"Where is he? Where's the handsome guy?"
The models craned their necks, pushing each other to squeeze inside.
Elena had been keeping her head down, walking quietly in the middle, trying her best to make herself invisible. But in the chaos, she was shoved to the very front.
The flimsy scraps of fabric barely covering her body almost slipped off under the pressure. Panicked, she lifted a hand to adjust them—and that was when her gaze, by accident, landed on a figure just a meter away.
Her breath caught.
Lucian.
He was sitting on the leather sofa, legs crossed. Black tailored suit, a shirt so white it seemed bleached, cut sharp as a blade to frame his tall, striking figure.
His features were perfect, as though carved by the hand of a master sculptor. Especially those long, narrow eyes—dark, deep, with the faint lift at the corners that gave them an almost dangerous beauty. And at the edge, that tiny tear mole, like the final brushstroke completing a masterpiece.
But the coldness in his gaze, the frigid edge in his aura, made him impossible to approach.
Elena froze. Seeing him here of all places—her stomach dropped. Instinctively she stepped back, only to be pushed forward again by the crowd. Around her, the other models were shrieking.
"Oh my God, he's gorgeous! I swear I've never seen a man this handsome in my entire life."
"Right? He makes every celebrity look plain. What a crime he's not in the spotlight."
"But why is he here, in our dressing room? And with bikinis hanging behind him—this whole scene feels… unreal. Like something out of a dream."
"Come here."
The two words cut through the chatter like a blade of ice.
One hand in his pocket, the other holding a half-burned cigarette, Lucian sat back, lips pressed thin, brows drawn. His gaze swept the room—arrogant, untouchable.
The models exchanged nervous looks, unsure whom he was addressing. No one dared step forward.
Elena's heart pounded. Her legs felt rooted to the spot. It had been weeks since she'd last seen him, and she hadn't imagined their reunion would come like this.
And worse—she could feel his anger. Even without a raised voice, even behind his controlled facade, it seeped through every inch of him.
A cold laugh spilled from his lips.
"What's wrong? Do you expect me to come to you?"
"I… no…"
Elena stammered, fingers twitching toward the hem of her bikini—only to realize there was nothing to clutch. The humiliation burned. She was still standing there, barely dressed, in front of him.
The sight only made his fury sharper.
"Everyone else—out!"
The models scattered like frightened birds, scrambling from the room and slamming the door behind them.
Click.
Silence fell. The vast dressing room now held only the two of them, heavy with suffocating tension.
"Come here."
Her lips trembled as she obeyed, step by hesitant step, until she was kneeling at his feet, tilting her face up toward him.
"I tried calling you… texting you… You didn't answer. You didn't reply. I thought maybe… maybe you didn't want to see me anymore…"
"So you thought no one was watching, and you could do whatever you wanted?"
His eyes were cold, piercing straight through her. She flinched, trying to explain.
"No—that's not what I thought, I swear—"
"Elena," he cut her off, voice low and lethal, "was it fun? Did you enjoy yourself?"
Her throat tightened, words barely a whisper.
"I wasn't here to play. I was here… to make money."
"Your way of making money is stripping for other men?"
His gaze raked over her, sharp and cruel.
"Ah, that's right. I almost forgot. That is your way of making money, isn't it? Five years ago, and still the same now."
Her eyes burned. She choked out, "Lucian, I'm not as filthy as you think I am."
"Filthy?" His jaw clenched, teeth grinding. "You dare talk about being wronged? Dressed like this, parading yourself in public, humiliating me—you still think you have the face to argue?"
"I'm not naked, I didn't steal or break the law! I earned this myself—why is it shameful for me to survive on my own?"
His hand shot out, gripping her jaw so tightly the veins in his hand bulged.
"You've grown bold. Now you even dare to talk back?"
Elena bit her lip, turning her face away, silent.
But he wasn't done. His voice dropped darker still.
"Elena, tell me. Why are you so cheap?"
"Do you really need to strip for men every day just to breathe?"
Her jaw throbbed under his grip, sweat breaking across her skin. But what hurt more was deeper—the ache in her chest.
Lucian always had the power to crush her with nothing but words.
Each breath scraped against her ribs, painful, suffocating. "Fine. You're right, Lucian. You're always right! I am that cheap. If I don't strip for men, I'll suffocate. I'll die. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"Does hurting me over and over make you feel satisfied?"
But he didn't feel satisfied. Not at all.
The thought of her on that stage, in nothing but a few strings, swaying her hips and smiling at strangers—it made him sick with rage.
The thought of those eyes—hungry, possessive—clinging to her body, made him want to gouge them out.
His vision darkened. His gaze fell on the blue butterfly tattoo above her chest. The filthy comments, the lewd laughter, echoed in his head.
His anger blazed, burning away the last of his reason.
Like a man possessed, he lunged forward, mouth crushing against her skin, biting down savagely on the tattoo.
His teeth were sharp, brutal, and Elena felt as though he were about to rip flesh from her bone. Pain seared through her, and she screamed, "Ah—!"
But he didn't stop. His bites only grew harder, crueler.
Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, her voice breaking with fury and despair.
"Lucian, you bastard! You're insane! You're a monster!"
Each insult only drove him further, each word met with another vicious bite, as if punishment.
She pushed him with all her strength, struck him again and again, but in the end it was all useless.
She hadn't wanted to cry, but he always had a way of tormenting her until the tears fell.
The pain was unbearable—his bite hurt far too much.
Her sobs grew weaker, until even the strength to curse him was gone. She could only cry.
At last, whether satisfied or simply appeased, he finally released her and lifted his head.
She was crying so hard that her face was streaked with tears, while he looked like some bloodthirsty demon. He raised his hand slightly, wiping the trace of blood from his lips with his thumb.
He looked terrifying—and yet, in that terrifying aura, he was devastatingly wicked and breathtaking.
"Hurts, doesn't it? Scared now?"
Her tear-filled eyes turned away, not daring to meet his, but he was quicker. His fingers seized her chin, forcing her face back to him.
"That's better."
She had no choice but to look into his eyes—those long, narrow eyes, black and fathomless. Staring into them was like falling into an abyss. His voice, sharp and cold, cut through her heart like a blade.
"Elena, remember this: for the sake of your brother's bone marrow, you've already sold yourself to me. Feeling wronged? You don't deserve to."
"From now on, whatever you do—you'd better remember who you are. Think twice before you act. Don't make me teach you again."
Every word he spoke was like a steel needle, stabbing into her heart until it bled. She couldn't recover from the pain.
Bang!
The door slammed shut. Lucian was gone.
The sound made Elena's body jolt violently.
And then—she almost laughed.
Elena, Elena… what are you even feeling wronged about?
Just as Lucian said, for Sean's sake you sold yourself to him. No matter what he does to you, you can only endure it. You don't even have the right to feel wronged.
Whatever he says, however he curses or humiliates you—you're supposed to swallow it quietly. Why fight back? Why talk back?
And now look at you. You only ever learn your lesson after being beaten down, after ending up covered in wounds.
The door to the dressing room opened again, and the other models poured inside. They crowded around, voices rising in concern.
"Elena, are you okay?"
Flustered, she snatched a tissue from the coffee table, wiping her tears away until her face was clean. Shaking her head hastily, she forced a weak smile.
"I'm fine."
"But—but your chest is bleeding…" one of them whispered anxiously.
She curved her lips faintly, managing a strained smile.
"It's just a scratch. Really, I'm fine. Sorry for holding you all up—go on, hurry and change."
Seeing that she clearly didn't want to talk, the models exchanged glances and went to change their clothes. Still, they muttered as they did so.
"Wow, I never would've guessed that a guy that handsome—handsomer than a celebrity—could have such violent tendencies…"
"Seriously! That was terrifying. No matter how good-looking he is, if a man's violent, he's not worth it!"
Of course, everyone understood that truth. But only if they had a choice.
Elena changed back into her clothes, drained of energy, and left the dressing room. Her mind betrayed her, dragging her back to memories of Lucian and their bitter past.
Once upon a time, he hadn't been like this. Their relationship hadn't been so broken. But ever since he got together with Lydia, he stopped caring about her.
And after Lydia left, he changed completely—becoming volatile, cruel, and brutal.
In the end, it was all because of her.
Ha. Retribution, perhaps.
As she stepped out of the mall, her phone rang in her bag.
She pulled it out—Derek.
What wind was blowing today? Derek had actually removed her from the blacklist?
Elena answered, her voice flat.
"What do you want?"
"Elena." Derek's voice came through the line. "Where have you been lately? Why haven't you come home?"
Elena almost laughed. Derek caring about whether she came home? Impossible. He only ever cared about Lynn and Sophia, those shameless mother and daughter.
If anything, Derek probably wished she'd just drop dead outside.
Her lips curved into a mocking smile.
"Didn't you say I should never come home again? For the rest of my life?"
"Don't spout nonsense. That was just a moment of anger. Must you cling to every word between father and daughter?" Derek sounded annoyed.
"Lynn just came back from a business trip. She really wants to see you. Come home tomorrow for lunch—she'll cook herself."
Elena laughed coldly.
"No thanks. If Lynn's cooking, I'd rather not. Don't want to shorten my life."
"Elena!" Derek's tone sharpened, furious.
Elena couldn't be bothered to argue.
"Dad, I'm busy. If you've got something to say, spit it out. If not, I'm hanging up."
There was a pause on the other end, then Derek spoke again.
"Elena, Mr. Cheng won't accept Sophia. You know about this, don't you?"
Of course. Elena sneered inwardly. Derek calling her and pretending to care—this was all for his precious daughter.
Her tone was dripping with sarcasm.
"How could that be? My sister is so sweet and well-behaved. Mr. Cheng should be thrilled. Why wouldn't he accept her?"
"Besides, I even gave her the engagement ring. The Chengs care a lot about such things, don't they? Surely they wouldn't oppose her now."
Derek sounded impatient.
"A lot has happened recently—it's complicated. But listen, I need you to do something. Tomorrow, go to the Cheng family and explain to the old man. Tell him you were the one who wanted to break off the engagement. That you never liked Felix, that you've always loved someone else. Whatever it takes—make sure you withdraw, so your sister can marry into the Cheng family."
Look at that. He made it sound so natural. As if Elena owed Sophia her whole life.
Why?
Why should she give way to Sophia?
"Dad, you were the one who forced me into an engagement with Felix. And now you're the one telling me to back out? Do all men change their words as easily as they change their shirts?"
"Just like you, back then—you swore you'd love my mom forever. And then you turned around and hooked up with another woman, even had a bastard with her."
"Elena! How dare you—speaking to your father like that!" Derek roared.
But his anger only made Elena laugh.
If they refused to let her live in peace, buzzing around like flies, then fine—she'd make sure none of them had peace either.
She had no feelings left for this family. No hope, no love.
Her laugh was icy, her tone almost careless.
"Don't get so worked up. I was just joking. You wouldn't want to hurt your health over something so trivial, Dad."