Chapter 14 Chapter 14

Chapter 14 Chapter 14
Valentina 

(Two days later)

Two days. Forty-eight hours of trying not to stab Lucien Benedict with a pen.

Working with him has been... torture. The arrogant kind. The infuriating kind. The kind that makes my pulse sprint every time he leans over my shoulder, correcting me like I'm a clueless intern yet somehow smelling like sin wrapped in expensive cologne.

Every meeting, every briefing he manages to get under my skin.
And worse? My treacherous heart likes it. It races when he's close. It stumbles when he glares. It melts when he smirks.

God, I hate it here.

Today was supposed to be slightly better we were going to have a meeting with a major client, one Ambrose insisted we should "lead with confidence." Except Lucien, in all his arrogance, dumped the slides on me last night without a single explanation.

"Handle it. You should be competent enough," he had said.

What if I messed up? What if the client didn't like the direction? What if it backfired and I ended up looking like a fool?

But I'm not dumb. And I'm definitely not useless.

I pulled every bit of experience I had from working in my father's company.
I stayed up half the night researching, structuring, designing, rewriting.
By morning, the presentation actually looked... good. Good enough that a small spark of confidence warmed me as I walked into the meeting hall.

But now? Now I'm sitting at the long conference table with the client and his assistants, the projector humming softly behind me... and Lucien is nowhere to be found.

My leg bounces under the table.
I keep glancing at the door.
Once. Twice. Ten times.

Nothing.

The client clears his throat politely.
"Miss Benedict, shall we begin?"

Miss Benedict. The name still feels new on my skin Ambrose's surname, the one I now carry. Some days it feels like a shield. Other days it feels like a chain.

I force a professional smile, even though my stomach is tight.

"Yes," I say, fingers curling subtly to hide the tremor. "Of course. We can start."

I click the remote. The first slide appears.

Lucien, where the hell are you?

But he's not here. He's left me to handle this myself.

So I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and dive into the presentation. Alone.

"...and with that, the second layout offers a more open landscape, allowing natural light to dominate the living area while still keeping the construction within your preferred budget, Mr. Caldwell."

I blinked at him, heart thudding.
He sat perfectly still, eyes glued to the screen. His assistant hadn't taken a single note. Not even a nod. Just silence.

Only Lydia was encouraging. After all, she had helped me polish the slides. Without her, I wouldn't have survived last night.

Please let what I said make sense. Please.

Finally, Mr. Caldwell leaned back, tapped his pen twice, and nodded.

"I think..." He paused, glanced at the screen again. "I like the second option."

Relief punched out of me. Finally!

"The villa design aligns well with the environment. And frankly, Miss Benedict..." His lips twitched in something close to approval. "I can see why Ambrose married you. You're not only beautiful you're smart."

I forced a smile, the muscles in my cheeks stiff.

"Thank you, sir."

But inside? Inside, it stung. Because it wasn't for me. It was all for Ambrose. Everything I was doing... all this pressure... all this expectation... was tied to his name, not mine.

After the meeting, Lydia and I escorted Mr. Caldwell and his assistant out. The moment the elevator doors closed behind them, I exhaled sharply.

We walked back to my office, heels tapping down the polished floor.
The second the door clicked shut, I collapsed onto the couch like a puppet whose strings had finally snapped.

Lydia smiled softly. "You did well, Ma'am."

I tilted my head back against the cushion, staring up at the ceiling.

"Did I?" The doubt leaked out before I could stop it. "He didn't seem impressed. If only that—"

The thought cut off abruptly as anger surged hot and sharp in my chest.

If only Lucien had shown up. If only he hadn't dumped the entire responsibility on me. If only he didn't infuriate me every time he walked into a room.

I forced myself to swallow the frustration. Lydia didn't need to know.
She didn't need to hear how deeply my own stepson managed to unsettle me how much he affected me in ways I wasn't ready to admit.

So I exhaled and simply closed my eyes.

"It's fine," I said quietly. "Let's... just move on."

Lucien didn't show up all at. By then, my anger had cooled, reheated, burned out, and settled into this icy, stubborn resolve. Honestly, I had almost forgotten about the whole thing almost until Lydia poked her head into my office, "Ma'am... Mr. Lucien is here to pick you."

Perfect.

I smoothed my face into a calm mask, grabbed a random file, and opened it.

"Tell him I'm not done with work," I said casually, flipping an empty page. "He can wait."

Lydia blinked. "Wait? But... the day is over."

"Exactly." I smiled, slow and sweet, cruelty dipped in honey. If he thinks he can mess with me, I can play the same game. Let him wait. And if he leaves without me and Ambrose finds out, he'll be the one in trouble. Not me.

Lydia hesitated. "But Ma'am..."

"Just tell him that," 

She nodded reluctantly and left. When Lydia came back to grab her bag, she looked worried.

"Are you sure you'll be fine, Ma'am?"

"Of course." I flashed her a reassuring smile. "Go on. Get home safely."

She gave me a small bow, "Goodnight, Ma'am," and slipped out.

The moment the door shut behind her, I tossed the unopened file aside and grabbed my phone.

If he wanted to treat me like I was incompetent, then fine let him stew outside like a furious guard dog.

I opened Instagram and lazily scrolled through my feed, pretending to be the most relaxed person alive. A beautiful book aesthetic popped up on my explore page definitely Viviana's type.

I sent it to her with the caption:
You'd devour this in one night.

Just as I tapped out another message, my screen lit up with a notification from an unknown number.

I opened it, and my lips instantly curled.

You have five minutes to get out of that office.

Oh, he was pissed. Deliciously pissed.

I leaned back on my chair and smirked at the glow of my screen.

"Five minutes?" I whispered to myself. "I'm not going anywhere."

Let's see how far he could hold that anger before he snapped.

I ignored the message. Completely.

I even lowered my phone screen and hummed under my breath just to spite him. The seconds rolled by. One minute. Two. Four. And more going to over fifteen minutes. 

I shook my head with a small laugh.
"Maybe he stormed off already... good."

But before the thought even settled, the door handle clicked. Slowly, the door swung open and Lucien stepped inside.

His face was carved in cold, sharp anger. Jaw tense. Eyes dark. Shoulders tight. He looked like he was one second away from tearing the whole floor down and somehow every cell in my body reacted to him at once, heart pounding, legs going weak, heat gathering low.

But I forced my expression into bored calm.

"I thought I sent my secretary to tell you I'm still working," I said coolly.

Lucien said nothing. Instead, he reached back and turned the lock.

The soft click echoed through the office like a warning shot. Something in my chest dropped. Fear, desire, something in between but I sat up straighter, refusing to show it.

He walked toward my desk, slow, controlled, furious. When he stopped right in front of me, his voice was low, dangerous.

"Get up."

I let out a sharp, bitter chuckle.
"And who exactly are you to tell me that?"

His eyes narrowed. Before I could blink he had circled towards me his hand wrapped firmly around my arm, pulling me up from my chair in one swift, unhesitating motion. I gasped as my body collided lightly with his, our faces suddenly inches apart too close, too warm, too much.

"Don't test me," he said through clenched teeth. "You think disrespecting me is smart?"

I yanked my arm lightly though he barely loosened his grip. "You were the disrespectful one. You left me alone in a meeting you were supposed to attend."

He stepped closer. "I didn't have to be there for you to handle it."

"Oh please," I fired back, leaning in despite myself.

His jaw flexed. "You're reckless."

"And you're arrogant."

"Stop pushing me."

"Then stop acting like I'm beneath you."

I could feel the heat radiating off him even before his words landed. His grip on my arm tightened, and the sharp scent of him invaded my senses.

"You're going to get punished for disrespecting me," he said, each word low and deliberate.

I scoffed, trying to mask the tremor in my voice. "Oh? And what exactly will you do?"

But even as I said it, my eyes betrayed me. They flickered to his lips, drawn there despite every rational thought screaming I shouldn't. God, why did I crave the distance between us to vanish?

His jaw clenched, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "I'm going to do something... you won't like."

Fear prickled down my spine, but I couldn't resist asking, "What...?"

He leaned in, bringing his face impossibly close, the tension so taut that the slightest movement from either of us would have made our lips meet. My chest hitched at the proximity, at the brush of his warm presence.

A hoarse murmur left him, and it wrapped around me like fire. "I'm going to make you feel... what even your husband couldn't."

I froze, my heart hammering, the forbidden words igniting something wild inside me. I knew exactly what he meant. And even as every rational thought screamed that this was wrong, a part of me... craved it. Craved him to touch me. To make me feel the things I had been fantasizing about but never dared to imagine in reality.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark, unreadable, and utterly commanding. "Do you feel that?" he murmured. "That pull... that fire between us?"

My lips parted slightly. "I... I don't," I whispered, but the words felt hollow. I couldn't stop the way my chest heaved, the way my stomach fluttered.

He smirked, a dangerous curl of his lips that sent a shiver down my spine. "But you do. You feel it, don't you?"

I wanted to lie. I wanted to say no. But the truth clawed its way out. "Yes..." My voice was barely audible, a trembling admission.

His grip tightened again, not painfully, but possessively, as if he could anchor me in that moment forever. "Good," he breathed, leaning just a fraction closer, so close I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin. "Because I intend to make you remember this... every single touch, every single shiver. You'll never forget what it's like to be mine."

I shivered, both in fear and anticipation, my mind spinning. The forbiddenness of it only made my body ache for him more. My hands twitched, my lips pressed together, but I couldn't stop the way my body responded to him every inch of me alert, desperate, wanting.

And then, just as the air between us thickened unbearably, he stepped back, releasing my arm with deliberate slowness. My heart sank slightly at the distance he created, though part of me still burned for him.

"Meet me outside."

I watched him leave the office, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence. My hand went to my chest, over the rapid beat of my heart. Why was this happening? Why did he have this power over me over my mind, my body, my every thought?

God, I hated myself for wanting him, for imagining what it would be like to let him... and worse, for craving it.