The world was paper-thin beneath her feet.
Elara stood in the darkened hallway long after Lucien had left her in the room of secrets, her heart pounding like a wild drum against her ribs. Her hands trembled as they clutched the doorframe, the scent of old paper and dust clinging to her fingers.
She had read enough.
Enough to choke her with horror.
Enough to know her father had not been the man she thought.
But more than anything, she knew something else now. A truth that burned brighter than the weight of the past.
She had to escape. Now. Or she would drown in this house of shadows forever.
Her breath came fast and shallow. She glanced down the corridor. Silent. Empty. No guards in sight. Lucien must have thought she would be too broken, too lost, to try running. He had underestimated her.
The grand halls stretched out before her, filled with silent paintings and statues that stared like blind witnesses to her terror. She moved quickly, barefoot, her gray dress whispering against the marble floor as she slipped from shadow to shadow.
Every step was a prayer. Every breath a blade in her throat.
A staircase rose ahead, wide and curling like a serpent's tail. Elara hesitated only a moment before hurrying down, her fingers sliding along the cold banister. The walls here were different. Less polished. Less cared for. Maybe this was the servant's wing. Maybe here she could find a door. A way out.
She turned a corner and saw it.
A small wooden door, half open, the faint smell of rain drifting through the crack. Freedom.
Her heart leapt.
She ran.
Her hand touched the handle, pulling it wide, the cold air of dawn brushing her face like salvation.
And then a voice behind her, soft as silk, froze her blood.
"Going somewhere, Elara?"
She turned.
Lucien stood at the end of the hall.
No guards. No shouting. No anger.
Just him.
Calm. Patient. A shadow carved from darkness and bone.
Elara's chest seized. Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
Lucien walked toward her, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on hers. Like a predator who enjoyed the chase more than the kill.
"You are not very good at following rules," he said softly. "I warned you about that, did I not?"
Elara backed against the door, her hand fumbling behind her for the handle. But it was too late. He was already there.
His hand closed over the door above her head, slamming it shut with quiet finality.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I cannot stay here. I cannot be part of this."
Lucien leaned in close, his breath warm against her cheek.
"You think this is a game, little painter? That you can run from me? From the debt your father left behind?"
Tears burned her eyes. She shook her head, her fingers clawing at the door behind her.
"Let me go," she begged. "I will leave. You will never see me again. I swear it. Just let me go."
Lucien's smile was slow and terrible.
"And if I did, what then? You would go to the police? Tell them the Moretti monster keeps you prisoner in his palace? You would drag this old war into the light and paint me as the villain in your pretty little story?"
Elara flinched, her stomach twisting.
"I would disappear," she whispered. "You would never have to see me again."
Lucien laughed softly.
"You think I want you gone? No, Elara. I want you here. I want to watch you learn. Break. Change. You are mine. And you will not leave until I say you can."
His hand moved to her throat, fingers brushing the pulse hammering wildly beneath her skin. Not tight. Not cruel. Just enough to remind her of the strength that lay in his calm.
"Do you know what happens to things that run from me?" he murmured.
She shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks.
Lucien leaned closer, his lips near her ear.
"They are caught. And punished. And taught never to run again."
Elara's knees trembled. The world swam.
"I am not your toy," she choked. "I am not your prisoner."
His thumb brushed her jaw, lifting her face to his.
"Not yet," he said softly. "But you will be."
For a long moment, he simply stared at her, his gray eyes burning with quiet fire. Then he stepped back, releasing her throat, his face smooth and cold.
"Come," he said. "We are going back upstairs. You have earned your first punishment."
Panic surged in her chest.
"No," she gasped. "Please—"
But Lucien caught her wrist and pulled her down the hall, his grip iron around her slender arm. Not brutal. Not savage. But unyielding. A force she could not fight.
Elara stumbled after him, her bare feet slipping on the marble floor, tears blurring her vision.
The grand hall swallowed her again, its high ceilings and glittering chandeliers mocking her desperation.
They reached the drawing room.
Lucien closed the door behind them and turned, his face unreadable.
"Do you know why this angers me, Elara?" he said softly. "Not because you disobeyed. Not because you tried to escape. But because you think you can run from the truth."
He crossed to the heavy wooden cabinet against the wall and opened it.
Inside were boxes. Velvet and leather. Objects she did not understand.
Lucien removed a thin black belt of soft leather.
Elara gasped, her heart lurching.
"No—please—"
He turned, holding the belt loosely in his hand.
"I told you the rules," he said quietly. "And I told you the price for breaking them. I do not enjoy this, Elara. But you must learn. You must understand."
She backed away until she hit the wall, her chest heaving.
Lucien followed.
"Face the wall," he said.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
"Do not make me ask twice."
Slowly, trembling, she turned, pressing her palms to the cold wall.
Her breath came in ragged gasps.
The belt whispered through the air.
A sharp sting against her back. Not hard. Not brutal. A warning. A lesson.
She gasped, biting her lip to hold back the cry.
Another.
And another.
Three soft lashes, each burning a line of shame and fear into her skin.
Then silence.
Elara sobbed softly, her forehead resting against the wall.
Lucien stood behind her, the belt hanging loose in his hand.
"It is done," he said quietly. "For now."
He dropped the belt on the floor.
"Turn around."
Slowly, shaking, she faced him.
Lucien's eyes were dark. Troubled.
"I do not want to hurt you," he said softly. "But I will. Until you understand. Until you obey."
Elara stared at him through her tears.
"You are a monster," she whispered.
Lucien smiled faintly.
"Yes," he murmured. "But I am your monster now."
He stepped closer, his hand gentle as it brushed her cheek.
"Do not run again, little painter," he said. "You will not like what happens if you do."
Elara's heart broke in her chest.
She knew then that escape was not an option.
Not yet.
Not until she knew him. Knew his weaknesses. His cracks.
She would wait. Watch. Learn.
And one day, she would break free.
But not today.
Today, she would survive.
Lucien turned and left the room, his footsteps soft on the marble floor.
Elara sank to the ground, her body shaking, her tears silent.
The game had begun.
And she would play it.
Even if it killed her.