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The dress was black. Silk. Expensive. And entirely too tight.
Camila stared at herself in the full-length mirror. The woman looking back was a stranger—painted lips, smoky eyes, curves accentuated for display. It wasn't her reflection. It was a warning.
Lucien wanted her to look like she belonged to him.
The knock came sharp and final.
He didn't wait for permission. Lucien walked in like the room owed him silence. Dressed in an all-black tailored suit, he looked more like a fallen angel than a criminal—danger laced in luxury.
He eyed her, lips twitching in approval. "You clean up nicely."
"I'm not here for your compliments," she snapped.
Lucien stepped closer. "No. You're here because you disobeyed me."
He offered his arm. "Shall we?"
Camila wanted to refuse. But the look in his eyes warned her not to. So she slipped her hand into his, cold fingers brushing warm skin.
They walked out into the night, where a sleek black car waited.
The mansion they arrived at was even grander than Lucien's—gold accents, marble columns, and laughter that never quite reached anyone's eyes.
Inside, the air reeked of money, secrets, and something darker.
Men in suits. Women with diamonds. And power disguised as politeness.
Lucien didn't introduce her. He didn't have to. Everyone already knew who she was—the girl no one expected to survive, now at the devil's side.
Camila clung to silence, watching him work the room with a predator's charm. He wasn't just feared. He was worshipped.
Then she saw her.
Tall. Blonde. Dripping in red silk. Nicola.
She walked straight up to them, a glass of wine in hand and venom behind her smile.
"Lucien," Nicola purred. "Still collecting strays, I see."
Camila straightened. Lucien's grip on her waist tightened.
"Nicola," he said coldly. "Still talking too much."
The woman's eyes flicked to Camila. "Careful, sweetheart. He gets bored easily. You'll see."
Camila opened her mouth, but Lucien cut in first. "She's not yours to insult."
Nicola laughed. "No. She's yours to destroy. Like the rest of us."
The moment passed, but Camila felt something shift in the air—something fragile and dangerous.
As the night dragged on, Lucien leaned to her ear and whispered, "You should learn who's who in this world. Especially your enemies."
"I already know," she whispered back. "You're the biggest one."
Lucien smiled.
And for the first time, it looked real.
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Would you like Chapter 5 next, where Camila catches Lucien with another woman and confronts him—leading to their first explosive moment of emotional tension?
Camila wasn't looking for him.
She told herself that, over and over again, as she wandered deeper into the mansion's hallways, away from the forced laughter and clinking glasses. The air was quieter here—darker. The kind of quiet that swallowed footsteps and secrets.
Then she heard it.
A muffled laugh.
A moan.
Camila froze outside the slightly cracked door.
She shouldn't look. She didn't want to. But some bitter, stupid part of her did.
So she pushed the door just enough.
And saw him.
Lucien.
Shirt halfway unbuttoned, back against the wall.
And Nicola—her mouth trailing down his chest like a woman staking her claim.
Camila didn't make a sound.
She didn't need to.
Because Lucien's eyes lifted—and met hers.
For one split second, everything froze. Nicola didn't notice. But Lucien did.
His gaze held hers.
He didn't stop her. He didn't push Nicola away.
He let her see.
Camila turned and walked away without a word.
She wasn't going to cry. She was done with tears.
But by the time she reached the guest room they forced her to sleep in, she couldn't stop her hands from shaking.
She was never supposed to matter.
So why did it hurt?
Hours later, the door creaked open. She didn't look. She knew who it was.
Lucien didn't speak right away.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him.
"Say it," she said coldly. "That I'm nothing. That I was never supposed to care."
Lucien exhaled a breath, low and tired. "I never promised you anything."
Camila stood, eyes blazing. "But you made me think I was different. Like I wasn't just a toy you picked off the street!"
He walked closer. "You are different."
"Then why let her touch you?"
His jaw clenched.
"She's my past," he said simply. "You— You're something else. Something I can't control."
Camila laughed bitterly. "That's not love. That's possession."
Lucien reached out, grabbing her wrist before she could move.
"I don't love you," he said quietly. "But I can't stop needing you."
Camila yanked her hand free. "Then that's your curse. Not mine."
She shoved past him and slammed the bathroom door.
Lucien stood there, staring at the empty space where she used to be, and for the first time in years, felt something like regret.
Camila packed at dawn.
Not much—just the essentials. A tattered envelope of cash she had hidden beneath the dresser, a few clothes, and the necklace her mother left behind. She didn't know where she'd go, but anywhere was better than here.
Anywhere was better than being one of his.
She crept past the guards, slipping through the side hallway Nicola used when sneaking in lovers. Camila had learned more than she'd wanted in her time here—enough to know the mansion wasn't impenetrable.
But she'd barely reached the gates when a car pulled up, fast and sudden.
Lucien stepped out, his hair uncombed, shirt half-buttoned, fury in his eyes.
"I should've known," he said, walking toward her. "You think I wouldn't find out?"
Camila gripped her bag. "Don't come closer."
"You were leaving me." His voice was calm, but that quiet coldness was worse than yelling. "After everything I've given you."
"You gave me a prison." Her voice cracked. "And mistresses to watch."
His jaw tightened. "I didn't promise you freedom, Camila. I promised to keep you safe."
"This isn't safety," she snapped. "This is ownership."
He took a step closer. "And what would you do out there? Sell yourself to someone else? Let some lowlife lay hands on what's mine?"
"I'm not yours," she hissed.
Lucien's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You've been mine since the day I saved you from that auction. You just haven't accepted it yet."
Camila's heart raced. "You can't keep me here."
"I can," he said darkly. "And I will."
He reached into his coat and tossed something at her feet.
A phone. Smashed.
Her old one—the one she'd hidden.
"Your friend who promised to help you escape?" Lucien said slowly. "He works for me now."
Camila's breath caught.
"You don't have a way out," he whispered. "Not until I say so."
She stared at him. "Why? Why keep me?"
He looked at her then—not like a monster, but like a man bleeding behind his armor.
"Because you're the only thing I want that doesn't bow."
He turned and walked back to the car.
Camila didn't move.
She couldn't.
Because that was the most terrifying truth of all:
She wasn't afraid of being his prisoner.
She was afraid of becoming his weakness.
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