The morning after the confrontation burned with silence.
Elena stirred beneath crisp silk sheets, her limbs sore in a way that felt sacred. Every breath reminded her of how Lucien had held her, kissed her, buried himself in her until the world outside faded.
But the peace didn't last.
Lucien was already gone when she woke up. Again.
Only this time, he left a note on the pillow:
"Don't go outside today. I'll explain soon. – L"
Her chest tightened.
She rose and walked to the window, peeking past the lace curtain. Men in black moved like shadows across the garden. Even the gardeners were replaced. There was no sound of laughter, no Adriana skipping through the roses. Just eerie stillness.
She dressed quickly—tight jeans, a black turtleneck, and boots. And then, against Lucien's warning, she left the room.
In the hallway, she heard voices—angry, low.
She followed them to the study and stood just outside the door, listening.
Lucien: "He's in Florence. Last night was a test."
Unknown voice: "Then he knows we're watching."
Lucien: "He's not the only threat. I received another message this morning. Coded. From Geneva."
Unknown voice: "The Syndicate?"
Lucien: "Possibly. Or worse—my father's people."
Elena froze.
His father?
She barely knew anything about Lucien's family. He never spoke of them. She'd assumed they were dead—or worse, indifferent.
Lucien: "Keep Adriana inside. Double the guards at every exit. And make sure Elena is—"
The door creaked.
Lucien's head snapped toward it.
"Elena," he said sharply.
The other man—a tall, bald figure in a tailored gray suit—turned to her with mild surprise.
"I warned you," Lucien said, striding toward her.
"You said not to go outside," she said calmly. "You didn't say I couldn't walk my own hallways."
Lucien stopped in front of her, his expression unreadable.
The tension between them coiled like a tightrope.
"Who is that?" she asked, tilting her head toward the man in the study.
The man stepped forward and offered a short bow. "Leone Vael. Head of Lucien's European security division."
Lucien ran a hand through his hair. "We were discussing precautionary measures."
"For me?" she asked.
"For all of us," he said. "Julian's return was just the beginning."
---
They walked into the solarium together. Golden light poured through the glass walls, making everything seem softer than it was.
Elena turned to him. "You mentioned your father."
Lucien didn't answer immediately. He stared out at the sea, jaw tight.
"I was born to a man who believes love is weakness," he said finally. "He built an empire from shadows and blood. When I was twenty-three, I walked away. Took my inheritance and vanished."
"And now he's back?"
"He never left. He just waited for the right moment to pull the strings again."
Elena's heart pounded. "You're afraid of him."
Lucien met her gaze. "I'm afraid of what I become around him."
She stepped closer. "What did he do to you?"
Lucien exhaled. "He turned me into a weapon. I was raised to seduce, manipulate, destroy. When I fell for you, Elena… it wasn't supposed to happen. But I can't stop. I don't want to."
Her throat tightened. "So I'm your weakness?"
"No," he said, stepping closer. "You're my anchor."
---
That evening, Elena received a delivery at her door.
A velvet box.
Inside, a necklace of obsidian and diamonds. Cold and heavy.
A note tucked beneath:
"To remember what belongs to who. – J"
She dropped it as if it burned her.
Seconds later, the room exploded in sound.
Glass shattered.
Bullets pierced the window, shattering the mirror behind her. Elena dropped to the floor, heart slamming in her chest. Outside, she heard screams. Sirens. Chaos.
Lucien burst into the room moments later, gun in hand, face pale with fury.
"Elena!" he shouted.
"I'm here!" she gasped, trembling.
He dropped to his knees beside her, hands checking for blood. "Are you hurt?"
"No, but—"
Another bullet cracked the wall behind them.
Lucien grabbed her and shoved her beneath the bed.
"Stay down!" he commanded.
He stormed toward the broken window and fired two shots into the darkness. Moments later, silence fell again.
Then—
Julian's voice, from a speaker outside.
"Such fire, Lucien. But I wonder… how long can you keep her safe from the past you buried?"
---
Later, Elena sat in the bathroom, arms wrapped around her knees, trembling. The shower steamed around her, but she didn't move.
Lucien entered slowly.
He sat beside her on the cold tiles, wet clothes clinging to him.
"I should've taken you away from here sooner," he said.
"It wouldn't matter," she whispered. "He'd find us."
He touched her chin, raising her face to his.
"I'll burn the whole damn world before I let anyone take you."
And then—softly—he kissed her.
Not like before. Not hungry. Not desperate.
But reverent.
Worshipful.
His fingers undressed her with patience. He lifted her into his lap, the heat of the water running down their skin. She wrapped herself around him, needing his strength, his grounding, his fire.
They made love in silence—slow, intense, and raw.
This wasn't escape.
This was survival.
When it was over, they lay in the warmth of the water, his arms around her, her head against his chest.
"I won't run," she whispered. "Not again."
He kissed her wet forehead.
"Then I'll build a kingdom around you."