Chapter 6 — The Wife Who Lied
Lucien's POV
Pain bloomed behind his eyes.
Lucien sat up slowly in bed, the world shifting around him in a sluggish blur. The sheets were wrinkled. His suit jacket had been tossed on the floor. His pulse pounded dully in his ears.
Then it all came back.
Sofia. The drug. The glass vial.
And her—
The woman who wasn't Isla.
He looked around the room.
Empty.
But her scent lingered in the air — faint vanilla and something sharper, like citrus and gunpowder.
She stayed.
He didn't know what that meant yet.
But it made his blood run colder.
---
He rose from the bed and moved to the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on his face. Staring into the mirror, he saw it — the small cut along his forearm where Sofia had sliced him. Barely noticeable.
He clenched his jaw.
Too easy.
And yet… he hadn't died.
Because Aria Monroe, the wrong bride, had made a choice.
She didn't run.
---
Dining Hall — Two Hours Later
Lucien found her alone at the long, gleaming table.
She sat near the end, sipping tea, dressed in a simple silk blouse and ivory slacks. Her hair was pinned up, exposing her neck.
She looked… unbothered.
She didn't flinch when he walked in.
Didn't rise. Didn't speak.
Just lifted her eyes to meet his.
No fear.
No apology.
Lucien's voice was like winter.
"Why are you here?"
Aria set her cup down gently. "You already know, I'm your wife."
His stare was sharp enough to cut flesh. "Your family think they can trick me, well,I don't care".
He stepped closer, but not too close. He didn't sit. Didn't soften.
"You and your family lied. You married me under false identity."
"And you accepted me under false intentions," she replied, calm and level. "So let's not pretend either of us were honest."
That stopped him.
Lucien's jaw ticked. "You're not what I expected."
"No one ever expects me," she said quietly.
He hated that answer.
Because it was true.
---
He moved behind the chair at the head of the table and gripped the backrest. His knuckles were white.
"I don't care who you are," he said coldly. "I don't care why you're here. But let's make one thing clear."
Her expression didn't change.
"You are not my wife in any real way. Not emotionally. Not physically. This is a business arrangement, nothing more."
"I understand," Aria said.
"You'll live here," he went on, voice cold and clipped. "But I don't want to see you unless necessary. Don't speak to my men. Don't ask questions. Don't touch anything that isn't yours."
"Understood."
"Your room is across the hall from mine. You'll stay there. Alone."
"Okay."
He narrowed his eyes.
No protest. No emotion.
She wasn't breaking.
"You're taking this very well for someone who just lost a husband."
"I didn't marry you to gain one."
Lucien's silence was a low hum of tension.
Finally, he turned and walked toward the exit.
But just before he left, he said without looking back—
"And if I find out your family lied about anything else,
He paused at the door.
"I won't be so tolerant next time."
Then he was gone.
---
Aria's POV
She didn't breathe until the echo of his footsteps disappeared.
The teacup trembled slightly in her fingers.
He was angry. Icy. Controlled.
But she had expected that.
What she hadn't expected… was the sliver of something behind his voice.
Not hate.
Not rage.
Curiosity.
He wanted to know what kind of woman could lie so well. Could stand so still while his world spun sideways.
Aria exhaled.
So far, her plan was working.
But she hadn't come this far to be tolerated.
She had come to uncover the truth about Lucien Moretti.
And if he wouldn't give it willingly?
She'd carve it from his secrets.
One night at a time.