all, like the house itself was complicit.
I stood there, heat crawling up my neck.
So that was how the night would end.
I retreated to my room quietly, changing into a thin silk nightgown, my hands shaking despite myself. The fabric slid over my skin, light as a whisper.
I was brushing my hair when the door opened.
I turned sharply.
Lucien stood there.
His shirt was gone. His jacket discarded. His hair was slightly disheveled, skin warm-toned under the soft light. He looked infuriatingly at ease like a man who had just indulged and still wanted more.
My breath caught despite my better judgment.
- Writer
