Chapter 5 You Don't Own Me
Celeste-
I wasn't thinking when I grabbed his hand. I just wanted out. Away from their stares. The judgments.
Lucien didn't say a word as I led him through this godforsaken mansion -past the hall down the east wing, where the music and guests couldn't reach. My heels clicked too loudly against the marble floors, and my chest felt tight.
Finally, I pushed open the door to one of the guest suites, stepping in first as adrenaline coursed through my blood. Lucien followed, but he didn't look at the room. He simply stared at me-in a way that said he demanded answers.
I turned to face him, avoiding his eyes. "You didn't have to follow me."
Then, my breath hitched without reason.
What was I even saying? I had literally dragged him out here, so what was I even saying?
As if reading my thoughts, he shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. Calm. Collected. "But I did."
I tried to meet his gaze. "I mean it. Thank you."
"For what?" He grinned. Damn, those blue eyes, they seemed to stare into my soul.
"For playing along," I murmured. "For... saving me."
His expression didn't change. "Don't mistake this for a rescue."
My lips parted. "Then what was it?"
He pushed himself off the door and walked toward me. Not fast. Not slow. Just enough to make me take few steps back until my calves hit the edge of an armchair.
"I don't do rescues," he said, his voice low...husky. Tempting in the most daring type of way. "I don't play the hero."
My throat felt tight, but I found my words. "So why did you do it?"
His eyes pinned mine. "Because I don't like being told what I can't have."
My pulse jumped.
"And maybe," he added, tilting his head slightly, "because you looked them in the eye and chose me anyway." He said cockily.
I swallowed. "I had to choose someone."
He scoffed, turning away from me. "Keep telling yourself that." He paused. "But I need to know why."
My brows knitted together. "Why what?"
"Why me," he replied flatly. "Clearly, you could have humiliated my nephew without dragging me into it. You didn't just walk away. You walked into the fire."
Fire? My mind reeled.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out at first. The truth was impossible to explain, not without sounding delusional.
"I remembered something," I said carefully. "You once told me to choose you."
He frowned, turning to meet my gaze. "I've never said a word to you before today."
"I know," I said, too quickly. "But it felt real."
His stare hardened. "Is that why you stood in front of two of the most dangerous families in the country and picked a man you don't know?"
I straightened myself. "I don't regret it.
His voice lowered. "Then stop acting like you do."
"I'm not." I said through my tinging pulse.
"You're trembling," he noted.
"I'm not afraid of you," I replied. Oblivious to how many steps I had taken away from him.
He moved fast.
One second he was across the room. The next, his palm landed flat against the wall behind me. His body didn't touch mine - but I felt him, every inch. I felt the warmth of this breath seeping through my skin.
"Then make me believe you, dear fiancée," he said, eyes locked on mine.
My voice was barely audible. "You don't own me."
"Not yet." His mouth curved, but it wasn't a smile.
My breath caught in my throat as he leaned in slightly, his tone quiet but rough. "But you offered yourself to me. In front of people who would rather see you destroyed than disobedient. You called me yours, Celeste. And I don't share."
My chest rose too quickly. "I didn't mean-"
"Yes, you did."
He looked down at my chest- just for a second. Assessing. Possessive.
"You think I'm a shield. I'm not. I'm the thing they warned you about."
I tried to look away. But I couldn't. He was too close, too still. His body didn't move, but everything about him screamed tension.
"You're angry," I said, trying to sound composed. "Because I dragged you into this."
He laughed in a way that made my heart stop for a second. Low. Dark. "You didn't drag me anywhere. I walked in."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
He scoffed. "Because I haven't decided yet if I want to keep you."
Keep me? "I'm not yours," I retorted.
He leaned closer. His nose nearly brushing mine. "Then stop looking at me like you are."
I opened my mouth to deny, to argue, I didn't know - but the words wouldn't come. His hand lifted slightly as if to touch my face. I flinched, instinctively. He didn't touch me.
What was this man doing to me?
He smiled at that. A cold, dangerous smile. "You're not ready for what I want."
"Then don't want it," I whispered.
He tilted his head. "Too late."
The air between us felt electric, charged with tension, like the exact moment before lightning struck. I hated how much I wanted him to close the distance.
He didn't.
Instead, he looked at me and said, "You're still playing the good girl. But you picked a man who doesn't do good."
"I know what I'm doing."
"No, you don't," he said, almost gently. "But you will."
And with that, he stepped back, giving me space. But not distance.
This was my opportunity to flee from him, but my knees hit the edge of the bed, and I stumbled. My hands shot behind me, catching my weight as I landed flat on the bed.
Damn this corset. I couldn't sit up. Not when he stood there. Just watching.
Slowly, he stepped forward, closing the space between us while I tried to look unaffected. "You okay down there?" he asked, voice quiet. Almost mocking.
"I'm fine," I said flatly, avoiding his gaze.
"Doesn't look like it."
"I'm not fragile."
He gave a low laugh, then crouched - not fully kneeling, but leaning in, close enough that his face hovered at my eye level. One hand braced on the mattress beside my waist, steadying himself. The other lifted slightly, like he was thinking about touching my cheek but hadn't decided yet.
"You keep acting like you're in control," he said. "But you haven't been since you walked into that ballroom."
"You don't own me." I said, voice tight.
His eyes dropped to my lips. "You said that already."
"And I meant it."
"Say it again, then," he said, leaning in close. Too close. "But look me in the eyes when you do."
I tried. I really did.
But I couldn't hold his gaze. It was too much -too full of something I didn't want to name.
Quietly, he dragged his fingertips lightly over the edge of the comforter beside my leg. Slow. Thoughtless. Dangerous.
"You made a choice tonight," he said, voice low. "And I'm not the type to let things go."
"I didn't do it for you."
He shook his head. "You didn't do it for yourself either."
I swallowed hard.
"Next time you say 'you don't own me,'" he murmured, "say it from somewhere else. Because lying on your back in front of me isn't helping your case."
Heat flushed through my cheeks, a little too much this time.
Finally, he stood. Not like he was letting me go. It felt as if he was giving me a head start. "I'll play the part, Celeste," he said my name for the first time. "But just know you started this."
He headed for the door. But before he opened it, he glanced back once. "You should stop looking at me like that," he said.
"Like what?"
He smirked. "Like you want me to stay."
Then he left.
And I stayed on bed. Shaken. Angry. Full of regrets.
Because whatever I had just awakened wasn't going back to sleep.