Chapter 2 – The First Night
[Aria's POV]
The dress had cost thousands. Red silk, backless, high slit—exactly what the mafia heir's fiancée was expected to wear.
But I felt like a wrapped gift. One already purchased. Owned.
Lucien's penthouse was carved from shadows and obsidian. Sleek black floors, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that framed a view of the dark New York skyline, and silence so thick it felt alive.
"This is where you'll live," he said flatly, tossing his coat over a leather chair. "Starting tonight."
I stood at the entrance, still clutching the glass of champagne I hadn't touched. My voice was low. "You didn't ask."
Lucien turned to me, unbuttoning his cufflinks. "You didn't say no."
I glared. "Would it have mattered?"
He walked toward me slowly, deliberately, until his body boxed me against the door. His hand came up—not to touch, but to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered at my jaw.
"No," he murmured, voice low. "It wouldn't have."
I slapped him.
The sharp sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. I expected rage. Retaliation.
He smirked.
"Good," he said. "Keep fighting. It'll make it sweeter when you break."
I shoved him back, but he didn't move. His body didn't budge an inch.
"You can't just take me like this."
"I already have."
---
[Lucien's POV]
She was fire beneath the satin.
Aria Monroe was supposed to be a pawn. A body with a name, a signature that meant leverage. But now she was in my space, in my home, and I couldn't stop thinking about how her mouth had curled just before she slapped me.
Not fear. Fury.
And I liked it.
I turned from her and poured myself a drink. "You can sleep in the guest room tonight. Or with me. Your choice."
She scoffed. "You think I'd sleep in your bed after being kidnapped into marriage?"
"It's not kidnapping. It's business."
"I'm not property."
"You are now."
She stormed past me, heels clicking down the hallway. But not before I saw her tremble.
Not from fear.
From the realization that she didn't hate the way I looked at her.
And that was dangerous—for both of us.
---
[Aria's POV – Later That Night]
The guest room was luxurious, but cold. No personal touches. No soul. Like everything else in Lucien's world.
I stood at the window, watching the city lights blink like secrets in the dark. My fingers touched the glass.
A soft knock startled me.
The door opened before I could answer.
Lucien entered. No jacket. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, tattoos peeking from his forearms. His hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes—those damn eyes—locked on me.
"I said it was your choice," he said quietly.
I swallowed hard. "And I chose this room."
"Then why haven't you locked the door?"
I didn't have an answer.
He stepped closer. Not touching—just standing behind me. Close enough that I could feel his warmth. His voice was a breath against my neck.
"You keep saying you hate me," he murmured. "But your body listens more honestly than your mouth does."
I turned slowly. My heart pounded against my ribs.
"You think you can control me with sex?"
His smirk deepened. "No. But I can make you crave it enough to forget why you're supposed to resist."
And then he kissed me.
Hot. Possessive. Unforgiving.
He didn't ask. He took.
His hands slid around my waist, gripping with force he didn't try to hide. My fingers curled against his chest, fists ready to push him away.
But I didn't.
I pulled him closer.
---
[Lucien's POV]
Her lips were soft, but her kiss was a fight.
She kissed like she hated it. Like she hated that she didn't hate it enough. I backed her against the wall, one hand sliding beneath her thigh to lift her leg around my waist.
She moaned into my mouth, and that sound—raw, involuntary—rushed straight to my spine.
I didn't undress her. I didn't need to. Not yet.
This was a warning.
She would belong to me.
Completely.
---
[Aria's POV – Minutes Later]
I shoved him away.
Breathing hard. Cheeks flushed. Legs trembling.
"Don't touch me again."
He didn't apologize. Of course not. He just stepped back, adjusting his shirt collar like nothing had happened.
"I won't," he said coolly. "Not until you beg."
And then he left.
Just like that.
I slid down the wall, heart hammering in my chest.
Because I wasn't just angry. I was afraid.
Not of him.
Of myself.
Because I wanted to beg.
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