Chapter 10 Chapter 10

Chapter 10 Chapter 10
Lucian 

My father's voice carried through the heavy wooden doors before I even stepped inside. "Lucian," he said, not bothering to look up from the file in his hand.

I walked across the wide expanse of his office all dark mahogany, polished glass, and the smell of expensive cigars.

I dropped into the chair opposite him. He finally looked up. "The shipment from Naples was delayed."

I didn't react immediately. I'd already heard about it two hours ago and had people working to fix it.

"There was an inspection at the port," I said, leaning back. "The customs officials were tipped off about a container. I handled it."

"Handled it?" He scoffed, tossing the file onto the desk. "Handled it would mean the goods are already with the client, Lucian. Do I look like I have time for excuses?"

I clenched my jaw, counting silently to three before responding. "The delay wasn't from my end. Someone on the inside tipped them off, and we're tracing it. You'll have your shipment by tomorrow morning."

"You should've foreseen that. If you'd learned to think ahead—"

"If I'd learned? I've been running your business when you're too busy hosting your fake charity dinners. So forgive me if one delayed shipment doesn't fit your definition of perfection."

There he goes with always lecturing me on a single delay or mistake. Sometimes I want to forget he was my father and put him in his place. 

"There it is. The temper I taught you. You think I didn't raise you to handle this empire?"

That word raise always made something twist in my gut. He didn't raise me. He built me. Like one of his damn projects. Sculpted to obey, to perform, to deliver.

I swallowed the irritation, forcing my voice steady. "The shipment will get there, Father. You don't need to worry."

He studied me for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. "There's another matter."

Of course there was.

"You'll take Valentina to get a dress for tonight's gala."

"You want me to take her shopping?"

He didn't look up from the papers he'd already returned to signing. "My driver's busy. You're free."

That wasn't the real reason, and we both knew it. First he wanted me to be taking her home when he could easily assigned someone. Now he wants me to take her to get a dress. It was obviously because he doesn't trust anyone to be around his wife. It's funny how he trust me—his son whose mind had been clouded with dirty thoughts ever since she married my father. 

"Why did you marry her?" I asked the one question that had been bugging my head. 

"Why the sudden curiosity?" he asked, tone too calm to be harmless.

"Because you don't like her," I said bluntly. "You barely speak to her, you treat her like she's invisible, and yet you keep her close. So what's the real reason?"

The corners of his lips curved that cruel, knowing smile. "You're smart, Lucian. Smart enough to know when we find something valuable, we don't let go."

"Valuable?" I repeated, my voice laced with disbelief.

He set down his pen, folded his hands, and said, "Valentina is sharper than she looks. Her father told me once how easily she closed deals for him unknowingly. She has a natural gift for persuasion. That kind of asset doesn't come around often. She's a key, son. A very useful one."

For a second, I just stared at him. Even after years of seeing how far his greed went, it still managed to surprise me. He didn't marry her for love, or loyalty, or even power. He married her because she was useful.

And something in me twisted uncomfortably at that thought.

I stood up, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from saying something I'd regret. "The shipment will arrive by morning. And I'll take her to get the dress."

"Good," he said, already reaching for his phone. "The gala starts in three hours. Make sure she looks presentable and meet me at the venue."

I gave a curt nod and turned to leave.

As I stepped out of his office, I let the door close behind me with a quiet click.

He could pretend all he wanted, but I saw through him through the manipulation, the control, the way he moved people like chess pieces.

And now, somehow, Valentina was part of that board. And I didn't know why, but that thought didn't sit right with me.



I was seated in my car, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as my eyes stayed fixed on the glass doors of the company entrance. It had been more than ten minutes since I'd asked one of the staff to tell Valentina to come down, and yet, she was nowhere in sight.

If only she knew how much anger I was holding inside. My father had a strange way of testing my patience. First, he made me the one to drive her home every day, now he wanted me to take her to pick a dress. For God's sake, I wasn't her chauffeur.

The man might as well just say he was throwing her at me on purpose.

I was about to call my father's secretary and ask what was keeping her when I finally saw her step out through the entrance. She looked calm, too calm, like she had no idea how much she was pushing my limits just by existing near me.

Her hair was down today, brushing softly against her shoulders. She walked toward the car, her eyes scanning it for a moment before she opened the front door and slipped in beside me. Good. At least she had learned not to sit at the back like I was her damn driver.

I gave her a side glance. She didn't say a word. Neither did I.

The air in the car was thick and quiet, the kind of silence that made every breath feel heavier than it should. I could see her reflection on the window the way she held her hands on her lap, almost like she was afraid of brushing against me. Somehow, that both irritated and amused me.

I started the car and drove away. We didn't exchange a single word the entire ride. When I parked in front of the boutique, she finally turned her head. "Why are we here?"

Her tone was cautious, soft, but something about it made my jaw tighten.

"Your husband asked me to bring you here to get a dress," I said flatly, not bothering to look at her. I pushed open the door and stepped out, not waiting for her to follow.

A few seconds later, I heard her footsteps behind me. The boutique staff immediately recognized me.
"Mr. Lucian, welcome," one of them greeted with a polite bow.

I gave a short nod. "I need a dress. Something simple."

"For who, sir?" the woman asked.

I gestured lazily toward Valentina without saying much. "Her."

The woman smiled. "Please, ma'am, follow me."

Valentina hesitated for a moment before she followed the lady inside.

I stayed back at first, but I knew women choosing a dress could take forever. After waiting a while, I found myself walking into the VIP section, where they had gone.

She was there, standing beside the saleswoman, holding up a few dresses against her body. Her movements were quiet, almost shy. I leaned against a wall, pulling out my phone, pretending to scroll while my eyes kept drifting toward her.

She picked three dresses and disappeared into the fitting room.

The saleswoman turned to me. "Sir, would you like anything to drink?"

I almost told her to leave me alone, but my throat felt dry. "Coffee," I muttered.

She left, and I sat down on one of the couches.

A few minutes later, the door of the changing room opened, and Valentina stepped out.

She froze the moment she saw me sitting there. Her eyes widened a little, surprised, maybe even nervous. But I wasn't paying attention to that. My gaze had already dropped and I hated that it did.

The dress she was wearing hugged every curve she had. It was too tight, too revealing. Her skin glowed under the light, the soft neckline of the fabric showing more than I wanted to see.

Something dark stirred inside me.

My jaw clenched, my pulse quickened. Thoughts I shouldn't be having filled my head, unwanted and filthy.

I looked away, forcing my eyes back to my phone. "Change it," I said coldly.

She blinked, confused. "What? Why?"

"It's not beautiful." My voice came out rougher than I intended.

The truth was, the dress looked perfect on her. Too perfect. But the thought of any man looking at her like I just did made something dangerous twist in my gut.

She stared at me for a second, her expression unreadable, before turning and walking back into the fitting room.

And even as she disappeared behind the curtain, I still couldn't stop thinking about the way she looked or the fact that my hands had tightened into fists just to keep from doing something I'd regret.

She came out again. And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

The new dress was worse than the last if worse meant every damn man at that gala would have his eyes glued to her. It was sleeveless, cut low in places that had no business being cut at all, and shimmered under the light in a way that drew attention.

I rose from my seat before I even realized it.

"Change it."

Her eyes flicked up, challenging. "I'm not asking for your opinion, Lucian. You were told to bring me here. So, do your job."

That tone, sharp, dismissive lit a fuse in me. "You can't expect to walk into a room full of men looking like that."

"Like what?" she shot back, taking a step closer.

My jaw tightened. "Like a whore."

She scoff anger buzzing in her eyes. "If I go out naked, that's my problem, not yours."

And that was it. The last thread of my patience snapped.

In a blur, I closed the distance between us, my hand catching her arm not rough, but firm enough to make her stop. Her breath hitched. Her hand landed against my chest, and the contact burned like a spark through me.

I could feel her heartbeat through her skin. Or maybe it was mine pounding that hard.

She glared up at me, refusing to back down, even with my shadow falling over her. That defiance it was infuriating. And it was doing something to me I didn't want to admit.

"If you're not going to change," I said, voice low, "I will make you."

Her eyes narrowed, voice barely a whisper. "You wouldn't dare."

The words sat between us, charged.

I don't know what possessed me then anger, frustration, or something far more dangerous but I moved closer, just enough for her to feel the weight of my words. "You really like testing limits, don't you?"

Her lips parted, eyes flickering for a second, betraying something that wasn't fear.

Footsteps echoed down the hall soft, approaching. The saleswoman probably.

Without thinking, I acted on instinct. My hand found her waist, and I pulled her inside the changing room, shutting the door behind us.

She froze, her back against the wall, staring at me like I'd crossed a line and maybe I had. My pulse was hammering in my ears.

I leaned in, close enough that I could see every flicker of emotion cross her face. "Is this what you want, Valentina?" I said quietly. "To walk around making every man in the room look at you like this?"

Her throat moved as she swallowed, eyes flicking up to meet mine. "That's none of your business," she whispered. "Even if they look at me why do you care?"

I didn't. Or at least I shouldn't.
But the thought of anyone else seeing her like this standing there, looking like a temptation that didn't even know it was one sent something sharp through my chest.

My fingers tightened at her waist. "You think I don't see what you're doing?" I murmured. "You walk into a room and make everyone forget how to breathe. You act like you don't notice it... but you do."

Her pulse fluttered under her skin. "You're imagining things," she whispered.

"Am I?" I leaned closer, my voice dropping lower. "Because right now, I think you know exactly the kind of attention you pull. And maybe—" I paused, my words a little too rough, "—maybe that's what you want. You want to be touched,"

Her lips parted at my words and against my better judgment, my hand went lower down her waist making her to emit out a low gasp, but she didn't move. 

Damn! I am losing it. My pants grew tighter with each touch and if I don't control myself I might do something I will regret. 

So I pulled back. "Change the dress, Valentina," I said, "Else we're not leaving this place,"

And without waiting for her reply, I unlocked the door and walked out, the heat of that moment still burning under my skin.