Chapter 5 Chapter 5

Chapter 5 Chapter 5
Lucian

I don't give a fuck about her anger or whatever she thinks of me. It isn't the first time I've been called rude. I've been called far worse.

Ruthless. Arrogant. Cold. Heartless.
They've said it all. I learned a long time ago that kindness doesn't buy you peace it gets you stepped on. So if Valentina thinks her little outburst and that flash of defiance can shake me, she's wrong.

She doesn't understand this world. Not the way I do. The Benedict family isn't a home it's a business. A dynasty built on fear and silence. My father's empire runs deeper than boardrooms and glass towers; it's made of secrets, power, and obedience. And she, my father's new wife is just another piece placed on the board.

Still, I couldn't ignore the way her hand brushed mine. That spark. That jolt that shot through me like I'd touched fire. I hate that I even noticed. I hate that she made me feel something.

She wasn't supposed to look at me that way like she wanted to break free but didn't know how. She wasn't supposed to have that look of quiet strength under all that fear. I saw it earlier, in the meetings, the way she carried herself despite every eye watching her. She didn't belong here, yet she tried to pretend she did. That kind of bravery... it's dangerous.

I slammed the car door shut and watched her walk away, her pace sharp, her back straight, her anger trailing behind her like a storm.
She looked like a woman trying to run from her own reflection.

I leaned against the car. She'll learn soon enough that no one runs from my father. Especially not the people he owns.

Ambrose Benedict doesn't marry out of love. He marries for gain. For leverage. He married her because her father owed him because her family was a mess of debt and fading legacy. I know enough to know it wasn't a marriage; it was a deal sealed in lies.

And yet, part of me wonders if she even knows that. If she knows she's living in a cage made of promises her father never intended to keep.

I lit up a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily from my lips as I leaned against the car for a second before getting in. I didn't bother looking back in the direction she went. She's smart enough to find her way home. Just because my father asked me to take her home doesn't mean I'm her personal chauffeur.

If she gets lost, she'll learn fast how this world really works.

I started the engine, the low growl echoing through the underground parking lot. The cigarette burned between my fingers as I pulled out and drove off into the city. I needed space somewhere away from all the fake smiles and family bullshit. Somewhere that made sense.

The private club wasn't far. My father owned it, but it was under my control. He let me handle its operations. In truth, it was just another piece of his empire, hidden under layers of respectability.

The guards at the gate didn't stop me. They never did. The moment they saw my car, they straightened and bowed slightly. "Mr. Lucian," they all greeted.

I gave a short nod and walked in.

The place was already alive. Loud music pulsed through the walls, lights dim but colorful enough to make everything blur together. It was packed, as usual. Businessmen, politicians, spoiled heirs they all came here to waste their money, drown in liquor, and forget their lives.

The irony? Half of them had no idea whose pocket they were sitting in. The government knew, of course, but they looked the other way. My father's reach went deeper than anyone could imagine.

I moved through the crowd and climbed the stairs to the VIP section. The air there was different, heavier, darker. The men up here were the real players. The ones who owned the people downstairs.

I was hit with the familiar mix of alcohol, cigarettes, and something else lust. Half-dressed women lounged on the laps of men who were too drunk to care who they touched. Laughter and money changed hands easily.

I made my way to my usual spot, overlooking the room. There was already someone there. Vincent Romano. The eldest son of the Romano family. One of the few men I tolerated, though "tolerate" was a strong word. Our fathers had done business together for years, but Vincent and I never got along. He had a way of talking like he owned the world.

He looked up when I approached. "Well, well, if it isn't the Benedict prince himself," he said, swirling his drink lazily. "Didn't expect to see you at this hour. Thought you'd be busy babysitting your new stepmother."

I wasn't even surprised Vincent knew about my father's new matrimony. In the mafia world, secrets don't stay buried for long. They rot, and the stench travels faster than bullets. That's why smart men bury them deep, deep enough that even their ghosts can't claw their way out.

Vincent Romano wasn't one of those men. For someone who carried the Romano name, he was reckless, too fond of noise and too little of control. The kind of man who mistook fear for respect.

I took my seat beside him. The smoke from my cigarette coiled between us.

"You talk too much, Romano," I said, my tone quiet but laced with steel. "One day, that mouth will get you shot before the night ends."

Vincent chuckled, pretending not to hear the threat buried in my voice. "Relax, Lucian. I'm just making conversation. We're all family here, aren't we? Blood to blood."

I tilted my head slightly, a cold smirk ghosting across my lips. "Blood means nothing when it's spilled for the wrong reasons. You should know that. Your old man built his empire on fear and you? You're too busy playing rich boy in daddy's shadow."

His smirk faltered. "Careful, Benedict. You forget who you're talking to."

"No. You forget who I am."

The music downstairs was loud, but at our table, the silence that followed could've cut glass. Vincent's jaw tightened, his fingers curling around his glass, knuckles white.

I didn't move. I didn't need to. Violence wasn't always about fists or guns sometimes it lived in the tone, in the words that bled sharper than knives. And mine had always drawn blood.

Vincent looked away first, taking a drink to hide the shift in his eyes. "Still the same ruthless bastard," he muttered.

"Better that," I said, flicking the ash from my cigarette, "than a fool with a death wish."

I leaned back, exhaling slowly as the smoke drifted toward the ceiling. The men around us laughed, drank, talked all pretending not to notice the tension that coiled like a loaded gun between us.

Vincent smirked again, trying to reclaim his arrogance. "You think your father's untouchable, huh?"

I didn't look at him. "No one's untouchable," I said flatly. "Not him. Not me. Not you."

He tried to laugh it off, but I could hear the tremor in it. He wasn't sure anymore whether I'd sit there and finish my drink or pull the trigger mid-sentence. That uncertainty was what kept most people cautious around me.

And that's exactly how I liked it.



I got home by dinner time, and the first person my eyes landed on was Valentina.

She was seated at the dining table with my two stepbrothers, Adrian and Aiden, and Mira. The twins were practically busy with what they were doing while Mira eyes were glued to her phone. 

Valentina, though she looked completely out of place. Her posture was straight, but her mind was somewhere else. Her food was barely touched, and she didn't even seem to hear what the others were saying. She was just... there. Quiet. Detached.

When she finally looked up, her eyes met mine across the room. There was confusion in her gaze first, then a small frown. She looked away just as quickly, pretending she hadn't seen me at all.

I almost smirked. If she was still upset because of the little scene earlier, then she'd better get used to it. She started it, and I wasn't the kind of man to let things slide easily.

I turned away, heading for the stairs when Mira's voice sliced through the air. "You're back, Lucian."

She pushed her chair back, stood up and walked toward me, a hint of her usual smugness in every step.

"I was going to show you something," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Not now, Mira," I muttered, not slowing down. "I'm exhausted."

"Eww," she wrinkled her nose, covering it dramatically. "Did you smoke?"

My eyes shifted to Valentina for a second. She was looking at me now really looking. There was a flicker of something in her expression, something caught between curiosity and judgment.

I didn't answer Mira. Instead, I turned and walked up the stairs. There are days when I don't even want to say a word in the house.

I headed straight to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the lights in my room. The glow from the city outside was enough to guide me. The second the warm water hit my skin, I felt the tension of the day slowly melt away but not completely. It never really did.

I wiped a small circle on the fogged-up mirror and stared at my reflection. My jaw was tight, the bruising under my eyes from too many sleepless nights still visible. Ruthless. Arrogant. Cold. I've heard it all and they weren't wrong. That's exactly what I am. What I've become.

People like me don't get the luxury of softness. Not in this world. Not in the Benedict name.

When I got out, I pulled on a shirt, half buttoning it when my phone pinged. A message from my father.

Come to my study room.

Of course. There wasn't a single day that passed without some business discussion or another. With Ambrose Benedict, work never slept and neither did expectations.

I sighed, grabbed my phone, and stepped out of my room.

The hallway was quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock at the end. As I moved toward the study, the door across was opened. My steps slowed instinctively when I saw her.

Valentina.

She stepped out of my father's room, her hair slightly tousled, her pajamas made of some silky white fabric that did nothing to hide the shape of her body. The damn thing clung to her, catching the light. I won't say she has that full body but enough to test a man's restraint. 

My eyes shouldn't have lingered but they did.

For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then reality snapped back like a slap to the face. What the hell was I doing? She was my father's wife. It was only natural for her to be in his room.

Still... something twisted in my chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

I swallowed, forcing down the sudden sting burning the back of my throat. None of this was my business.

When our eyes met, hers were calm too calm. Neither of us spoke.

I tore my gaze away first. Without another word, I turned on the doorknob and stepped inside the room.