Lucien's wing of the mansion is quieter and darker than the rest, but never empty. Men are always coming and going, even when he is not in the mansion. Every single person who visits him doesn't speak unless they have something worth saying. The heavy oak doors are shut, muffling the low rumble of voices inside.
I decide not to knock. Because if he doesn't answer, I'll have to go back without getting what I want from him. I push the doors open with both hands, the hinges groaning against my force, and I walk inside like I own the damn place.
Half a dozen men are sitting around a long table scattered with maps, open folders, and whiskey glasses. Cigarette smoke curls toward the chandelier. At the head of the table, Lucien leans back in his chair, one arm resting along the backrest, the other tapping a cigar against crystal ash. His eyes snap up when I walk inside.
The room is silent now.
"I wanna talk," I say with an even voice. "And don't worry, I won't take long."
Every head turns. A couple of the men are looking at Lucien, waiting, unsure whether to draw their guns or toss me out. I am sure nobody ever interrupts these meetings. Nobody ever barges into this room without his permission.
Lucien doesn't move right away. He simply let the silence drag, looking at me with eyes that can burn through stone. Finally, he breaks the silence with his calm and lethal voice.
"Out."
A confusion for a minute, but I keep my cool, and I cross my arms across my chest to make sure. I am not gonna move an inch until he listens to me.
Lucien looks at his men and clenches his jaw. "Out."
Chairs start to scrape against marble. No one questions him. They rise, collect their files and drinks, and slip out of the room without a word. Within seconds, the heavy doors thud shut behind us.
Now it is just the two of us.
I keep my arms folded, chin tipped high, pretending my stomach isn't knotted from the weight of his stare.
Lucien leans forward and gestures for me to sit in one of the empty chairs. I shake my head. "No, I am fine here."
He nods and leans back in the chair. "I am all ears."
"I want permission to go outside." My voice is steady, though my fingers press harder into my arms.
He lifts his brow, dark amusement flickering across his face. "Permission."
"Yes."
"And what exactly do you want out there?"
I shake my head sharply. "Nothing. I don't want anything. I just want to breathe beyond these mighty gates for five minutes. That's all."
His jaw flexes. He stands up and walks toward me. He keeps quiet, circling around me like a predator sizing up its prey. He stops only when he stands a breath away from me.
"You don't just barge into my wing, in front of my men, and make demands like that." His voice is low, velvet over steel. "Do you understand me?"
I refuse to flinch or nod. Instead, I smirk. "Then call it a request."
The corner of his mouth twitches, but not in amusement. He leans in slightly, close enough I catch the scent of smoke and his cologne. He lifts his hand; for a second I think he may grip my chin, but instead he reaches into his pocket.
When his hand comes back, a sleek, brand-new phone is resting in his palm. He is holding it out to me like an offering or a leash.
I blink, then scoff, masking the small stir of surprise in my chest. "What is this for?"
Lucien smirks, dark and knowing. "What do you think?"
I look at the phone, then back up at him. I shrug. "I think it's useless."
He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "What if you want to contact me?"
"Then send Elena or Rafe or any of your men. They can make it happen."
Lucien steps closer. "And what if I want to contact you?"
I shrug again, too fast, like I have rehearsed it. "I am sure your men can handle that too."
He stares at me until my smirk falters, until the silence scrapes my nerves raw. I turn away, brushing past him toward the door. "I think we are done here."
But Lucien's voice catches me like a whip.
"Anaya."
I stop.
His tone has changed, no longer playful, no longer testing. This is the voice that made men kneel.
I turn around.
He's not smirking this time. Doesn't blink. He just calmly and precisely says.
"Come on," eyes locked on mine. "You need a phone more than that stupid gun you have stashed in your room."
My breath hitches. Enough to sting. I ask him. "Tell me you really watch me in my room. Don't you?"
His smirk widens and becomes wicked. He holds the phone out again, like bait. "You think I need a camera for that?"
My heart hammers. He leans in close enough that I feel the heat of his breath ghost across my cheek. "You think I don't know every weapon, every secret, every move anybody makes under my roof?" He is unflinching. "Try me, Anaya."
I clench my jaw, nails biting into my skin where my arms cross tighter. The gun tucked in my waistband suddenly feels heavier, like it has betrayed me.
But I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
I snatch the phone from his hand and roll my eyes. "Fine. Congratulations. You caught me red-handed." My tone is flat and mocking. "Happy now?"
He chuckles. "Not even close."
Our eyes locked, tension humming sharp enough to cut. For a second, I think he may push further, may close the space. But instead, he leans back, calm again, as if he hasn't bought me from auction, and I am not his captive.
"Keep the phone." His voice is like steel wrapped in silk. "And don't even think for a second I'll be this generous next time if you test me again."
I snap back. "If you hadn't left me alone in that freaking masquerade, I would have never decided to steal a gun for my safety."
He still has the power to pin me with his eyes. "You can go now."
I slip the phone into my pocket, then turn and walk away, my steps steady, my spine rigid with defiance.
But inside, my pulse isn't slowing down. Because I am not sure if I am the one playing him or if he is already two moves ahead.