I didn't sleep that night.
Not because I couldn't. But because I didn't want to.
If I closed my eyes, I'd still feel him. The weight of his stare. The imprint of his voice curling around my throat like a silk ribbon tied just tight enough to remind me who placed it there.
You just chose a side.
Those words echoed like prophecy, and I didn't know whether to be terrified or thrilled.
Maybe both.
Because Lucien Vale didn't ask for loyalty.
He created it.
---
Monday came far too fast.
I walked into Westbrooke Holdings in a perfectly tailored cream blouse, high-waisted slacks, and heels that meant business. I wore war paint on my lips and my poker face on my bones.
The bracelet stayed hidden under my sleeve.
It didn't feel like hiding.
It felt like strategy.
People stared more than usual. They always stared, but now they did it with purpose. Like something about me had shifted—grown sharper, quieter, darker. Maybe it had.
I didn't care.
Let them wonder.
Let them think I'd slept my way to power.
They couldn't imagine how wrong—and how right—they were.
---
I was halfway to my office when I saw him.
Lucien stood in the hallway like he owned oxygen. A charcoal suit hugged his body like it had signed a non-disclosure agreement, and the smirk on his lips looked like it knew something the rest of the world didn't.
I froze.
Not out of fear.
Out of awareness.
Every nerve in my body tilted toward him like a compass trying to remember north.
He didn't call my name.
Didn't ask to talk.
He just tilted his head—barely—and turned to the glass conference room behind him.
A command.
Not a request.
And I followed.
---
The door closed behind me with a soft click.
Lucien didn't look up immediately. He stood near the windows, one hand in his pocket, the other pinching the bridge of his nose like the city below personally offended him.
Then: "You ignored my message this morning."
"I read it."
"That's not what I said."
My spine stiffened. "I didn't know it required a response."
"It was a question."
"It was a rhetorical one."
Finally, he turned.
His expression was unreadable. But his eyes—they weren't.
They were furious.
No… not furious. Displeased.
There's a difference. One is loud. The other is lethal.
"You think this is a game," he said.
"No," I replied evenly. "I think it's a job. One I'm very good at."
He stalked closer. Not rushed. Just inevitable.
"Then act like it. You don't get to walk away from me like Friday night didn't happen."
"I didn't walk away. You sent me home."
"That was me being merciful."
He stopped just short of touching me.
Now I could smell him—spice, cologne, control.
"You're not just an employee anymore, Alina," he said. "You're in my world now. That makes you mine. That means rules."
I arched an eyebrow. "Like what? Reply to your texts like I'm your girlfriend? Obey your every whim like I'm your pet?"
His smile was slow and cruel.
"No," he murmured, "nothing that soft."
He reached out and tapped my bracelet beneath my sleeve.
"But when I mark something, Alina, I expect it to remember who it belongs to."
---
Silence bloomed between us.
Not uncomfortable. Not icy.
Just sharp.
Finally, I said, "I'm not a thing, Lucien."
"I know," he replied. "That's why Iwantyou."
The weight of that landed heavier than I expected.
Not need. Want.
Like a vice.
"I'm not scared of you," I whispered.
"You should be," he whispered back. "But it wouldn't change anything."
He turned to leave—and then paused at the door.
"Don't make me chase you."
"What happens if I do?"
Lucien glanced at me over his shoulder, eyes dark and dangerous.
"I catch you anyway."
---
The next few days were silent warfare.
No texts. No hallway meetings. No late-night whispers.
Just distance.
Calculated, weaponized distance.
And yet—I felt him everywhere.
In the air I breathed. In the boardroom tension. In the way my coworkers kept stealing glances at me like I was a loaded gun no one wanted to trigger.
Then came Thursday.
The email arrived at exactly 3:00 p.m.
Subject: Dinner.
From: L. Vale
To: A. Moreau
> Tonight. 9PM.
Don't be late.
No address.
No signature.
No question mark.
And just like that, silence had a heartbeat again.
---
I showed up.
Of course I did.
The car arrived at 8:45 sharp, sleek and black and silent. The driver didn't speak. Just opened the door.
The restaurant was one of those places that didn't need a name. No sign. No menu. Just candlelight and exclusivity so thick you could taste it.
Lucien was already waiting when I stepped inside.
He looked up the moment I walked in.
And he smiled.
Not the smirk. Not the predator.
Something else.
Almost… proud.
"You came," he said simply.
I sat down. "I told myself I wouldn't."
"I knew you'd lie."
The wine was poured. The food served. The small talk forgotten.
Until—
"Do you regret it?" he asked suddenly.
My eyes flicked up. "What?"
"Us. That night."
I blinked. "Do you?"
"No."
Lucien leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice soft.
"But you do. At least a little."
I hesitated.
Then: "I regret that I liked it so much."
His smile didn't falter.
"It's only going to get worse."
I laughed, bitter and breathless. "You mean better."
He raised his glass. "Same thing."
---
When he dropped me home that night, he didn't try to come inside.
Didn't kiss me.
Didn't even touch me.
He just looked at me—long and hard—and said:
"I'm not the villain you think I am."
And then, quieter:
"But I'm worse than the one you're hoping I'm not."
---
I watched him leave through the window.
That night, Idreamed of black doors and silver bracelets and hands around my throat that weren't cruel—but careful.
Lucien Vale didn't knock.
He didn't wait.
He just took.
And I didn't know how to stop him.
Worse—I didn't want to.