Lucien entered his villa, eyes scanning the emptiness.
The silence echoed off the marble walls, a hollow contrast to the thoughts swirling in his head.
Then she appeared in his mind—Lira.
Her delicate skin. That long, raven hair. A face carved like divinity.
"She'll look perfect here," he murmured. "Wearing my clothes. Bouncing barefoot around this place... mine."
What would it take for her to accept the project?
No—what would it take for her to stay?
To let him own her.
A flicker of realization crossed his face.
And then came the smile. Slow. Dangerous.
As the image of her flushed face and poised body lingered in his thoughts, desire coiled inside him like a loaded spring.
He needed a shower—cold and immediate
LUCIEN'S POV
I woke up to the shrill ring of my phone. Who the hell calls this early?
ID Caller: Kenneth Yue.
My eyes snapped open. This is it.
"Kenneth, what's up?"
"You won't believe what I found, man. But you better pay me double for this."
"I'd buy your soul if I had to. Now talk."
"I emailed everything. Your private inbox. Read it. You'll see."
Click.
The line died with a final, hollow beep. I didn't waste a second. I rushed into my office, heart pounding. This was it—what I've been chasing. The truth behind the woman who's haunted my mind like a fever dream.
Lira.
Everything else in my world has always been predictable. Women fall at my feet. They blush, they flinch, they want me—or want to be far from me. But Lira… she doesn't move. She stands. She stares right back. She's unbothered. Ice-cold. Beautifully untouchable. She doesn't flirt. She calculates.
That makes me want her more.
I opened the email. Her photo was the first thing I saw.
ELIRA CALLISTA.
Even her name was regal—cut from glass and fire.
And then, I read. Every line. Every detail Kenneth uncovered.
Daughter of Florentine and Elias Callista. A fire when she was seven. Started by her. Trying to cook. A child's mistake that cost everything.
Florentine—pregnant—burned saving her daughter. She survived, but lost the baby. The trauma broke her.
Psychologically shattered, she couldn't look at Lira without rage. She blamed her. And Lira, a child, carried that guilt alone.
Three years later, Lira came home with school awards—perfect grades, top honors. She thought, maybe this will make Mama love me again.
But…
Her mother was hanging from the ceiling.
Dead.
A dark purple corpse twisted by rope and loss. Lira was ten. She screamed, begged for help. Called her father's company, the only number she remembered.
And when he came home… he wept.
Then he beat her.
He blamed her for it all—the dead baby, the dead wife. Every bruise she wore from then on was a punishment. Every day, she kneeled, sobbing apologies she didn't understand.
And when he drank, the beatings got worse.
But she didn't cry anymore.
By the time she reached high school, the pain didn't register. Her silence was defiance. His fists had lost their power. She stopped begging. She just… stopped.
She left the moment she could. The old man was rotting, alone. She didn't look back.
She didn't hold resentment. What she carried was deeper—a fear of weakness, a fear of surrender. She wouldn't let anyone hold her again. She built walls, forged armor, controlled everything.
She earned a full scholarship. Graduated top of her class from a prestigious university. Joined Arcelli Corporation and clawed her way to the top. She didn't rise. She ascended.
As I Finished processing everything I closed my computer with much frustration, thinking about what I just read.
My fingers hovered over the trackpad. My breath had slowed. My body was still—but my blood was boiling.
That fragile, silent girl being torn apart by an old drunk? It made me see red.
She's not fragile anymore.
She's a force. The world bent her, but it didn't break her. She molded herself into steel.
And I
I ache for her now more than ever. I want to protect her. No—own her. Wrap myself around her and never let anyone touch her again.
She's not the kind of woman you fall for.
She's the kind of woman you burn for.
LIRA'S POV
"Lira, I know this decision is hard," Isabelle said gently, "but this isn't just an offer—it's the opportunity. The one you've always worked for."
"I know, Madame… I just…" I hesitated, still dazed from the day before.
"Well, you'll need to decide now. If not, we'll hand it to Ariza for the Europe expansion."
The words struck me like ice water.
Ariza. Her rival. The only one constantly snapping at her heels, fueled by envy and ambition.
She couldn't let go of this. Not after everything she fought for. Not when the Chairman and his wife had chosen her—favored her. Losing their trust now would unravel years of control.
From the corner of the boardroom, she spotted Lucien.
Smirking. Knowing.
He planned this. He's pushing me.
"I accept it," Lira said firmly.
The Chairman exchanged a knowing glance with his wife.
"You and Lucien leave in a month."
Lira nodded.
"In two weeks, we'll shop for your wardrobe. You'll take a private jet. Take everything you need."
She kept nodding, lips pressed together. The room blurred. Lucien's presence felt hotter—closer.
I left without another word.
But he followed.
"What's your problem?" I hissed when he caught up.
"Who do you think you are?"
I stepped into my office and closed the door behind us.
"You planned that, didn't you? The Eriza thing. I don't know what game you're playing, but don't feed me that bullshit."
My voice was sharp. Controlled—but barely.
Lucien just smiled. That maddening, lazy smile of his.
"Little kitten," he began, that mocking endearment curling on his tongue like smoke, "I apologize. But I genuinely want to work on this project with you."
"You love control. Everything in your world has to move exactly as you command—like wind-up toys dancing to the rhythm you dictate. No cracks. No surprises. Just… flawless domination."
He took a step closer.
"But sometimes," he said softly, "glass shatters. And I just followed my instincts." His eyes glinted. "I watch you, you know. Closely."
"So maybe," he added with a sly smirk, "just be happy. Accept the project. I'd be thrilled if you did."
He turned, beginning to walk away.
"I'll take my leave now."
But the words burst out of me before I could stop them—
"What do you actually want from me?"
There it was—too much emotion in my voice. A flicker too vulnerable. I hated how that sounded.
He froze.
Then, after a moment, he glanced back over his shoulder.
"Nothing."
A pause. Then he added—
"I just think you'd be… useful for the project. That's all."
His tone was casual, detached.
I stared at his retreating figure. Calm, unbothered, full of secrets.
Liar.