Chapter 54 Chapter One of His favorite sin
I was only seven years old the first time I saw him. Still young and innocent, my mother had taken me to his mansion. I vividly remember how she looked—wearing a short red dress, cheeks flushed, eyes cast shyly at Mr. Lucian.
She didn’t waste a moment pampering me with toys and my favorite sweets before slipping away down a shadowy hallway with him.
At the time, I was excited, convinced my mother was simply trying to make me happy, like any loving mom would. But I didn’t realize then how hard she was working to keep me out of the way—distracting me, stalling me—so she could get exactly what she wanted.
It didn’t just happen once. Or twice. It was every time we came. She’d take me there, drop me off in the living room with some toys and sweets, kiss my forehead like that made it okay, and then vanish down that dark hallway with him.
But I was a kid. I noticed. And one day, I couldn’t help it. Curiosity shoved me off the couch, and I found myself tiptoeing toward that hallway.
It was dark. Pitch black. I hated the dark.
The moment I stepped inside, I froze. My legs started shaking. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe right. Tears burned in my eyes, and then started falling fast. I was crying before I even knew why. Just scared. So scared.
But I kept going.
Running now. Blind. My hands were out in front of me like maybe they’d catch something before I tripped. I wanted out—I didn’t even know what I was looking for anymore. I just wanted light. I wanted my mom.
Then I slammed into something hard. A door. Big. Heavy. Cold.
I started banging on it with both fists, screaming her name, sobbing so loud it hurt my throat.
“Mom! Mama, please, please come out! I’m scared!”
Nothing.
Just the dark. And my crying. And that stupid, locked door. But finally, the huge door opened and my mom stepped out with Mr. Lucian behind her.
She looked a mess. Her hair was tangled, her skin was damp with sweat, and she appeared out of breath like she’d just run a mile. Her legs were shaking, barely holding her up as she crouched to lift me off the floor. I felt her hands wrap around my arms—too tight. Her voice was soft when she whispered for me to stop crying, but her grip said otherwise.
“M-Mom—” I choked out, but the rest got swallowed by more tears.
Not just from the dark.
But from her.
The way she felt. The way she looked. The way the air around her didn’t feel safe anymore.
I knew what came next.
A beating, probably. One of those quiet, angry ones—no shouting, just her nails in my skin and her voice hissing that I’d embarrassed her. But back then, I didn’t understand what I’d done wrong. I didn’t even know what I got punished for.
Then she turned to Mr. Lucian.
And just like always, she looked at him with that soft, bashful smile. The one that made her seem younger. Needier.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she said, like this was normal.
But he didn’t smile back. Didn’t even look at her properly. His expression stayed cold. Detached. Like he was already bored. And she still smiled anyway.
“That wouldn't be needed. I am done with you” His voice was smooth, but it carried a finality that chilled the air between them. My mother’s face paled, the warmth draining from her eyes as she stumbled backward, clutching me tighter as if I were a lifeline.
“I... I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling like her legs. “Please, just one more chance.”
But Mr. Lucian’s gaze was unyielding. “No more chances. You may leave.”
Through it all, I couldn’t lift my head to face Mr. Lucian.
Every time he was near, my eyes dropped on instinct. My feet stayed frozen, my back sticky with fear. Something about him made my skin shiver even when he didn’t say a word.
As he turned to walk away, I inched behind my mother, trying to disappear into her shadow. Hoping, quietly, that he wouldn’t look back.
That was the last time I saw him.
Until now.
Thirteen years later, I’m standing in front of the same mansion—same cold gate, same thick silence, same damn man inside. Only this time, I’m not hiding behind my mom.
I’m the one holding the bag. The one walking up to the door.
And she’s not here to protect me anymore.
Not that she ever did.
The driver didn’t say a word. Just dropped me off like I was a delivery. One way. No return address. Like, he didn’t even want to stick around too long.
I stood there in the rain with my suitcase and a headache and a knot in my stomach I couldn’t untie. Not fear. Not exactly.
It was something else.
Like I was about to walk into something I wouldn’t be able to walk out of.
The door opened before I could knock. And there he was. Lucian Vale. Older. Sharper. Scarier. Devinely and dangerously handsome.
My mother's ex-lover.....or should I say, fuck mate?
Before moving to this place, I researched him. He was popular, for both good and bad reasons. What the web made emphasis on was his extreme wealth and nature.
He looked like a man who didn’t belong in the real world. Like he had been built for power, not born into it. His features were striking, jawline carved like it was done with a blade, cheekbones sharp and defined, lips set in a firm, unreadable line.
There was silver in his hair now. Not too much—just enough to make him look even more expensive. It was slicked back the same way I remembered, not a strand out of place. Every inch of him was composed. Clean. Intimidating.
His suit was black. Tailored perfectly. And his eyes...
Still the same cold gray. Still heavy-lidded and disinterested, but piercing in the way they watched. And when his eyes hit me, I swear it punched the air right out of my lungs. Cold. Calculating. Almost bored.
Since the very day he stepped in as my legal guardian, I have always wondered why he did that. He told my mother to never come back, probably because he was bored with her, yet....
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.
And I stared right back.
Because I’m not seven anymore.
And he’s not untouchable.
“Mr. Vale,” I spoke first.
“You’re Maria's daughter, right?” His voice was deep, unrushed.
I nodded. “Salem.”
He studied me for a long moment.
“I remember,” he said finally. His expression didn’t change. “You cried a lot.”
That stung more than it should’ve. It felt as though he still viewed me as a weak, defenseless seven-year-old child. My fingers curled tighter around the handle of my suitcase, but I didn’t flinch. “Well, I was seven. And scared. Not really my best era. Now, I am all grown”
His eyes dragged down my body. The rain had soaked through everything. My white shirt was see-through, clinging tight to my red bra like a spotlight on my chest. My breasts pressed against the wet fabric. My red skirt hugged my hips and stopped mid-thigh, riding higher every time I shifted my weight. And the water made it cling—every curve on display, every inch of skin exposed, and I knew he was seeing it all.
And when his eyes finally lifted back to mine, something in them was darker. Sharper. Like a man forcing himself to stay still.
“I see that,” he said and then stepped aside, finally. “Come in.”
I moved past him without saying thank you. The house looked the same. Cold. Expensive. The door shut behind me with a heavy click.
“You’ll be in the east wing,” he said, already walking ahead like this was just business. “You’re free to go where you like. Except for the west side of the house. That area’s off-limits.”
Of course, it is. That huge white door that my mother and he always disappear into was located on the west side of the mansion. This, I was certain of.
“Why?”
He paused at the foot of the staircase and looked back at me. “Because I said so.”
That tone. Clipped. Controlled. Like he was already getting tired of me, or maybe just trying not to say more than he should.
Then, calmer and colder, he added, “According to the documents, I’m now your legal guardian.”
He looked me over again, slowly, “It says you’re twenty,” he continued. “Still in college?”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
“You’ll finish your courses remotely. I’ve already contacted the university. You’ll be moved to virtual attendance by next week.”
I blinked. “You did that without asking me?”
His eyes met mine. “You’re under my roof now, Salem. I don’t need to ask.”
Something hot and sharp twisted in my chest. God, he was infuriating. Arrogant. Cold.
“You always this controlling, or is it just when you inherit traumatized daughters of your ex-lovers?”
That one landed.
He didn’t react at first. Just studied me, silent. Then, slowly, he moved towards me—closer. Too close. He leaned in, his voice low enough to make my spine straighten, “Don’t confuse this for a father-daughter dynamic, Salem. I’m not here to raise you.”
His eyes dropped—again.
Wet shirt. Red bra. Breasts straining beneath the fabric.
“And you’re certainly not a child.”
Heat burst across my cheeks. My thighs pressed together on instinct. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.
He didn’t either.
We just stood there for one long, drawn-out second—breathing the same thick air. Daring each other to break.
Then he turned away and walked up the stairs, “Your room’s to the right. Try not to make a mess.”
I walked past him, water still dripping down the back of my thighs. His gaze followed me. But just as I reached the hallway, his voice cut through the silence, “One more thing.”
I stopped. Turned my head.
He didn’t move toward me. Didn’t raise his voice. But his presence filled the entire space like a command, “There are rules while you’re here.”
I raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed beneath my soaked chest. “Let me guess, you’ll be printing those out and taping them to my door?”
His jaw flexed.
“One. No more clothes like that under my roof.”
My lips parted. “Like what?”
His eyes moved slowly, down to my legs, then back up. “Short. Tight. Transparent. Anything that looks like it belongs on a street corner after midnight… won’t be tolerated.”
“Two. You’re not to be out past 6 p.m. If you need something, I’ll have it sent to you.”
I laughed under my breath. “So I’m grounded now?”
“No,” he said. “You’re contained.”
The way he said it—contained made my stomach twist in the most fucked-up way.
“And if I don’t follow those rules?”
I said it steadily. Eyes on his. Daring him. Poking the beast just to see if it would growl.
Lucian stopped mid-step. He didn’t turn right away. Just stood there for a beat, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly like he was amused… or deciding how to ruin me. Then he faced me—slowly. Fully. And something about the look in his eyes made my breath hitch.
“If you don’t,” he said, voice smooth but low, “you’ll be punished.”
He stepped closer. No smile. No softness. Just calm, chilling certainty.
I swallowed. “Punished how?”
Lucian’s gaze dropped—dragging down the length of me like a slow touch. Over the curve of my breasts in that soaked red bra. My hips, thighs, and bare legs. Every inch laid out and disobedient in front of him.
Then his eyes met mine again—and this time they were darker, “I don’t believe in grounding,” he said. “Or yelling. Or taking away privileges.”
Another step. He was right in front of me now, his voice low enough to melt straight between my legs, “No. I believe in discipline.”