The drive back from the Blackwood Industries meeting was silent, but the silence was suffocating.
Elara sat rigid in the passenger seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, every nerve on fire. Every brush of Lucien's arm against hers as he reached for the gear stick, every slight shift in his seat, made her pulse race.
She wanted to look at him. She wanted to avoid him. And she wanted, deep down, something she refused to admit even to herself.
"I don't understand why you didn't just handle Kane yourself," she finally said, breaking the tension with a trembling voice.
Lucien didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained on the road, dark and focused. The streetlights flashed across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the shadow of his eyes.
"I wanted you to see," he said finally, his voice low, deliberate. "I wanted you to know what happens when someone tries to cross you… or me."
Her breath caught. "I… I saw."
"Did you understand?" His hand brushed hers briefly on the console, just a whisper of contact, but enough to send a jolt through her entire body.
"Yes," she whispered, voice barely audible.
The car fell silent again, but this time it wasn't just tension—it was something heavier, more dangerous, more intimate.
Lucien's hand lingered near hers, just inches apart. The heat radiating from him was unbearable. She wanted to move closer, and yet, the voice in her head screamed no.
"Do you know why I'm so difficult?" he asked suddenly, voice rough. His dark eyes met hers for a fleeting second in the rearview mirror.
Elara's throat tightened. "Why?" she whispered.
"Because I care more than I should. Because you're… mine. And the idea of losing you—of someone else thinking they can take you—makes me reckless. Makes me dangerous."
Her pulse hammered in her ears. She wanted to deny it, to pull back, to remind him—and herself—that this was just a contract. That nothing could happen.
But the words, the heat, the intensity of his gaze… made it impossible.
Before she could think, he leaned closer. Their foreheads nearly touched.
"Elara…" His voice was a low growl, raw and vulnerable at the same time. "Do you understand what you do to me?"
She couldn't speak. Her lips parted, almost against her will. Her hands twitched, wanting to reach for him but frozen by fear and desire.
He inched closer. Their breaths mingled. The world outside the car disappeared.
And then—a sudden honk from the street startled them both.
Lucien jerked back, a flash of control returning to his dark gaze. His jaw tightened, his composure snapping back like a blade.
"Focus," he said, voice dangerously calm. "We are not doing this. Not here. Not now."
Elara's heart raced. Her chest burned. She exhaled shakily. "I… I understand," she whispered, though part of her wanted him to ignore the rules.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, every glance, every accidental brush of hands, every small movement setting her nerves ablaze.
When they arrived at the mansion, she hesitated before opening the door.
Lucien noticed. His dark eyes softened—not entirely, but just enough to make her pulse spike again.
"You're mine, Elara," he murmured, almost to himself. "And nothing—not contracts, not threats, not appearances—will ever change that."
Her heart thudded painfully.
She realized something terrifying:
Even when she wanted to resist him… she was already lost.