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Chapter 6: The First Break
The morning light filtered softly through the glass walls of the mansion. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and silence—too calm, too quiet. But Vierrah had learned that calmness in Lucas's mansion was never peace. It was a warning.
She sat in the garden, pretending to read a book while her thoughts drifted somewhere far away. The marble bench beneath her felt cold despite the warmth of the sun. She had grown used to that feeling—coldness disguised as comfort.
The wind brushed her hair when a familiar voice suddenly broke the stillness.
"Vierrah?"
Her heart jumped. She turned—and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
"Evan?"
Standing by the gate was Evan—her old college friend, wearing the same boyish smile she hadn't seen in months. His presence felt like a piece of her old life—real, free, and painfully distant.
"God, I can't believe it's really you," he said, walking closer, his eyes soft with concern. "I've been trying to reach you. Your phone's dead, your social media's gone. Everyone's been asking—what happened?"
She froze, glancing at the mansion's tinted windows. Her voice came out low and nervous. "Evan, you shouldn't be here."
He frowned. "Why? I just wanted to check if you're okay."
"I'm fine," she said too quickly.
He laughed softly, disbelieving. "Fine? You sound like you're reading a script."
"Evan, please…" she whispered. Her eyes darted again to the house. "He can't know you're here."
But it was too late.
A faint shadow moved behind the glass doors. The next sound she heard was the echo of deliberate, heavy footsteps.
Lucas.
He stepped outside with his usual calmness—his hands in his pockets, his tailored shirt crisp, his expression unreadable. But his eyes… they were already burning.
"Who is this?"
Vierrah's throat tightened. "Lucas, this is Evan. He's just—"
"Just?" His tone was low, dangerous.
Evan extended his hand in an attempt at politeness. "Sir Lucas, I'm an old friend of Vierrah's. I didn't mean to intrude—"
Lucas didn't even look at the hand. His gaze stayed locked on Vierrah. "Did you invite him here?"
"No," she said quickly. "He just came. I didn't—"
Lucas turned slightly to the side, still smiling—but it wasn't kindness. It was the kind of smile that hid a storm. "Guards," he said softly. "Escort this man out."
Evan's smile faded. "That's not necessary, sir. I was just leaving."
But as the guards approached, he instinctively raised his arm to stop them. "Hey, no need to grab me, okay? I said I'll—"
His hand brushed Vierrah's arm.
And that was it.
Lucas's composure shattered like glass.
Before Vierrah could even react, Lucas's fist collided with Evan's jaw in a brutal, bone-cracking sound.
"Lucas!" she screamed. "Stop it! Please, stop!"
But he didn't hear her.
He hit him again, sending Evan sprawling to the ground. Lucas's voice was ragged, feral. "Don't you touch her! Don't you dare touch my wife!"
Blood splattered across the white tiles, stark against the roses around them. Vierrah ran to pull him away, her hands trembling as she clung to his arm.
"Lucas, enough! Please!" she sobbed. "You're hurting him!"
His eyes were wild, unrecognizing. "He touched you!"
"Because you scared him!"
Her words finally pierced through the haze. Lucas froze, chest heaving, knuckles dripping with crimson.
The guards pulled Evan to his feet. The man's face was bruised, blood trickling from his lip.
"I'm sorry," Evan whispered to Vierrah. "You need to leave him…"
"Get him out of my sight!" Lucas bellowed, voice echoing across the garden.
The gates slammed shut minutes later, and silence fell again—heavy, suffocating.
Vierrah stood there, her body trembling, her eyes fixed on the blood staining the marble floor.
Lucas turned to her slowly. The rage was fading from his face, replaced by something worse—shock, guilt.
"I told you," he murmured, looking at his hands as if he couldn't believe what they'd done, "no one touches you."
Her tears broke then. "You could've killed him!"
He took a step toward her, voice cracking. "Vierrah—"
She backed away. "Stay away from me."
That made him stop. He looked… lost. The confident, unshakable Lucas Alvarez—now trembling like a child caught in the aftermath of his own destruction.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what came over me. I just—when I saw him touch you—"
"Because you think you own me!" she shouted, her voice shaking with anger and pain. "You think love means controlling everything I do!"
His face crumpled. "No, I don't—"
"Yes, you do! You're suffocating me, Lucas. I can't breathe anymore!"
He dropped to his knees in front of her, the sound of his voice breaking her heart despite everything. "Please… don't say that. I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear I didn't."
She stared at him, speechless. Lucas—the man who commanded boardrooms, who made people tremble with one glance—was kneeling before her, eyes red, voice shaking.
"I just love you too much," he whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks. "I lose control when I think someone might take you from me. You're all I have, Vierrah."
Her chest ached.
She should have walked away, screamed at him, anything. But instead, pity twisted around her fear like a chain.
He looked broken. Truly broken.
"Lucas…" Her voice softened despite herself. "You scared me."
He lifted his gaze, guilt shadowing his features. "I know. I'm sorry. I'll never hurt anyone again. I'll never hurt you again."
When she hesitated, he reached for her hand—hesitant, trembling. "I'll change. Please believe me."
She didn't pull away. Her fingers rested in his grasp, cold and reluctant.
And somehow, that small contact made him exhale as if the world had started breathing again.
He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her shoulder. His voice was barely a whisper. "Don't leave me. I can't survive without you."
Vierrah closed her eyes, her tears soaking into his shirt. She wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that somewhere in all that madness, there was still love.
But deep down, she knew better.
This wasn't love. This was dependence. Possession. Fear disguised as devotion.
When night came, the mansion was quiet again. Lucas lay beside her in bed, his arm draped over her waist protectively, as if even in his sleep he couldn't let go.
Vierrah lay still, staring into the dark. Her mind replayed everything—the sound of fists hitting flesh, the tears that followed, the apologies whispered like a prayer.
She didn't know which haunted her more: the violence she saw… or the gentleness that came after.
Because when Lucas broke, he didn't just hurt others. He shattered himself too.
And somehow, that made her heart ache even more.
She turned her head slightly, watching him sleep. His face looked peaceful, almost innocent under the moonlight.
But she knew the truth now.
The man she married was both her savior and her prison.
And she—foolishly, tragically—was starting to pity her captor.
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