"Do it."
The man's lips parted slightly, his voice low and cold, slicing through the air like a blade of ice.
"It wasn't me—please, it really wasn't me!"
Sophia was on the verge of breaking down.
Max lay on the ground, covered in blood, barely breathing. The sight alone was enough to drive her insane.
And that voice—Lucian's—so calm, so merciless—it chilled her to the bone.
Her whole body trembled. In her eyes, this man wasn't human at all. He was a devil in the flesh. A walking reaper.
"I swear it wasn't me, Mr. Sterling!" she screamed, stumbling backward in panic. "It was Elena—yes, it was her! She forced me! She's the one who started it! Ask Felix, he saw it with his own eyes! She pushed me into the pond—she almost drowned me! It was all her fault, all—"
Slap!
"Aah!!"
Before she could finish, Lucas's hand struck across her face, sending her staggering backward with a scream.
"You hit women now?" she spat, eyes wide with fury and humiliation. "Aren't you afraid people will laugh at you when they find out?"
Lucas chuckled, voice dripping with mockery. "Mr. Sterling never lets us lay hands on women. The only ones we hit…"—he leaned close, sneering—"…are beasts."
Beasts.
They were calling her a beast—while standing up for Elena.
Sophia's anger twisted into disbelief. "Who the hell are you people? Why are you helping her? What's your relationship with Elena?"
Lucas sighed. "So you did forget the lesson you got the other night. Figures."
Sophia froze, her eyes widening in horror. She stared at Lucian, her voice breaking, "It was you!"
Lucian didn't even bother to look at her. He turned, slipped his arm around the woman on the bench, and walked away.
Only three words were left behind, cold enough to freeze the air solid—
"Keep hitting."
The moment the order fell, Lucas obeyed without hesitation. His boot slammed into the back of Sophia's leg, forcing her to her knees.
"Ah—!!"
Her scream echoed across the empty space. Through her blurred vision, she saw their silhouettes fade farther and farther away.
She had thought Elena's new lover was some balding, greasy, middle-aged married man—that's why Elena had kept him hidden.
But now, seeing Lucian Sterling, she realized how wrong she'd been.
The man wasn't old. He wasn't ugly. He was terrifyingly handsome—every inch of him radiating power and danger.
Compared to him, Felix wasn't even worth a mention.
Jealousy flooded her like acid, burning from the inside out.
Why her? Why always her?
She had spent years fighting, scheming, just to take Felix away from Elena—to make her suffer, to watch her lose everything, to grind her into the dirt.
But Elena… Elena had landed on her feet again.
And this time, the man standing beside her made every other man look small.
He protected her like a wolf guarding its mate—whoever dared to hurt her, he tore apart.
Why does she always get everything?
Her voice broke into a manic shriek. "Mr. Sterling! Don't let her fool you! She's a filthy, shameless slut! She seduces every man she meets—she's not what you think she is!"
Lucas froze, watching his boss's back go rigid. He sighed inwardly.
Some people really have a death wish.
But Sophia didn't notice. Blinded by rage, she kept going, spitting venom between every breath.
"I'm telling you the truth! She sells herself for money! There was a rich man before you—he gave her five million! Five million for one night!"
"I saw the money with my own eyes! I asked her about it—she admitted it!"
Lucian stopped walking.
Slowly, he turned.
His eyes burned with a fury that could kill.
He moved his lips, barely speaking—but Sophia caught the words.
"Kill her."
Her legs gave out completely. She crumpled to the ground, trembling from head to toe.
That night…
was the longest and cruelest night of her life.
Elena followed Lucian out, her body weak, her breathing uneven.
The moment she let her guard down, the discomfort inside her grew stronger—like flames licking at her skin, like her blood was boiling from within.
Every step felt like walking through fire.
She clutched the jacket Lucian had draped over her shoulders, clinging to it as though it were the only thing keeping her alive.
Lucian's strides were long, his pace fast.
She could barely keep up, but he kept pausing every few steps—waiting for her, silently, though he never looked back.
She wasn't paying attention and bumped straight into his back.
The contact made her shudder violently.
Lucian turned, brow furrowed, his patience gone. "Do you not have eyes? Watch where you're going."
But to Elena, even his anger sounded… gentle.
The heat coursing through her body made her dizzy. Her heart thudded painfully.
She looked up at him, her voice soft and trembling.
"Lucian… can I hold you? Please?"
Before he could answer, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
The faint scent of tobacco filled her nose—familiar, intoxicating.
"So warm," she murmured. "It feels so good…"
Lucian went completely still. For a moment—just a moment—his whole body locked up.
Then his voice dropped, cold and hard again. "Let go."
"I don't want to…" Her voice was like cotton candy—sweet, fragile, dangerously soft.
He clenched his jaw. "I'll say this once more—let go."
But she didn't.
If anything, she held him tighter, her small hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. "No… if I let go, it hurts… it hurts so much…"
Lucian's restraint snapped.
He grabbed her wrists, prying her fingers off one by one, forcing her to let go.
When she looked up at him again, her eyes were red, glistening with unshed tears.
"Elena," he warned, his voice trembling with anger, "you'd better not make me angry."
And then—
Her tears fell.
In the next instant, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.
Soft.
Warm.
Tasting faintly of salt and sorrow.
Boom—
Lucian's mind went blank, as if a bomb had exploded inside his skull, blowing every last shred of reason to dust.
Lucian spun her around and pinned her against a tree.
The rough bark scraped her back; she gasped, struggling against his grip, but he caught her chin first, forcing her face up to his.
Then his mouth crashed onto hers—wild, consuming, relentless.
The kiss hit like a storm. His breath, his anger, his need—all tangled into one violent rush.
Elena's body trembled. Without thinking, she tried to wrap her arms around his neck—
but her wrists were caught mid-air.
He stopped, breath harsh, eyes unreadable.
The moment his lips left hers, she whimpered like a child denied candy.
"What are you doing?" she complained, voice soft and breathless.
Lucian said nothing.
Her chest heaved. She looked up, searching his face—and saw it.
Something flickered there: disgust, fury, humiliation... and beneath it all, something like self-mockery.
"Did someone drug you?" he asked coldly.
His words barely reached her through the haze in her head. Her body burned, her mind was chaos.
She tugged at his shirt, desperate, dizzy, wanting nothing but him.
He turned his face away. She chased after him, lips trembling—
until he slammed her head back against the tree and held her there, voice low and sharp.
"I'm asking you again, Elena—were you drugged?"
"I... I don't know," she murmured, breath catching. "I just feel so hot… so uncomfortable."
Her voice broke into a trembling plea. "Lucian, please… hold me, kiss me… it'll make it stop, please."
He froze. For a second, something unreadable passed through his eyes.
For once, she wasn't scheming, wasn't pretending.
And yet, even this moment twisted the knife deeper.
His tone was flat, almost cruel.
"What if it wasn't me?"
Elena blinked, confused. "What…?"
Lucian's grip on her wrists tightened painfully.
"What if it was another man standing here instead of me?" he ground out, every word dripping venom.
"Would you beg him too? Ask him to touch you? To kiss you?"
Tears welled in her eyes. "Lucian, I don't—"
Her voice cracked into sobs, lost between pain and confusion.
"I don't know what you're saying…"
He laughed—short, bitter, like a blade scraping against glass.
Then, without warning, he let her go.
Elena stumbled forward—and instantly threw herself back at him, clinging like a drowning girl grabbing a lifeline.
"I caught you," she whispered, smiling through her tears. "Don't push me away again, please…"
But he did.
Without hesitation, Lucian shoved her off, ripped the tie from his collar, and bound her wrists tight.
"Lucian—!" she gasped.
He ignored her, dragging her forward, dialing a number as they moved.
"Do something for me," he said into the phone, voice low and cold.
Elena's ears rang. The world tilted. Her fingers trembled against the knot of silk that held her captive.
"Lucian, it hurts," she cried behind him. "Please, let me go—"
But he didn't answer.
He pulled her out through the side door, down the steps, and shoved her into the back seat of a waiting car.
She was burning up. Every breath felt like fire under her skin.
She pressed against him instinctively, her body begging for relief. "Lucian," she whispered, voice breaking, "hold me… just once…"
He yanked her away again.
"Mr. Sterling," the driver asked quietly, "back to the South Bay villa?"
"No," Lucian said, tone clipped and icy. "The nearest hotel."
"Yes, Mr. Sterling."
As the engine started, the driver caught a glimpse of them in the mirror—Lucian's cold, hard profile, and the woman trembling beside him.
Then came his low warning, sharp enough to cut through her fevered haze:
"Elena, stay still."
The driver's mouth curved in a faint, knowing smile.
When the car stopped, Lucian dragged her out.
She was drenched in sweat, body trembling from the drug still raging inside her.
He didn't look back, didn't soften—just kept pulling her through the corridor and into a suite.
"Lucian—" she sobbed, voice hoarse. "Please, I can't—just hold me, please—"
The door slammed open.
He shoved her inside—straight into the bathroom.
The bathtub was massive, sunken, half the size of a pool.
Elena could barely stand; she wanted to strip off her sticky clothes, to breathe, to stop burning.
But her wrists were still bound.
She looked up at him, dazed, lips trembling into a broken smile. "Lucian… help me take them off?"
His face darkened.
Without a word, he pushed her backward—hard—into the tub and turned on the shower.
A torrent of icy water poured down.
She screamed from the shock, shivering violently, curling toward him for warmth.
"Lucian, it's cold…"
He pulled her away and kept spraying her, relentless.
Her teeth chattered. Her breath came out in short, panicked gasps.
Finally, she broke, sobbing and trembling.
He grabbed her chin, forcing her face up. His grip was iron.
"Does this help?" he hissed. "You still want me to hold you? To kiss you?"
Her eyes were red, her lips blue.
She met his stare through tears and whispered, trembling, "Yes…"
He laughed again—a hollow, furious sound—and turned the water back on, full blast.
The spray hit her face; she choked, gasping for air, coughing violently.
He leaned closer, voice low and deadly.
"What about now?"
Elena's body shook. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the cold water.
Still, her lips moved, stubborn and broken.
"I… still want you."