Lucien's grip on Anya's wrist was not painful, but the intensity of his gaze was a physical weight, pinning her in place. The name "Mia" felt like a stone dropping into her stomach.
"I don't know who Mia is," Anya insisted, trying to pull free. Her mind raced for an explanation—had the CEO suffered a breakdown? Was this some elaborate, terrifying prank? "Sir, I'm truly sorry about the vase. I'll pay for the damages, but you have to let go."
Lucien ignored her protest, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her inner wrist in a familiar, almost soothing rhythm that sent a shiver down her spine—a terrifying sensation that felt inexplicably right.
"Five years ago, you left me," he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "I searched the world. I consulted every mystic, every scientist. I built monuments to your memory. And all this time, you were this close." He pulled her closer, his gaze sweeping over her face with devastating possessiveness. "I recognize your soul, Anya. The sound, the scent, the desperate urge to clutch the nearest object when you panic—that is you, my Snow Spirit. Reincarnated, smaller, clumsy… but you."
The madness in his words was absolute. Anya felt a genuine wave of fear. This wasn't just a rich man having a bad day; this was something profound and deeply unsettling.
Before she could form another protest, Lucien pulled out his phone. He didn't dial a number; he dictated a command to a personalized device with unnerving speed.
"Ms. Lin," he barked into the phone, his voice instantly reverting to the cold, decisive CEO tone that brooked no argument. "Contact the Head of Security, Mr. Han. Terminate all personnel who allowed this individual to enter my penthouse unsupervised. Effective immediately. Furthermore, contact my personal legal team. I need three things: First, a full, comprehensive background investigation into 'Anya.' Second, liquidate the holdings of Vane Industries—they are interfering with an asset of the Thorne Group. Third, a press conference is to be scheduled for one hour from now. Secure the top trending slot across all media platforms."
He paused, glancing down at Anya's delivery uniform, his lip curling in disgust. "And tell my head designer that I require a complete new wardrobe for a petite, twenty-year-old woman, here within thirty minutes. Nothing synthetic. Everything silk, cashmere, and high-quality velvet."
Anya's mouth was dry. "Mr. Thorne, you can't fire those people! And Vane Industries? I don't even know them!"
Lucien finally released her wrist, only to cup the back of her head, forcing her to look up at him. "They hurt you. They allowed you to be poor, to struggle, to exist outside of my protection. That is unacceptable." He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "As for Vane Industries, their CEO insulted the Thorne family yesterday. I simply needed a reason to finish them off. Your current predicament is reason enough."
He straightened, a dark, pleased look settling on his face. He led her out of the study and toward a hidden door Anya hadn't noticed, which opened into a lavish, enormous bedroom suite.
"This will be your suite," he announced, gesturing around the room, which was filled with white fur rugs and floor-to-ceiling windows. "You will not leave this floor without my permission. Security will monitor your access at all times, for your protection."
"My protection?" Anya's voice was incredulous. "You just ordered the destruction of a company because you saw me trip!"
"Necessary precautions," he corrected, moving to the wardrobe, which was already stocked with clothes. He pulled out a ridiculously soft, white cashmere sweater. "Now, sit. Change. I need you presentable for the press conference."
The Public Declaration
One hour later, Anya was seated beside Lucien on a stage, blinded by the flash of cameras. She was wrapped in the soft cashmere, her hair hurriedly styled by a trembling stylist, and utterly numb with shock.
Lucien took the podium, his expression cold and dominating. His voice resonated with perfect confidence throughout the auditorium, which was packed with journalists and shareholders.
"Today marks a change in the hierarchy of the Thorne Group," Lucien began, projecting absolute certainty. "As of this moment, the woman seated next to me, Anya, is under my complete and unconditional protection."
A roar erupted from the press.
"She is not an employee, she is not a fiancée, and she is not a mistress," Lucien clarified, his eyes sweeping across the room with terrifying menace. "She is a treasure. A beloved companion, who was wrongly separated from me and my family. Any individual, company, or entity that attempts to harm, slander, or impede her happiness will be met with the full, non-negotiable force of the Thorne Group's legal, financial, and political power. Consider this a public decree."
The cameras flashed blindingly as he leaned slightly toward Anya. "She is ours. And she will be pampered, cherished, and spoiled for the rest of her life. Try to take that away from her, and you will learn the true meaning of ruin."
Anya gripped the edges of the podium, feeling the weight of the entire world suddenly settle on her small shoulders. Her life was over. Her old identity, her quiet struggle—all annihilated by a man who mistook her for a reincarnated cat.
As the chaos of questions erupted, a man in the third row, a famous investigative reporter, stood up and yelled: "Lucien, are the rumors true? Is her sudden presence the reason you just liquidated Vane Industries?"
Lucien gave a chillingly casual nod. "Vane Industries dared to cross her path while she was vulnerable. They were merely the first example. Consider the face slapped. Any further questions?"