The silence inside the car was suffocating.
The heater hummed softly, but I still trembled—partly from the cold, partly from everything else. My hands were curled tightly around the jacket draped over me.
Lucian's fingers were clenched hard around the steering wheel, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he stared straight ahead. He hadn't said a word since I got in.
But I could feel him glancing at me time to time. Maybe with concern...I don't know. But he sure was furious. Controlled fury, bottled and simmering beneath his calm exterior.
Then, without warning, the car screeched to a stop by the side of the road.
I lurched forward, the seatbelt tugging me back with a jolt. "What the hell—"
Lucian turned to me, eyes blazing as he reached across the console.
Before I could react, he yanked the jacket off my shoulders—the one the other man had given me. My arms instinctively folded over my chest, shielding myself, as though I was barely dressed. I actually am.
On a normal day, seducing him is my goal. But not now, not tonight.
"What are you doing?!" I cried, my voice a tremble.
He didn't answer. He rolled the window down and with one smooth, infuriating motion, threw the jacket out into the cold night.
I stared at him, stunned.
Then, wordlessly, he peeled his own jacket off—black, tailored, warm—and wrapped it around me.
His fingers lingered at my shoulders, tightening the material.
"Don't wear another man's scent," he said coldly.
My mouth parted, stunned. "Excuse me?"
He ignored the question. His gaze swept over me, finally pausing on the torn top and the bruises beginning to form on my arms. His eyes darkened further, if that was even possible.
"Who did this to you?" he asked, voice low, dangerous.
I blinked. The lump in my throat swelled. "Don't."
His jaw clenched tighter. "I asked you a question."
"I said don't," I snapped, glaring at him. "You don't get to interrogate me like this. Not after showing up and dragging me away like I'm some… possession. You saw the bruises earlier but you didn't even ask anything."
His brows lifted slightly at the word, and something unreadable passed through his eyes. But he didn't speak.
Instead, he started the car again with a sharp twist of his wrist and pulled onto the road.
Only he wasn't heading in the direction I told him.
I noticed it immediately.
"Lucian—this isn't the way. Where are we going?" My voice was tight, on edge.
He didn't even glance at me. "Silence."
I gaped at him. "What?! You can't just—"
"I said silence, Lia." His voice was low, menacing. Controlled in the way that made it worse.
I stared at him, breath caught in my throat. My heart pounded. Not from fear, not exactly—but from the maddening loss of control.
I clenched my jaw, furious, humiliated, and helpless all at once. The lump in my throat threatened to rise again, but I swallowed it down.
Fine. If he wanted silence, he'd get it.
I turned away from him, hugging his jacket tightly around my body. It was bigger than the other one, heavier too, and somehow... warmer. His scent clung to the lining—rich, clean, expensive, and distinctly him. It wrapped around me like a second skin, familiar in a way I hated to admit.
Without meaning to, I burrowed deeper into the seat, curling into myself. I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to care that his warmth was slowly thawing the chill from my bones. Or that, for a brief moment, I felt... safer.
The silence dragged on between us, thick and heavy like smoke.
Outside, the world blurred past—lights and shadows flickering across the window. I had no idea where he was taking me, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
______
The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of a grand, imposing house. A wide iron gate had already parted for him, and the driveway curved like a private invitation into the belly of something rich and unforgiving.
Lucian didn't speak. He didn't even look at me.
"Stay in the car," he said curtly, already pushing his door open.
I sat frozen, too stunned to argue, as he rounded the front of the vehicle with long, purposeful strides. I expected him to open the door and bark some cold command. I expected a threat. An insult. Something sharp-edged, like always.
I did not expect what came next.
The passenger door swung open. Before I could blink, Lucian leaned down, his arms sliding beneath me in one clean motion—one beneath my knees, the other behind my back.
"Wait—what are you—"
But he'd already lifted me.
Bridal style.
A soft gasp escaped my lips, and my hands instinctively clutched at his shoulders. His body was hard, solid, radiating a quiet power that made my heart race. Every muscle beneath that dark dress shirt felt like it had been carved from stone. And his scent—it hit me all over again, overwhelming and addictive. Clean spice, expensive leather, and something darker.
Tingles spread down my spine, uninvited and traitorous.
"Put me down," I murmured, weakly.
"Stop talking," he muttered, not even winded as he carried me up the stairs to the tall, black double doors of the mansion. The guards stationed outside said nothing, but they definitely stared. My cheeks burned.
He pushed the door open with his back like he owned the world—and he did, didn't he? Every inch of this place was dripping with the kind of wealth most people couldn't even imagine.
The entryway opened into a vast, shadowed sitting room—marble floors, high ceilings, modern black-and-gold furnishings, and an eerie silence that made the air feel too still. He didn't stop to explain anything or even glance around. He climbed the grand staircase like a man on a mission, every step echoing through the silent house.
And then he entered a bedroom.
It was masculine and unapologetically so. Black walls, dark wood, clean lines. A massive bed with deep gray sheets sat in the center of the room like a throne. The windows were covered with sleek blackout blinds. Minimalist artwork hung on the walls—sharp, abstract. A subtle scent of cedarwood lingered in the air.
He set me down gently at the edge of the bed, his hands brushing my thighs for half a second too long before he pulled away.
"This is my room," he said turning toward the tall wardrobe by the wall. He pulled the door open, revealing rows of perfectly arranged shirts—black, white, and dark gray, not a hint of color in sight.
"Change into any of these," he said, voice clipped. "You can shower if you want. I'll be downstairs."
I blinked up at him, still stunned from the way he'd carried me. "Wait—Lucian—"
But he was already walking away.
He paused at the door, his back still to me.
"And dispose whatever you're wearing," he added coldly. "It's tainted."
The door clicked shut behind him.