88

Lucien

"I know you better than anyone… So tell me, why did you linger in London when we could have actually taken care of everything perfectly well from Italy? You made me stay more than two weeks apart from my—"

Gregory abruptly cut himself off, his frustration evident as he paced the length of the private jet.

"From your?" I arched a brow, narrowing my gaze at him.

Greg hesitated, his jaw locking. He would rather bite his tongue than complete that sentence.

"I guess you already knew," he muttered, walking briskly towards the exit ramp, leaving me alone with my thoughts while I let out a slight chuckle.

I didn't reply. Instead,I walked into the car, and leaned back against my seat, staring out of the small oval window. The city lights of Milan stretched beneath us, golden threads weaving through the night.

I hadn't been able to get Moore out of my head for even a second, not even in the extra two days I spent in London. No matter how hard I tried, she kept invading my mind—her face, her voice, the way she had stood tall against her enemies.

For the first time in a long time, I had slept soundly in those two days, all because I had that sheet she slept on spread.

I'm getting obsessed. My mind reeling like one who got drunk from attraction.

And I didn’t want to admit it, but deep down, I knew, Moore was the reason.

I forced myself to shove the thought away. Maybe I should call Athena.

Greg's voice snapped me back to the present.

"Did you see Athena's scandal from two weeks ago?" he asked, as if on clue. Sometimes he acts like a freaking immortal capable of reading minds. "She was spotted in a bar kissing some unknown man."

I raised an eyebrow. Athena would never do that, not when she knew exactly what we had. I didn’t respond, uninterested in whatever pathetic stunt she had pulled.

She would only be doing that for two reasons. One to get my attention and the other because she was drunk beyond repair. She acts tough but she has zero tolerance for alcohol.

The ride home was silent except for the hum of the car’s engine.

Then my phone beeped.

Before I could check it, Greg leaned over and whistled. "Wow… not only did your wife meet with her ex-husband—which, by the way, you told Damian to deal with—but she also scared the hell out of him."

I swiped open the notification, seeing an image of Grey Addison, his face ashen as he stood before Moore.

That night in London where he had attempted to strike Moore, I had Damian go after him the moment he landed in Italy. I want that arm incapable of lifting a thing.

Greg as always had made a jest out of it, implying that I was starting to build some feelings for Moore.

Staring at the picture, asmirk played on my lips. I doubted Grey would even be able to breathe properly in front of her after what she had done to him.

Instinctively, I strode down to see more, her beauty had been well portrayed in all those pictures and I suddenly tested for mere, but then I saw another picture.

The smirk vanished.

And Greg, always the nosy bastard, caught my reaction. "Ohh… and she met with this fashion baby-faced pretty boy—"

Is he being serious now? How on earth did I not notice what a jerk he's from the beginning. He had seen it already and was only waiting to eat on my reaction to say. Noisy bastard.

"I saw it, Greg," I growled, my grip tightening on the phone. "I can see it clearly, so shut up and let me have some goddamn peace."

Greg turned in his seat, staring at me with a knowing smirk. "Okay, sir. Only… you sound jealous."

"Shut up!" I snapped.

My fingers clenched around my phone. Jordan.

I had warned him that day in my office when he came bearing news of Moore being in trouble. I knew from the way he looked at her that he was intrigued—too intrigued. And now, there he was, in the hospital with her, and she was hugging him.

Moore had hugged another man.

The phone cracked in my hand.

"Lucien?" Greg called cautiously.

"Drive faster," I ordered David, my voice dangerously low.

"Yes, sir."

David pressed down on the accelerator, and within minutes, we pulled into the mansion’s driveway. The moment the car stopped, I stepped out, ignoring Greg and heading straight inside.

The door opened before I even reached it.

Lillard greeted me, and the household staff, caught off guard by my unannounced return, scrambled to bow in respect.

"Where is she?" I asked.

Lillard pointed toward the kitchen. "In the kitchen, sir."

“ Mrs Giodarno had always found solace in cooking before bed.” Lorreta chipped in the compliment, but I ignored her.

"Bring her to me," I commanded, my voice clipped as I ascended the stairs.

But just as I reached the second step, a familiar voice stopped me.

"Lucien."

I turned, and there she was—Athena.

She smiled and took a step toward me.

At that exact moment, Moore emerged from the kitchen, walking behind Lillard.

She froze.

Her gaze flickered from Athena to me, and something changed in her expression. The excitement—the slight eagerness to see me—vanished.

Disappointment settled in its place.

I clenched my jaw. She had been excited or was I seeing things?

Moore's lips curled into a small, empty smile. "Welcome back, Mr. Giordano."

She turned, ready to disappear back into the kitchen.

But before I could stop myself, the words left my lips.

"To my room."

Moore halted mid-step.

Athena straightened.

Her face lit up, her lips curving into a knowing smirk.

But then—

"…Moore," I finished.

Moore slowly turned, her expression bore shock.

"What?" Athena and Moore said at the same time.

One in disbelief. One in confusion.

"You heard me," I said, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "Go to my room, Moore."