Chapter 5
Lucian Blackwood learned early that violence never ended when the blood dried.
It lingered. In rooms. In people. In the quiet moments where nothing was happening and everything still felt wrong.
He stood in his private gym long before sunrise, knuckles wrapped, striking the heavy bag with controlled precision. Each hit landed where it was supposed to. Ribs. Jaw. Temple. The bag swayed, groaned, and absorbed the punishment without complaint.
He didn't stop until his breathing turned sharp and his hands ached.
Even then, it wasn't enough.
Marcus had crossed a line last night, not by sending men, not by failing to take Elara, but by proving something Lucian had tried to deny.
She was no longer collateral.
She was leverage.
That was on him.
Lucian stripped off the wraps, flexed his fingers, and stared at his reflection in the mirrored wall. The scar along his ribs, old and ugly, pulled when he breathed too deeply. A reminder of another ambush, another lesson learned too late.
Protect nothing you can't afford to lose.
And yet.
His phone buzzed against the bench.
Security: Ms. Wynn arrived safely at her apartment. Extra detail in place.
Lucian typed back a single word.
Lucian: Good.
He stared at the screen longer than necessary, then locked the phone and shoved it into his pocket, as it had burned him.
Elara didn't sleep.
She lay on her bed fully dressed, the city's noise leaking through the windows, her body tense as if waiting for hands to grab her again.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lucian's face in the dark hallway, unrecognizable, stripped of restraint, lethal.
It scared her.
Not because he'd saved her.
Because a part of her believed he'd enjoyed it.
Her phone sat on the nightstand, face down. She didn't want to look at it. Didn't want to see another message that made everything feel smaller and more inevitable.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the wall.
What she hadn't expected, what unsettled her most, was the thought that kept returning no matter how hard she pushed it away.
If he hadn't been there, she would be dead.
That truth clung to her like damp air.
By midmorning, Lucian had already dismantled three deals and frozen two offshore accounts tied to Marcus's network.
Quietly. Efficiently.
He sat at the head of the conference table while his senior team spoke around him, voices layered with tension they tried to hide.
"Marcus is pushing suppliers in the east," one executive said. "He's offering incentives. Undercutting us."
Lucian steepled his fingers. "Let him."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"He's baiting you," another said. "If we respond."
"We won't," Lucian cut in. "We'll bleed him slowly."
Silence followed. They were used to his decisiveness, not his patience. That worried them.
"What about last night?" someone asked carefully. "Security breaches like that."
Lucian's gaze snapped up. "Never mention last night again."
The temperature in the room dropped.
"Understood," the man said quickly.
Lucian stood. "The meeting's over."
As they filed out, his assistant lingered.
"Ms. Wynn is scheduled to shadow you this afternoon," she said.
Lucian paused.
"Cancel it," he replied.
The assistant hesitated. "Sir?"
"She's not ready," Lucian said. "And neither is this building."
Elara learned about the cancellation from a notification, not from Lucian.
She stared at the screen, unsure whether to feel relieved or dismissed.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: I'm moving you.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Elara: What does that mean?
Unknown Number: Pack a bag. Security is outside.
Elara sat up, pulse racing.
Elara: You can't just decide things like that.
The reply came instantly.
Unknown Number: I already did.
She stood, hands shaking, and went to the door. Through the peephole, she saw two men she recognized from the office, alert, professional, and armed.
The doorbell rang once.
Controlled. Polite.
She opened the door.
"Ms. Wynn," one said. "We're here to escort you."
"Escort me where?" she demanded.
"Somewhere safer."
She almost laughed. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one we're authorized to give."
Elara grabbed her bag and locked the door behind her, her life reduced to what she could carry.
As they walked her to the car, she felt it, the shift. Eyes on her from the windows. From passing vehicles. From places she couldn't see.
She was being watched.
And she knew exactly whose fault that was.
Lucian was waiting when she arrived.
Not in his office. Not in the penthouse.
In a nondescript building on the edge of the city, guarded and forgettable by design.
Elara stormed inside the moment she saw him.
"You don't get to do this," she said, voice tight. "You don't get to move me like a piece on a board."
Lucian dismissed the guards with a gesture. The door closed, sealing them in.
"I do," he said calmly. "Because you're not safe."
"I was fine before you," she shot back.
"That's a lie," Lucian said. "You were invisible. There's a difference."
Her hands curled into fists. "You said this job was insulation."
"And it still is."
"Then why does it feel like I'm standing closer to the fire?"
Lucian stepped toward her. She didn't retreat, but her breath hitched.
"Because you are," he said quietly. "And I won't lie to you about that."
Her eyes burned. "You're the fire."
"Yes."
The admission hung between them, heavy and honest.
She shook her head. "You're doing this because of him. Your brother."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Marcus will use anything he thinks matters to me."
"And you made sure I mattered."
Lucian didn't answer.
That silence was confirmation enough.
"You could let me go," Elara said. "Cut me loose."
"I can't," Lucian replied.
"Won't," she corrected.
He met her gaze. "If I let you disappear now, Marcus will find you anyway. And next time, I won't be there."
The truth of it hit her hard.
"So what," she whispered, "I just stay close to you forever?"
Lucian's expression darkened. "No."
"Then what?"
"You stay close until this ends."
"And when does it end?"
Lucian looked away.
"That," he said, "depends on how far Marcus is willing to fall."
That night, Marcus Blackwood sat in a private club, glass of whiskey untouched, watching the city from above.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown: She's been relocated.
Marcus smiled slowly.
Marcus: Of course she has.
He typed another message.
Marcus: You always overprotect what scares you.
Lucian didn't reply.
Marcus leaned back, satisfied.
Fear was leverage, too.
Elara lay awake in the unfamiliar bed of the safehouse, listening to the building's quiet hum.
She hated how quickly she'd adapted. How easily fear rewired her instincts.
Her phone buzzed.
Lucian: Are you settled?
She stared at the name this time. No disguise. No unknown number.
Elara: You didn't ask if I wanted this.
A pause.
Lucian: No.
Elara: Why not?
The reply came slower than usual.
Lucian: Because if I asked, you might say no. And I don't trust the world with you unguarded.
Her chest tightened.
Elara: You don't get to decide my value.
Lucian: I know.
Elara: Then why does it feel like you already have?
There was a long silence.
Then
Lucian: Because I'm afraid of what happens if I don't.
She closed her eyes.
That was the first thing he'd admitted that sounded human.
And it scared her more than everything else.
Lucian stood alone on the balcony of the safe house, the city lights stretching endlessly below.
He had crossed another line today. One he couldn't step back from.
Elara was no longer adjacent to his war.
She was inside it.
Marcus would escalate. He always did. And when he did, there would be no clean victories, only damage and the things it left behind.
Lucian rested his hands on the railing, jaw tight.
He had built his empire on control.
Now, for the first time in years, something mattered enough to threaten it.
And that made him dangerous in a way even he didn't fully understand.
The Devil was losing his distance.
And distance, once lost, never came back whole.