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Moore
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Who is him?”
Was he talking about Ethan? Grey? Jordan? Or someone else entirely?
I held his gaze, searching for a clue, but what I found instead made my heart lurch. His eyes burned into mine with an intensity I had never seen before—possessive, sharp, and dangerously unreadable. My fingers twitched by my sides, palms slightly clammy, but I refused to look away.
"You know who," Lucien murmured, his voice eerily calm, but there was an underlying threat there. "Do not make me ask again."
Something about his expression made my chest tighten. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something heavy that I couldn’t quite place.
And then, before I could stop myself, before I could think, the word slipped from my lips—soft, teasing, but reckless.
"Jealous?"
The second the word left my mouth, my stomach dropped. My breath hitched, my throat closing up. I hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Hell, I didn’t even know why I thought about it in the first place. I rushed to take it back, but before I could, Lucien moved—swift and sudden, like a predator striking its prey.
His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, and in a blink, he had me pinned against the door. My back pressed into the cold wood, the warmth of his body caging me in.
I gasped, not from pain, because there was none, but from the sheer proximity of him. He was so close. Too close. The scent of him—clean, crisp, intoxicating—wrapped around me, making it hard to focus.
Lucien’s gaze was locked on me, his jaw tight, his breathing controlled but heavy. And then—his eyes flicked down, just for a moment.
To my lips.
I felt it like a spark igniting between us. The way his stare lingered, dark and unreadable, before slowly dragging back up to meet mine. My pulse pounded in my ears.
Indistinctly, I licked my lips, unable to help it.
"Jealous, you say?" His voice was lower now, quieter—but somehow even more dangerous.
I opened my mouth to speak, to explain, to tell him that wasn't what I meant—but the words never came. Because his next sentence made my world tilt on its axis.
"What if I was?"
I froze. My heart stopped.
He couldn't be serious.
Lucien, jealous? Of someone else touching me?
No. That wasn’t possible. It had to be a trick. He was playing a game.
I studied his face, searching for the tell, the slight smirk, the mocking glint in his eyes. But there was none. His expression was unreadable, his stare unwavering.
I swallowed hard. My throat was dry. My mind screamed at me to speak, to say something, anything—but the words wouldn’t come.
Then, suddenly, everything clicked into place.
The dinner.
The way he had dismissed Athena earlier tonight.
The way he had taken care of me when I was in pain.
The way he had greeted me first that morning in London—like I was someone important.
And now, this.
Could it be? Could Lucien actually—?
No. I couldn't go there. I wouldn’t go there.
But before I could even begin to process it all, his voice cut through the storm in my head.
"You're mine, Moore."
The words sent a chill down my spine. They weren’t sweet. They weren’t kind. They were cold, possessive, and final.
"And what's mine," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "shouldn’t be seen with another."
I let out a shaky breath. So that was it.
I had let myself hope, just for a second, that maybe, maybe—there was something more behind his words. That maybe he actually felt something. Maybe Lucien was in love with me.
But no.
This wasn’t about love. This wasn’t about anything real. I almost let out a laugh. How stupid and naive if you Moore.
I had hoped for a little tiny bit. I had hoped Lucien would have such feeling so I could use them to my advantage.
But those care, kindness and all wasn’t about love. This was about control. Ownership.
"You were laughing," he went on, his tone growing harder. "Your arms were around him."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he didn’t let me.
"You shouldn't have done that." His fingers flexed against my wrist before finally letting go. He stepped back, giving me space—but the air between us was still charged, heavy, suffocating.
"Not because you'll be punished," he added, his tone almost cruel now, "but because your family will be, too."
His words hit like a punch to the gut.
My stomach twisted painfully.
No. No, no, no.
Not my family.
I had always known Lucien was cruel. Ruthless. Cold. But this—this was his same level of brutality. I thought that part of threatening me with my family had ended.
I felt my breath shake as I spoke. "Not my family, Lucien…" My voice came out barely above a whisper. "Please."
His expression didn’t change.
"I swear to you, whatever you saw online—it was nothing. He hugged me out of respect, that's all. He only came by to invite me to a launch—"
Lucien scoffed, his eyes dark with sarcasm. "Because you're friends with him?"
I shook my head quickly. "No, but—"
"Go to your room, Moore."
The sudden shift in his voice was like a slap.
Cold. Final.
This monster had made up his mind.
I stiffened. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.
"But my family—"
"I don’t go back on my words," he cut in, stepping away, already dismissing me. "You crossed a line. You’ll have to pay for it."
My blood ran cold.
"You can punish me," I said, my voice shaking now. "I’ll take whatever you want to throw at me. I’ll even wait at the death room if that’s what you want—but please, not my family."
Lucien’s jaw ticked, but his expression remained impassive. He didn’t even look at me as he took the scan card from his pocket and swiped it across the lock.
The door clicked open.
He didn’t spare me a second glance.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t give me a chance to say another word.
He just stepped inside—cold, silent, untouchable.
And then, the door shut behind him.
Leaving me standing there, my heart hammering, my whole world spinning.