71

Moore

I stepped away from Lucien, feeling his gaze burn into my back as I made my way toward the wine cellar.

The weight of the room's attention pressed against me. Men, women, and every other guest had their eyes locked on me—from the moment Lucien and I walked onto the podium, through his flawless speech, and now, as I moved through the grand hall. It was as if I had become the centerpiece of the evening, an unspoken statement that demanded attention.

What had shocked me the most was Lucien taking me on stage in the first place. What was he trying to prove? He was never one to flaunt anything, least of all, me. And yet, there had been something deliberate about the way he did it.

Then there was the ring.

Lucien's wedding band had been firmly in place.

I could swear I had never seen him wear it. I don't even think he had one with him just as much as I loothe putting on mine. I have never worn it before, and I didn't tonight.

He wasn't even there while I exchanged vows with his status, but tonight, that diamond shines in the night.

He was sending a message and a warning.

To whom?

I let out a quiet chuckle at the absurdity of it. Whatever reason he had, it certainly wasn’t because he saw me as his. Lucien did claim people, but just as properties because he used them. And tonight, he had used me to make a point.

That I was his wife. I had expected to come out with the slave icon on my head.

He had given a brief glance at my bare fingers and I knew he would use that against me. I shuddered at the thought of being tied up again.

And yet, his message had been received loud and clear.

No one would dare approach me now. No one would even try.

As I escaped from him, I was so tempted to look back, to see if he was watching me in this dress escaping him, but I couldn't.

I don't want to meet his gaze or be disappointed at the fact that he might not be watching.

I let my gaze sweep over the elegant crowd. If he were someone who held a place in my heart, I might have felt pride for him tonight.

But scrap that.

Why was I even thinking about that?

How had I felt when I first stepped out of the car and saw him standing there, waiting for me?

For just a moment, one fleeting, ridiculous moment—I'd felt peace.

So out of place I wanted to just get back in the car and escape it. Lucien will never give me peace but I felt it. I felt… I felt like I'm home.

Moore…

But then, how could someone be so effortlessly gorgeous?

The way his sleek, dirty brown hair had been styled, the sharp cut of his features, the quiet command in his stance... and then there was the way his suit had fit—perfectly, tailored to his tall, powerful frame.

I caught myself.

No, Moore.

I mustn’t think of him that way. I hated him. He hated me more than anything too, so why am I taking his physical appearance to heart?

I wouldn't deny it. I had felt his gaze on me, lingering longer than necessary. And despite his usual cold, unreadable demeanor, there had been a flicker, just a flicker of something in Lucien’s expression when he first saw me tonight.

Was it surprise?

Maybe that was my only way out of his hatred, to make the almighty Lucien Giordano fall in love with me.

The thought nearly made me laugh. How absurd.

Of course, I looked beautiful tonight. I had left the hotel knowing exactly how I appeared, poised, untouchable. He must have been caught off guard, maybe even slightly thrown off balance. But if he did feel anything, it wasn’t love.

No, it was something far more dangerous.

Maybe a little bit of desire—just enough to make him want to pin me down in one of his cruel, possessive chair, to remind me that he owned my body even if he loathed my existence.

And that was all it would ever be.

Lucien couldn’t love me.

And I couldn’t love him.

Yet when his cold hand had brushed against my bare back earlier, a shudder ran through me, not just from the chill of his touch, but from the memory it awakened.

That night.

I swallowed hard, trying to push it away. His warning still echoed in my mind. I knew there was no escaping his wrath, but I could only hope he wouldn’t do that to me again.

I was sorry. So damn sorry.

Sorry for being the reason his daughter had died.

And if enduring his hatred was the only way to atone, then I would. I would bear it until he finally saw how much I regretted everything. I would try to be useful, even when he didn’t need me. I would find some sliver of happiness in this life, no matter how much pain it carried.

And then, one day, he would tire of me.

One day, he would divorce me.

And then, I could finally pick up the shattered pieces of my life and move on. I just don't want him to do that to me again, no matter the reason behind it, I don't want it.

I turned, pressing my lips together as the thought envelope me. Reaching for a flute of wine, I grabbed a few cherries as well, absently twirling one between my fingers before swallowing them all at once, enjoying the taste of it.

For a moment, I considered drinking myself into oblivion, just for one night. This night.

Maybe if I drowned myself in enough liquor, I could forget, even if only for a few hours.

But that would only disgrace Lucien.

Maybe when I was alone in my room, I would let myself fall apart.

“You must be really fulfilled, knowing Mr. Lucien brought you here tonight.”

The voice made my stomach twist.

I turned slightly, my grip tightening on the wine flute. Nora.

Her presence was suffocating, her words laced with venom even when she feigned politeness.

“I bet she must be fulfilled now.”

Grey’s voice followed, mocking. His gaze held the same disdain, as if I were nothing more than an opportunist, a woman who had clawed her way into Lucien’s life through manipulation and deceit.

I met their gazes, my lips parted slightly as I turned towards Lucien’s direction and I met that look of, ‘it’s your chance, don't screw it!’