It was the kind of silence that hummed.
That stretched, unspoken, between the ridges of your ribs and settled like heat in your stomach. The kind that made you rethink reality in the mirror of a bathroom at midnight. I stood in the club's corridor, my pulse erratic, staring at the spot Lucien had vanished into—vanished, like he wasn't real to begin with. The laughter and music thumped behind me, but my world had gone utterly still.
Lucien.
Even the name felt like it wasn't supposed to belong to a real person. Something mythic. Something wrong.
I pressed a palm to my forehead, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The conversation, the way he'd looked at me—like he was unravelling me with his eyes—and then the way he'd just disappeared. No goodbye. Just... gone.
Was he even real?
A notification buzzed on my phone.
[Unknown Number]
Hope your little celebration was worth the trip. You clean up well in champagne lighting, Alina.
I dropped the phone.
Panic clenched at my throat for a heartbeat before logic screamed louder—I didn't give him my number. But it was him. I knew it. I knew it like I knew my own name. That message had his voice curled inside the letters.
I crouched, picked up the phone with trembling fingers, and locked the screen.
I needed to get out of here.
---
Monday.
Back to reality.
Or, at least, whatever reality meant when your legs were still weak from a single conversation two nights ago.
I'd barely slept since the party. Tossed, turned, dreamed, woke up sweating. There was something about him that I couldn't shake. It wasn't just that he was attractive—dangerous was attractive. But this wasn't that. This was... invasive. The man had carved space in my brain I didn't give him permission to enter.
And now here I was, standing in front of my office mirror, staring at myself like I was about to walk into a trap.
"Get it together," I muttered, tying my hair into a low bun. "He's not even real. You're spiraling."
I stepped into the main floor of Westbrooke Holdings and froze.
Because standing by the front desk—black suit, sunglasses, phone to his ear—was Lucien.
No. No, no, no, no—
He turned, and for a second I thought I'd imagined the smile that curled at his lips.
Of course he was real.
He pocketed the phone and walked right past me like I was air. A single glance in my direction, a tiny raise of one brow.
And then he was gone.
Again.
---
"Why are you short-circuiting like you saw your ex and your funeral all in one?" Mira dropped into the seat beside me in the breakroom, popping open a can of energy drink.
"I—" I blinked at her. "Didn't you see him?"
"Who?"
"Lucien. He was just here."
"Lucien who?"
I hesitated. "Lucien. He owns the club. The one we went to Saturday. Tall. Dark hair. Very much a menace?"
Mira raised an eyebrow. "No one's been here except Greg from finance who tried to microwave fish. Again."
"I swear he was—" I stopped. What was I even saying? I sounded insane.
Mira took a sip, watching me. "Girl, are you... okay? You look like someone cursed you with a sexy demon."
I didn't laugh. I couldn't.
Because it didn't feel like a joke anymore.
---
Tuesday.
When I entered the office, a package was sitting on my desk.
Small. Black ribbon.
No label.
My stomach dropped.
I glanced around, but no one else seemed to be paying attention. Carefully, I undid the ribbon, peeled back the lid—and inside was a thin silver bracelet.
Elegant. Too expensive. There was a note beneath it.
"Consider it a leash. Try not to break it." – L.
My hands trembled as I held the card.
He was watching me.
He knew where I sat. What I did. Who I was.
This wasn't flirting anymore. It was a message. A reminder. A hook sunk between my ribs and yanked tight. I swallowed down panic, slipping the box back into my drawer, and locked it.
I didn't wear the bracelet.
But I didn't throw it away either.
---
Wednesday.
A meeting notice popped up on my calendar.
Private Client Presentation.
Time: 11:30am.
Location: Conference Room B.
Attendees: Alina M., Mr. L. Westbrooke.
No. No way.
I tried to cancel it. System wouldn't allow it.
I tried to reassign it. Denied.
I sat frozen at my desk for a full ten minutes before Mira tapped me on the shoulder. "You look like you're about to walk into your own murder."
"I might be," I muttered.
---
11:30am.
I stepped into Conference Room B.
It was colder than usual. Sleek glass walls, one long table, and at the had of it—Lucien.
He stood with his back to me, suit immaculate, hands folded behind him.
"Close the door," he said without turning.
I did.
I should leave. I should run. I should scream.
Instead, I sat.
Lucien turned to face me. No smirk. No humor. Just those steel eyes burning right through me.
"I'm not supposed to be here," I said, voice thin.
"Then why did you come?"
"You set the meeting."
"I didn't say you had to show."
He moved closer, every step deliberate. Every motion a threat disguised as elegance. My breath caught as he leaned down, hands resting on either side of my chair, face inches from mine.
"You've been thinking about me," he said softly. "Admit it."
"I—"
"I've been thinking about you." His voice dropped. "Too much."
I swallowed, heat pooling dangerously low. "What do you want from me?"
His eyes flicked over my face. "Everything."
A knock came at the door.
Lucien straightened instantly, adjusting his suit. "Meeting's over."
"But we didn't even—"
"Next time," he said with a wink, "you'll beg me to stay longer."
He was gone again before I could catch my breath.
---
Thursday.
Rumors swirled like perfume.
A new investor. Shadow CEO. Someone dangerous. No one had seen him—only whispers of meetings behind locked doors, of money pouring in from overseas. Westbrooke Holdings had a new partner.
I didn't need confirmation. I knew who it was.
Lucien Westbrooke wasn't just the name on a club.
It was a warning label.
---
Friday.
I made a mistake.
I wore the bracelet.
Mira noticed. "Oooh, who's the sugar daddy?"
"It's just jewelry."
"Mmhm."
I didn't explain.
Because I couldn't.
Because the second I walked into the conference room again for a team briefing, Lucien was sitting at the far end—and when he saw the bracelet on my wrist, his eyes darkened like a stormcloud.
I swore I saw his jaw tighten.
When everyone left, he cornered me.
"You wore it."
"You gave it to me."
His fingers brushed my wrist. "You have no idea what that means."
"Then tell me."
Lucien leaned in, voice laced with warning.
"I don't give gifts. I give claims."
And then, he kissed me.
Not sweet. Not slow.
But like I was a crime he was about to commit twice.
I didn't pull away.