The next time Ariella saw Lucien, it was in front of five hundred people.
The Kane Foundation Charity Gala.
She wasn't going to go.
She'd ignored his texts, refused his calls. She wanted space. Time. Air.
But when an unmarked dress box showed up that morning, and a message attached read:
"You can be angry. But you'll still show up."
She realized something terrifying:
Lucien didn't make requests.
He gave orders.
Still… she went.
Not for him.
For herself.
If she was going to be dragged through this world, she'd do it standing tall — and in that dress.
It was sleek, black velvet, slit high and backless, with a silver chain at the neck. Paired with stilettos and a diamond cuff she didn't ask for, Ariella looked less like his possession—and more like his punishment.
The ballroom was brighter than the last, the crowd even wealthier. Paparazzi flashed. Celebrities whispered.
Lucien stood at the center of it all, a glass in hand, surrounded by investors.
When he saw her, he paused mid-conversation.
His eyes locked on hers.
The silence between them sizzled louder than the music.
She walked straight up to him and said nothing. Just stood beside him. A living dare.
He smirked, low and slow. "You came."
"I didn't come for you."
"Still obeyed."
She leaned in. "Enjoy it while you can."
The rest of the evening was tension on a string — tight, wound, threatening to snap.
But it didn't.
Not until Olivia arrived.
She made her way across the ballroom like a queen. She wore red silk and a smile made of knives.
And she went straight to Lucien.
"Lucien," she cooed, brushing a hand across his chest. "I've missed this suit on you."
Ariella stepped back, stiffening.
Lucien didn't move away.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't say a word to defend her.
So Ariella did what she'd been aching to do for days.
She slapped him.
Hard.
The room went silent.
Olivia gasped.
Lucien's head turned slightly from the force of it, but he didn't react — not visibly. Not the way most men would.
He simply turned back, eyes dark.
"You really shouldn't have done that," he said, voice quiet, lethal.
Ariella's chest rose and fell. "Then don't push people you think you own."
She turned to leave.
But Lucien grabbed her wrist — not violently, but firmly.
And then, right there in front of every person who mattered in his world…
He kissed her.
Not out of anger.
Not to prove a point.
But to make her feel everything she tried to deny.
His lips were demanding. Hot. Dominant.
But they were also full of something else.
Desperation.
Longing.
Possession.
And for a second, she kissed him back.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, the room erupted in whispers.
Ariella stared at him, eyes wide.
And Lucien?
He just smiled.
"Now we're even."