The morning sun barely reached the tall windows of Arabella's hotel suite. She stood on the private balcony in a robe, watching the city stir awake beneath her feet. Cars honked in the distance. The world moved on, indifferent to her shattered life.
But last night… something had shifted.
Lucien Wolfe.
He'd stayed at the bar for only thirty minutes. They didn't exchange life stories, no probing questions, no judgments...just quiet companionship and a few cryptic lines that sat in her head now like a riddle.
"You look like you already got burned."
"Most people know my name, but I like that you don't."
Who was he?
She didn't ask. She didn't care.
But her mind wouldn't stop repeating his name.
Later That Day – Wolfe Enterprises
Lucien sat behind a long, obsidian desk in his private office on the 61st floor.
The glass walls overlooked Manhattan, but Lucien rarely looked out. He didn't need to. He already owned too much of what he saw.
His assistant stepped in.
"There's a woman from the press trying to get a quote about the Crane pregnancy announcement."
Lucien didn't even blink. "Ignore her."
"And a package just came for you. From Milan."
"Leave it. Clear my afternoon."
His assistant paused. "For what?"
Lucien's eyes narrowed slightly. "Because I asked you to."
She left without another word.
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, and tapped once on the desk.
Arabella Hart.
He had heard the name whispered more than once this year. The beautiful Crane's wife. The schoolteacher-turned-billionaire's arm candy.
But last night, she wasn't the woman the tabloids painted.
She was broken. Raw. Quietly dangerous.
And Lucien knew something about dangerous women.
He reached for his phone.
Two Hours Later – Arabella's Suite
Arabella opened the door in sweats and no makeup, expecting housekeeping.
Instead, she found a courier.
"For you," he said, handing her a thin black envelope with no sender's name.
She opened it after he left.
Inside was a card. Handwritten. Slanted, powerful handwriting.
Dinner. Just conversation.
7 PM. Suite 620. Discretion guaranteed.
-L
No address. Just the suite number...in the same hotel.
She stared at the card like it might catch fire in her hands.
She shouldn't go.
She knew nothing about him.
But the alternative?
Staring at the walls. Replaying Sebastian's betrayal. Wondering what Juliette was doing with her husband.
7:01 PM – Suite 620
She knocked.
Lucien answered himself. Dressed in a black button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal expensive cufflinks and a watch that probably cost more than her car.
He stepped aside.
The suite was dim, candlelit, and private. Soft jazz played from invisible speakers. A table set for two overlooked the skyline.
No photographers. No servants. No manipulation.
Arabella hesitated in the doorway.
"Why me?" she asked.
Lucien poured wine into crystal glasses. "Why not you?"
"I'm not in the mood to be played."
He handed her a glass. "Then don't let anyone play you."
She didn't take it. "What do you want from me?"
Lucien studied her, the way someone might study a chessboard right before the first move.
"I want to offer you something."
Arabella's eyes narrowed.
"Not romance," he clarified. "Not yet."
She arched a brow. "So what then?"
"Revenge."
She froze.
Lucien walked to the window, speaking calmly. "Your husband is weak. He was once smart, but now he's compromised. Distracted. Too easily swayed by pretty things with no loyalty."
She swallowed. "And you know this because?"
Lucien turned. "Because I've been trying to buy him out for six months. And he's too arrogant to admit he needs saving."
Her heart thudded. "You're a business rival."
He nodded. "Among other things."
She stepped back. "This is about business. Not me."
"No," Lucien said, voice low. "This is about what they took from you. Your marriage. Your name. Your pride. I know what it feels like to have someone rip your life out from under you and smile while they do it."
She met his gaze. "What are you offering?"
He walked over, inches away now.
"Let me help you rebuild," he said. "Not just escape. Win."
She didn't move. "Why?"
"Because you deserve better. Because I hate men like Sebastian. And because…" his voice dropped, "you intrigue me."
Arabella's breath hitched.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed envelope.
"Inside: proof that Juliette isn't pregnant. And that she never was."
Her eyes widened.
Lucien smiled.
"I could've used it to destroy Sebastian's reputation. But I didn't."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to see what you'd do with it."
Arabella slowly reached for the envelope.
Her fingers brushed his.
Their eyes locked.
For a second, the air went still.
Her lips parted.
He leaned slightly closer...just enough.
It felt like he might kiss her.
Her heart raced.
But then...
He stepped back.
Not yet.
He simply said, "Careful, Arabella. I'm not a man you fall in love with."
And then he walked away.
Leaving her holding the envelope.
Alone.