CHAPTER 55 – A HOUSE THAT ISN'T MINE
R I N A
The morning was too perfect.
I opened my eyes to sunlight spilling through curtains that weren't mine, in a room that smelled faintly of lavender and freshly polished wood. For a moment I didn't move. I simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind caught between disbelief and resignation.
This wasn't my world.
I wasn't supposed to be here inside the walls of an estate that felt like another country altogether. I was supposed to be back in my small, carefully built life, in the apartment that smelled faintly of my oils and half-finished blends, with a to-do list pinned on the fridge and Liora humming off-key while the girls bickered about whose turn it was to water the plants.
But I wasn't.
I was here. In his world.
And it terrified me.
The events of last night washed over me in fragments the tears of the girls, their little hands gripping mine like anchors, their voices demanding promises I couldn't refuse. Lucian's voice, low and unyielding, meeting me in the storm of it all, until we stood united in one truth neither of us could escape:
We had no choice but to be "together."
Even if only for them.
The thought alone made my chest ache. I had lived five years building a world on ashes, convincing myself I could keep us safe if I stayed invisible. And now here I was, back in the light of the very man who could tear everything apart without even trying.
And worse? The girls were happy.
God, they were so happy.
Their laughter rang down the hall like music, loud and innocent, bouncing off marble walls as if this house had always been theirs. When I forced myself out of bed and followed the sound, I froze in the doorway of their room.
I had seen beautiful spaces before, but nothing like this.
The twins' bedroom looked like something pulled straight out of a dream. Pink cream walls were trimmed with golden accents, chandeliers of crystal butterflies dangling from the ceiling. Twin canopy beds stood side by side, draped with soft blush fabric that shimmered in the sunlight. A mural of stars and clouds stretched across the far wall, glowing faintly as if painted with magic itself.
Shelves already overflowed with books, plush toys, puzzles things they hadn't owned two days ago, yet looked as if they had been here for years. A dollhouse taller than me sat in the corner, doors and windows painted delicately with roses.
And in the middle of it all, my daughters were twirling, their dresses puffing around them like spun sugar, their giggles spilling freely as they showed each other treasures I hadn't even realized had been brought in.
I leaned against the doorframe, stunned.
"Do you like it, Mama?" Isla spotted me first, eyes wide, cheeks flushed with delight.
Before I could answer,Lila bounded forward and grabbed my hand, tugging me into the room. "Look! Daddy said this is our room! He said it's all for us, forever and ever!"
Daddy.
The word was so natural on her lips, as if it had been waiting there all her life. My throat tightened painfully.
"Yes," Isla said proudly, spreading her arms as if to display the entire palace. "Daddy made it perfect. We love it!"
Their joy should have been enough to quiet my unease, but instead, it carved deeper into my heart. They didn't see the weight behind the perfection, the danger of living inside a world built by Lucian Dreven.
All they saw was magic.
All they wanted was us.
I crouched down, brushing Isla's hair back from her face, and whispered, "It's beautiful, sweetheart."
And it was. Too beautiful.
But before I could stand, Lila's voice rang out again, high and insistent:
"Mama, why aren't you sleeping with Daddy?"
The words cracked through the room like a whip.
I blinked, my mouth falling open. "What?"
"You sleep in another room." Isla crossed her arms, her little chin jutting out in a mirror of my own stubbornness. "We saw. Why?"
Heat climbed up my neck. "Because....because that's just how it is."
"That's not fair!" lila stomped her tiny foot. "Families stay together. Daddy sleeps with you. That's how it's supposed to be!"
"Yes," Isla nodded furiously. "We don't like it when you're apart. Promise us you'll stay with him, Mama. Promise!"
"I" My throat closed. I looked toward the doorway, silently begging for rescue.
And of course, he was there.
Lucian leaned against the doorframe, perfectly composed, watching the scene unfold with eyes that gave nothing away. He was dressed casually this morning if such a word could even be used on him dark trousers, crisp shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He looked every inch the man who had been born to own rooms without trying.
And my daughters were using him as leverage against me.
Lucian stepped forward, crouching down so he was eye level with them. "Girls," he said, his voice low, calm, and impossibly steady. "Your mother and I… are figuring things out."
"But we don't want figuring!" Isla's eyes brimmed with sudden tears. "We want together!"
"We don't want you to leave again, Mama," lila sobbed, gripping my hand desperately. "Please don't leave! You promised!"
The room spun with their cries. My heart cracked wide open.
I looked at Lucian. He was watching me, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. And then, with a quiet finality that made my stomach twist, he said:
"Stay."
Not like a command. Not like a prison sentence. But like a statement of fact, immovable and undeniable.
"You'll get everything you need here. You don't have to leave again." His eyes softened, just barely. "For them."
My lips parted, words rising but dying in my throat. Because he was right. Because they were still sobbing, still clutching me, still begging. Because I couldn't stand to break their hearts again.
I closed my eyes. Nodded once.
The girls cheered instantly, their tears forgotten, throwing themselves into my arms.
And just like that, it was decided.
I was staying.
Breakfast was another kind of battle.
The dining room table stretched like a runway, polished mahogany gleaming under the light. Silverware glinted, steam rose from covered dishes, and the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and coffee. The twins climbed into chairs with the excitement of queens, chattering about pancakes and fruit and how they wanted to eat every single thing.
I slid into the chair beside them, trying to steady my nerves. Lucian took the head of the table, perfectly poised, his presence filling the space as if it had been designed for him alone.
And then there was Silas.
Perched at the far end of the table like he owned it.
I blinked at him. "Do you… live here now?"
Before Silas could respond, Lucian arched a brow, cutting in dryly:
"Silas, don't you have a house? Or do you just live here now?"
The butler nearly choked on his own laughter behind us.
Silas, however, simply grinned, unfazed. "Boss, you know my house is wherever you need me. Besides…" He leaned forward, lowering his voice theatrically. "The food here is better."
The twins burst into giggles.
Even I had to press my lips together to stop from laughing.
Lucian only sighed, shaking his head, but I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
For a moment, absurdly, the estate didn't feel so cold.
For a moment, it almost felt like… family.
But the truth lingered beneath the laughter, heavy and sharp.
This wasn't real.
This wasn't safe.
And as I watched my daughters beam at their father, as if they had found the missing piece of themselves, a single thought carved through me like glass:
If I stayed here too long, if I let them get used to this life, I wouldn't be able to take it back.
And I didn't know yet if that was salvation.
Or destruction.