96

96
Moore
For the past three weeks, every night, mostly around midnight—Lucien would have me in the Red Room. He fucked me senseless until my legs trembled, until walking became a challenge the next morning.
It was never easy.
Not even for a second.
Each time, he pushed me further—testing my limits, bending my body in ways I never thought possible. He had me in every position imaginable. Upside down, tied, restrained, stretched beyond my comfort. He clipped my breasts, forced my throat to accommodate all of him, until I learned to take him without gagging.
Lucien claimed he was teaching me.
And like a fool, I had taken his lessons seriously.
I should’ve hated it. Should’ve fought harder.
But the scariest part?
I anticipated it.
I craved it.
It was an addiction I didn't want to admit to myself.
Lucien never said much afterward. He'd leave me in a mess—sore, used, marked—yet he always made sure there was medicine for my bruises and pain. And when I passed out from exhaustion, I always woke up in my room by morning, my body cleaned, my sheets untouched, as if nothing ever happened.
It confused me.
He was my husband. My tormentor. My obsession.
And yet… there were moments.
Moments where he let things linger. Where his touch wasn’t just cruel domination but something else, something unreadable. Something insatiable.
I wasn’t sure which version of him was more terrifying.
Athena had returned several times since that night Lucien came home. She threw tantrums, screamed, broke things—desperate for his attention. And each time, he sent her back, his patience wearing thinner with every outburst.
I don't know why, but I felt he suddenly found me worthy of his loyalty.
Athena took that anger out on me at the hospital.
She doubled my workload, nitpicked at everything I did, ensured that every day was miserable.
But I endured it.
Because I had Ethan and Mirabel.
They were my small pocket of peace in this twisted hospital.
At first, I was terrified that Athena would tell Lucien about my growing closeness with Ethan. I expected a punishment, maybe even a violent one. But Lucien never seemed to care.
Maybe because Ethan wasn’t a threat.
Or maybe… Lucien knew I belonged to him alone.
Either way, my relationship with Lucien remained the same—detached and cruel, yet impossibly tangled.
He did punish my family like he promised. But only slightly. He withdrew just one share from the ones he pulled back, a silent warning that kept me in check. He knew exactly how much to take to remind me of his power without completely destroying them.
And yet, when I expected him to be at his worst…
Lucien had accepted that I can attend the upcoming Food Show of Jordan.
It made no sense.
He had punished me for letting Jordan hug me, yet he was letting me go to an event held by him. I guess he trusted me to have learned my lesson and keep whatever it's with me and Jordan strictly professional.
I didn’t question it. I simply accepted whatever small victories I could get.
But lately… something else had been bothering me.
For the past two weeks, I had been receiving threatening messages.
The texts were short but chilling.
"I see you."
"You're done for."
“You can't run forever.”
“You can't hide. I'll get you and Lucien will only have to watch helplessly.”
At first, I thought it was the same person who had been threatening Emily. But the more they came, the more personal they felt.
I should’ve told Lucien.
But I didn’t.
Because part of me suspected Grey.
And if it was him, I wanted to handle it myself.
Grey had disappeared for a while, but like a cockroach, he resurfaced—this time begging for my forgiveness. He wanted me to tell Lucien to stop tormenting him. He looked like a rag that day, starved of freedom itself. Lucien had sucked him so dry nothing else remained to show for it.
I spat on his face.
Told him to go to hell.
And I must have pushed him over the edge, because soon after, the threats started rolling in.
I wasn’t afraid of Grey.
But tonight… I realized I should’ve been.
\---
It was late when I walked with Ethan and Mirabel after work. The air was cool, the streets quiet.
“So, you’ll be going to the most talked-about Food Show in Italy, right?” Mirabel asked, nudging me.
I nodded absentmindedly, my mind elsewhere.
Ethan, on the other hand, was distracted—smiling at his phone.
I raised a brow. “What’s got you all giddy?”
Before he could answer, he suddenly kissed me on the cheek, hugged Mirabel, and practically ran off.
“He’s here.”
Those were his last words before disappearing.
I blinked. “What the hell?”
Mirabel just chuckled. “He’s meeting someone.”
I tilted my head, confused.
She gave me an exasperated look. “You weren’t listening, were you? He literally told us five minutes ago that he’s going on a date with his boyfriend.”
“Oh…” I muttered. “I guess I was too tired to process it.”
Ethan had only recently come out to us. I remembered how I caught him whispering, I love you over the phone, thinking he had a girlfriend—only for him to correct me with a sheepish, “No, I’m gay.”
I had nearly laughed, muttering, Poor Georgia.
She had been gushing over a man that sadly would never be hers.
Not her fault anyways… if I wasn't married, I would have been heartbroken too.
Mirabel shook her head, amused. “Anyway, my Uber’s here. You sure you’ll be fine alone?”
I waved her off. “I’ll be fine.”
She gave me one last concerned glance before getting in the car, leaving me alone.
I waited for Lillard to pick me up, but the minutes ticked by.
He wasn’t here.
I dialed his number. Disconnected.
My stomach twisted.
Something felt… wrong.
I decided to walk a little further, hoping to spot a cab. But as I moved, a strange sensation crept up my spine.
I was being followed.
My phone buzzed. I shakenly checked my phone and my stomach twitched at the message.
"You're done for."
My breath hitched.
Panic shot through me, and I quickened my pace.
I chanced a glance over my shoulder.
Five men.
All dressed in dark clothing, their strides deliberate, their eyes locked onto me.
And not wanting to take chances, I broke into a run, hoping I would outrun them.
But the street was empty. No cars. No people, as if it had all been planned.
I turned back a little, and the men were closed, right behind me. Only a few more steps and I would be dead or unconscious.
My pulse pounded as I dialed the only person who could help me.
Lucien.
The phone barely rang before he answered.
“Moore.”
My heart nearly stopped—not because of his voice over the phone.
But because I could hear it up close.
I lifted my head—my breath catching in my throat.
He was here.
Standing a few feet away, his phone pressed to his ear, his dark gaze locked onto me.
I had never seen that look on his face before.
It wasn’t just anger.
It was deadly.
A silent warning to the men who dared to come after what was his.
“Lucien…” I breathed.
And without thinking, I ran into his arms.