The kiss was over, but its aftermath burned hotter than the act itself.
Lucien had pulled away first, just slightly, his mouth still dangerously close to mine. I could feel his breath against my lips, and my brain hadn't yet caught up with the fact that that had just happened. His hand was still cupping the side of my face, thumb tracing slow, maddening circles against my cheekbone. I didn't dare move. Couldn't.
What the hell was that?
I was supposed to push him away. I was supposed to slap him, yell at him, walk out of this glass-walled conference room with my head held high and my spine straight. But none of that happened. Instead, I stood there, fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, my heart hammering like it was trying to break out of my ribcage.
Lucien's eyes searched mine, and something in his gaze darkened.
"Don't pretend you didn't want that," he said, voice low and firm.
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he was full of himself. That I hadn't wanted anything from him. But my mouth betrayed me. It stayed shut, trembling ever so slightly, and my silence was answer enough.
He pulled back, finally letting his hand drop from my face. The loss of his touch hit like a slap. My body swayed in his absence, and I hated how lost I felt in that one second.
"Good," he said, smoothing the cuff of his suit as if he hadn't just shattered every rule of professional conduct. "Because I don't do second chances, Alina. If you're going to run, do it now."
I blinked. "Run?"
Lucien didn't answer. He walked to the conference table, retrieved the sleek tablet he'd brought in earlier, and turned back to me like nothing had happened. "The updated marketing proposal needs your review by tonight. My driver will take you home."
Excuse me?
I blinked again, waiting for the punchline. Nothing. Just cold CEO mode, like the last five minutes had been part of some delusion I'd conjured up during a caffeine crash.
"You kissed me," I finally said.
Lucien arched a brow. "You kissed me back."
I hated how calm he was. How he managed to make me feel like the irrational one. My cheeks flushed, partly from embarrassment and partly from rage.
"This isn't normal," I snapped. "You can't just—kiss people. You can't—whatever this is—"
"I can," he interrupted coolly. "And I did."
"And I can report you."
The words felt weak the moment they left my mouth. I knew it. He knew it. And his smile—sharp and slow—said as much.
"You won't."
I didn't say anything.
Lucien took a step forward, then another, and the confidence in his gait made my knees lock together out of reflex. He didn't touch me again, but he leaned in just enough for the air to thin.
"I don't play games, Alina," he murmured. "I don't need to. But I think you like this. You don't want sweet. You want this—the danger, the control, the chaos."
"I don't—"
"Yes," he cut in smoothly, like my protests bored him. "You do. Because no man's ever made you feel this alive. And you're terrified of what that means."
I was trembling. Not because he was wrong, but because he was right. And I hated that he could see it before I could admit it to myself.
He moved away again, as if giving me space was some twisted form of generosity. "Go home, Alina."
"But I still have—"
"You've done enough for tonight."
"Lucien—"
"Mr. Vale," he corrected. "Until I say otherwise."
I stared at him. Cold. Polished. Dangerous. Untouchable.
And still—utterly addictive.
The walk out of the conference room felt surreal. My legs didn't quite feel like mine, and I couldn't shake the heat of his hands from my skin. The bracelet he'd sent earlier—it still rested on my wrist, the delicate chain now feeling like a shackle. A reminder.
I reached the building's lobby in a haze, the night air waiting beyond the glass doors like a slap of reality. A man in a black suit and sunglasses, despite the hour, opened the car door for me. Lucien's driver.
I slid in without a word.
The car smelled like leather and something sharp and clean. I leaned my head against the window as the city blurred past, every nerve in my body still screaming.
What the hell was happening?
What the hell was I doing?
By the time I reached my apartment, I was half-convinced I'd imagined it all. But then I caught sight of myself in the mirror by the elevator—lips redder than usual, skin flushed, eyes wide.
No, I hadn't imagined it.
Lucien Vale had kissed me.
And it had changed everything.
---
The next morning, I didn't hear from him.
I waited. I stared at my phone more than I cared to admit. I even checked my email—twice. Nothing. No messages. No "good morning, trouble." No cryptic warnings. No calls summoning me back to his office like some twisted game of fetch.
And I hated how disappointed that made me.
The bracelet was still on my wrist. I'd tried taking it off the night before, but the clasp was delicate and unfamiliar. And somewhere in the middle of fumbling with it, I'd given up. Maybe part of me didn't want it off. Maybe part of me liked feeling claimed.
I hated that part.
I arrived at work early and avoided the elevators to the executive floor. My boss—real boss, not the demonic CEO—was thankfully oblivious to my current emotional meltdown. I buried myself in emails and reports, pretending I was just another intern trying to survive a brutal corporate world.
Around lunch, a message appeared in my inbox.
No subject. No text.
Just a calendar invite from Lucien Vale.
"Meeting. 4PM. Come alone."
No room number. No explanation. Just a time. And a command.
I stared at it for a full minute before I hit accept.
---
4PM came faster than I wanted it to. I was already regretting the way my hands shook as I smoothed my blouse and reapplied lip gloss in the bathroom. Stupid. Why did I care how I looked? It was just a meeting. A conversation. A professional—
Liar.
The elevator to the top floor opened with a soft chime, and I stepped out into silence. No receptionist. No assistants. Just Lucien's glass-walled kingdom, all clean lines and shadows.
His office door was ajar.
I pushed it open gently.
He stood at the window, back to me, staring out at the city like he owned it. And maybe he did. He didn't turn around when I walked in.
"You came," he said.
"You told me to."
"That's not why you came."
I said nothing.
Lucien finally turned, and his eyes locked onto me like a target. My breath caught. He looked like sin wrapped in Armani.
"I should be angry," he said, walking toward me. "For threatening to report me. For doubting me. For pretending you're not just as dangerous as I am."
"I'm not—"
"You are," he said simply. "You just don't know it yet."
He stopped in front of me again, too close, always too close.
"I want to offer you something."
I blinked. "A job?"
He smirked. "Something better."
My heart kicked. "What?"
Lucien reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was intimate. Soft. Deceptive.
"A choice," he murmured. "You can walk out of this room, and we'll go back to pretending none of this happened. You'll be another name in my company files. You'll move on. Forget me. Try to be normal."
I swallowed. "Or?"
"Or," he said, "you stay. You take the risk. You belong to me."
I stared at him. The way he said it wasn't romantic. It wasn't even possessive in the normal sense. It was ownership. And I should've been furious. I should've run.
But all I could think about was how right it felt.
How inevitable.
"Say it," he whispered. "Say yes."
My lips parted. My mind screamed no.
But my heart?
It chose chaos.
"I'm not afraid of you," I said softly.
Lucien smiled.
"You should be."
And then he kissed me again. Harder. Deeper. More dangerous than before.
But this time?
I kissed him back without hesitation.