Ariella had never seen anything like it.
The penthouse opened into a world of glass, gold, and silence. The floor beneath her was marble, cool and flawless. City lights shimmered through floor-to-ceiling windows. One entire wall was a wine cellar; another, a gallery of black-and-white art so sleek it made her feel out of place.
Like dirt on white silk.
Lucien walked ahead without looking back, removing his suit jacket and tossing it neatly over a leather armchair. He poured himself a drink like she wasn't even there.
She didn't move.
"This is your home now," he said finally, his back to her.
"This isn't home," she said quietly. "It's a cage."
Lucien turned. He walked toward her slowly, sipping his drink like her defiance amused him. He stopped inches from her face.
"You'll find this cage has silk sheets, designer clothes, and a bank account in your name."
"I don't care about money."
His jaw tensed. "You will."
Ariella looked up into his eyes, daring to meet them. Cold. Calculating. But something flickered beneath — something buried, restrained.
Desire? Anger? She couldn't tell.
"Are you going to sleep with me tonight?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
Lucien blinked.
"No."
Her heart thudded.
"No?" she echoed.
"I don't sleep with women who stare at me like they'd rather stab me."
She flinched.
He smirked. "You'll want me eventually. And when you do, you'll come to me."
She hated the heat rising in her chest. Hated that his voice sent a chill down her spine.
"Until then," he continued, "You'll sleep in the guest wing. Clothes are already in the closet. Wear the black dress tomorrow night. There's a charity gala, and you'll be on my arm."
She crossed her arms. "What if I say no?"
He leaned down, voice low. "Then I'll remind you who paid your price."
Before she could speak, he turned and disappeared into a hallway, leaving her in the center of luxury, swallowed by silence.
And suddenly… it didn't feel like a cage.
It felt like the beginning of something dangerous.