The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the white silk bedsheets. Elena blinked slowly, adjusting to the gentle warmth brushing her cheeks. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then the memory returned like a tide crashing over her—last night, the confrontation with Lucien, the tension that hung between them like a sharp thread, and the kiss that neither of them had planned.
Her fingers brushed her lips.
It hadn't been a gentle kiss. It had been messy, rough, emotional—a storm rather than a whisper. And yet… there had been a flicker of something else beneath all that fury.
She sat up and pulled the sheets closer to her body, heart racing. The other side of the bed was empty. Cold. He had left early.
Her chest tightened.
What now?
She knew better than to believe in fairy tales. A kiss didn't undo the months of silence, of bitterness and contracts and misunderstandings. It didn't erase the cruel words, the forgotten birthdays, the nights he hadn't come home.
Still…
A soft knock at the door interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," she said, voice hoarse from sleep.
Maria, the housekeeper, peeked in. "Ma'am, breakfast is served. Mr. Lucien said to let you rest but asked me to check in."
Elena nodded. "Thank you, Maria."
As the door closed again, she exhaled and slid out of bed. Her legs felt shaky, not just from last night's emotional whirlwind, but from the nagging fear that things might spiral again.
Because for the first time, Lucien had looked at her like she was someone he wanted—not out of obligation, not for appearances. But truly wanted.
And that terrified her.
Downstairs, Lucien stood in the dining room, black suit crisp as always. But his eyes weren't their usual shade of icy indifference. There was a storm beneath the surface—one he couldn't name.
He stared at the untouched toast on his plate, his mind replaying the moment he'd kissed her.
He hadn't meant to. It had just—happened.
One second, they were fighting, and the next, his mouth had found hers, and he had drowned in her taste, in her anger, in her sadness.
He'd kissed her like a man desperate to prove something.
But what exactly? That she still mattered? That he cared?
He clenched his jaw. He couldn't afford to fall now. Not when the shadows of the past were inching closer.
Not when his mother had returned.
By the time Elena descended the stairs, Lucien had retreated to the study. She noticed the untouched plate and the steaming black coffee—his usual.
A quiet sigh escaped her lips. Whatever warmth that had flickered between them the night before had cooled by morning. She should have expected that. Lucien wasn't the kind of man who woke up soft.
She poured herself a cup of tea and forced a bite of toast, but her heart wasn't in it.
When she finally gathered the courage to face him, she knocked lightly on the study door.
"Come in," his voice said—calm, unreadable.
Elena stepped inside. He was seated behind the grand mahogany desk, flipping through reports, eyes scanning the pages but clearly not reading them.
"I thought we should talk," she said softly.
He looked up. "About last night?"
She nodded.
He closed the folder and leaned back. "It was a mistake."
Her heart sank, but she kept her expression calm. "Was it?"
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "You and I both know this marriage started as an arrangement. My mother's return… complicates things. I shouldn't have let my emotions get in the way."
She swallowed hard. "Do you regret it?"
He didn't answer immediately.
After a long pause, he said, "I regret how I handled it."
That wasn't a no. But it wasn't a yes either.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "I'm not asking you to love me, Lucien. But I deserve honesty."
He rose, walked around the desk, and stopped in front of her. "Then I'll be honest."
His eyes held hers—intense, fierce. "I don't know what I'm feeling, Elena. You confuse me. One moment I want to push you away, and the next, I find myself protecting you. Kissing you. Wanting you."
Her breath hitched.
"I spent years building walls. I can't tear them down overnight," he said.
She reached out slowly, placing her palm over his chest. His heart thudded beneath her touch.
"I'm not asking you to," she whispered. "Just don't keep me in the dark."
Lucien closed his eyes briefly, then nodded.
For the first time in a long while, there was a fragile understanding between them.
But peace never lasted long in the Laurent household.
That afternoon, a bouquet of blood-red roses arrived. No note. No signature. Just the scent of danger.
Elena was in the hallway when Maria brought them in. The maid smiled as she handed the bouquet over.
"For you, ma'am."
Elena frowned. "Are you sure? I didn't order these."
Maria nodded. "They arrived with your name on the delivery label."
As Elena reached for the roses, a slip of paper fell out from between the petals.
She picked it up, heart already sinking.
In crisp, elegant handwriting, the message read:
"You look beautiful when you're vulnerable. Shall we meet again?"—V
She froze.
V.
She knew that initial. Too well.
Vincent Romano.
The man she thought she'd escaped. The past she thought had been buried.
Her hands trembled, and the world tilted slightly.
"Ma'am?" Maria asked, concerned. "Is everything alright?"
Elena quickly folded the note and forced a smile. "Yes. Just... memories."
She hurried to her room, locked the door, and stared at the note again.
He had found her.
How?
Why now?
And more importantly—how much did Lucien know?
Later that night, Elena sat on the balcony, the roses locked away, the note burned in the fireplace. But her mind couldn't burn the past as easily.
Lucien joined her, silent as ever, carrying two glasses of wine.
She accepted one.
"You've been quiet," he said after a while.
She hesitated. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"The past. Regrets. Choices."
Lucien sipped his wine. "Anything I should worry about?"
She looked at him, trying to read the question behind the calm exterior. Did he suspect something? Or was this his way of asking if she still had feelings for someone else?
Instead of answering directly, she said, "You ever have someone you wanted to forget, but they kept finding ways back into your life?"
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Yes."
She turned to him. "Did you love her?"
Lucien looked into his glass. "No. But I thought I did. She taught me what manipulation looks like in a pretty dress."
Elena smiled sadly. "Sounds familiar."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, a breeze brushing their hair.
Then Lucien said, "If someone's bothering you, Elena, I need to know."
She hesitated. Telling him about Vincent could bring chaos. But hiding it could be worse.
"Maybe soon," she said. "Not tonight."
He nodded once, eyes steady.
But she knew that the clock had started ticking. Her past wasn't done with her yet. And if she wasn't careful, it could destroy the fragile bond she'd just begun to build with Lucien.