51

51

VIVIENNE

Elena’s grip on me was strong as the soldiers marched us across the clearing. I could feel the sweat of her palm through my sleeve, her nails was pressed so hard into my skin that I knew there would be marks by morning.

The white house loomed larger with every step, its edges almost glowing against the dark. Up close it was no less wrong—too pristine, too, as if it had been scrubbed of humanity until only the shell remained.

The younger woman walked ahead, keys jingling at her belt. She moved with the calmness of someone who had long since accepted her role in keeping others caged. I kept my head down, watching the details—the watchtowers and the buzzing fences.

This wasn’t a home. It was a prison with white walls.

Inside, soldiers’ boots tapped against the floor. Cameras watched from above. I counted five in one hall, two near the stairs. Running would be useless. If I tried to run, I wouldn’t last ten seconds.

“Why so much security for a sick woman?” I asked.

I needed to pretend I was clueless, after all I was assuming the identity of someone stranded around here—a girl who got lost in the wrong part of town, maybe looking for maybe shelter. Someone harmless.

The younger woman didn’t answer. One of the soldiers chuckled under his breath, but when I looked at him he turned his eyes away.

I felt Elena’s tug before I realized we had stopped. The younger woman pulled out a key and slid it into the lock with a soft click.

“Inside,” she said.
The room was nothing like the cold halls outside. It wasn’t rich or flashy, but it was beautiful in a way that felt out of place here. The walls were a soft cream, the curtains a pale gold that moved gently in the breeze from the open window.

Flowers filled the space. Vases on tables, pots on the windowsill, even blossoms pressed into frames along the walls. Mostly white lilies. The sweet scent filled the air until it was almost too much.

It looked like a shrine. Or maybe a prison dressed up with flowers.

Elena pulled me toward a mirror against the wall.
“Siéntate,” she whispered, pushing me into the chair. Her hands trembled. “Siéntate, mi hija.”

I obeyed. My reflection stared back at me—eyes hard, shoulders tight. I looked like a trespasser in someone else’s dream.

Elena reached for a brush resting on the table. Its handle was ivory,.She began to drag it through my hair with a strange gentleness, humming under her breath.

The melody twisted into words—

“Duérmete, mi niña, duérmete ya… que viene el coco y te llevará…”

A lullaby.

The brush caught on a tangle and she tugged hard, muttering, “shh, shh” as if I were a restless child instead of a woman grown.

Gooseflesh rose along my arms. My mind screamed at me to shove her away, to break free of this madness, but my body stayed frozen. Because under the strange tenderness, there was something else.

Her profile in the mirror—those sharp cheekbones, the curve of her mouth—

Lucian.

It was undeniable. This broken woman brushing my hair, humming lullabies—she was Elena Moretti. Lucian’s mother.

And she was looking at me like I was hers.

“Hija…” she murmured again, stroking my hair. “Nunca te dejaré… nunca más.”

The door knob rattled.

The sound was small, almost polite. But Elena froze. Her hand stilled in my hair.

Then the knob twisted, the door cracked open, and all hell broke loose.

Elena’s scream ripped through the room.

“¡Enzo!” she shrieked, eyes wild with terror. The brush clattered to the floor. She clutched my shoulders, yanking me to my feet. “¡No! ¡Aléjate de ella! ¡NO!”

I spun, heart slamming against my ribs.

Lucian stood in the doorway.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My mind scrambled to make sense of it—how, how was he here? The caretaker must have alerted him, but how could he arrive this fast? Unless—damn it. Unless he’d had his men trailing me the whole time. Watching. Spying.

His eyes flicked from Elena’s trembling to me. He looked different in the pale light—

“Mamá. Soy yo. No Enzo. Mira bien—no soy él.”

Elena shrieked louder, pulling me behind her like a shield. “¡Mentiroso! ¡Demonio! ¡No te la lleves!”

Her nails bit into my arms. She was trembling, but her body was defiant, as if she’d fight him to the grave.

Her terror shook the room.

And for the first time, I saw something in Lucian’s eyes that I hadn’t expected.

Hurt.

He took a step forward, but Elena lunged toward me instead. Her fingers locked around my arm, shoving me behind her. She stood like a shield, trembling but fierce.

His jaw clenched. He stepped closer. “Vivienne, come here.”

Elena screamed again, shoving me behind her. “¡No la toques! ¡NO!”

“Elena,” he whispered. “Madre… it’s me. I’m not him. I’m not Enzo.But she wouldn’t hear it.

The door burst wider. Guards stormed in—rifles and syringes in hand.

“Elena!” I shouted, but it was useless. They grabbed her arms, forced her down despite her kicking, her screams. One plunged the syringe into her neck.

Her body jerked. Then she felt unconscious

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Lucian’s gaze burned into me. His voice was ice. “Take her back to her other room. Gently.”

The guards lifted Elena’s limp body, carrying her away. The door shut behind them.

Lucian turned to me. His hand shot out, gripping my arm like iron.

“Lucian—”

“Not a word.”

He dragged me through the hall, his pace was brutal. I stumbled to keep up, my boots sliding on the floor. My arm throbbed under his grip.

“You’re hurting me,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

He didn’t loosen.

We burst outside into the night, the men were still posted like statues at every corner. Only when the cold air hit us did he finally release me.

I staggered back, cradling my arm. His eyes met mine.

It was Fury. Pure, unfiltered.

He stepped closer, his hand snapping out again to seize my arm, not gentle this time. His voice cut like steel.

“You had no right.”

My jaw clenched. “I had every right.”

“No,” he snarled. “This—this was not yours to see.”

I wrenched my arm free, glaring. “I had to find what you were hiding. You don’t trust me, Lucian. You never have. And why the hell should I trust you?”

His teeth bared. “Because I’m the one keeping you alive!”

“Alive?” I laughed bitterly. “Don’t you dare call this living. You hide secrets like knives behind your back, you keep me under watch like I’m one of your prisoners—”

“Because if I don’t, the Riveras will gut you in the street!” he exploded
“They just attacked the mansion. Do you understand that? We bled together in that fight, and we barely survived. They’re regrouping, Vivienne. They’re planning another strike. And what do you do?”

He jabbed a finger at me,“You run out in the middle of the night—not to protect us, not to prepare—but to dig into me.”

His words were like knives.

I stepped forward, close enough that my breath hit his chin. “And maybe I had reason to. Because what I just saw—what you’ve been hiding—that wasn’t about the Riveras. That was about you.”

His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists.

“My mother,” he said, each word bitten through his teeth, “is not yours to use.”

“Use?” I shot back. “You think I wanted that? You think I wanted to see her break when she looked at you? ”

He flinched, barely, but enough.

I pressed harder. “You hide behind your rage, your walls, your damn empire.”

He stepped into me, towering me,His voice dropped, into dangerous tone."

“Careful.”

I didn’t move. “Or what? You’ll lock me in that white room, too? Brush my hair while I forget your name?”

His nostrils flared, his fists trembling.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The night held its breath.

And in his eyes, I saw it again—the same hurt, buried under fire. The hurt of a boy whose mother screamed when he walked into the room.

But I didn’t let it soften me.

Because the truth was raw, and it was mine to throw.

“You don’t trust
me, Lucian. And maybe I don’t trust the you. But don’t you dare tell me I had no right. I had every right to know the man I’m standing beside. Even if you hate me for it.”