The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden lines across the pristine floor. Aurora stood in the walk-in closet of Lucien's mansion, a row of designer dresses staring back at her like silent judges.
Every label. Every color. Her exact size.
All handpicked.
All arranged… by him.
She hadn't asked for any of this.
But he gave it anyway.
"Aurora?" Mrs. Lin's soft knock echoed through the silence. "Mr. Hayes asked if you're ready for today's luncheon.
Aurora let out a sharp breath. "I didn't agree to this."
"I know. He asked me to deliver this." The housekeeper slid a slim box through the door, eyes downcast.
Inside was a dress. Midnight blue silk. Off-shoulder. Elegant, yet provocative. A matching diamond necklace lay nestled inside.
A note was tucked beneath it, written in clean, angular script:
You're the wife of Lucien Hayes. Act like it.
—L
The luncheon was hosted at the city's most prestigious club. Every guest had wealth in their veins and power at their fingertips.
And every pair of eyes turned as Aurora walked in on Lucien's arm.
She didn't speak. She didn't smile.
But she looked like she belonged.
Lucien kept her close, hand at the small of her back, his fingers pressing possessively.
She stiffened beneath his touch.
"You didn't have to force me to come," she muttered.
"I didn't force you. I dressed you," he murmured back.
"You can't keep treating me like a doll."
Lucien leaned down, his lips brushing just near her ear. "Then stop looking like one."
She jerked away slightly, cheeks burning. He only smirked, returning his attention to the crowd.
He was playing a game.
And she refused to be his pawn.
That night, she locked her door.
Twice.
She didn't know why. He'd never crossed a boundary.
But something in his eyes lately…
Like he was circling her. Closer. Closer.
As if he was waiting for her to break first.
She curled up in bed, arms wrapped around herself.
She had to stay cold. Distant. Unreachable.
Because the moment she gave in—even just once—he would own her.
Not legally. Not in the media.
But emotionally.
And that was far more dangerous.
The next morning, the door to her room was unlocked.
She froze.
She always locked it.
Lucien was standing by the window, shirt half-buttoned, sipping coffee like he belonged there.
"You need better locks," he said casually.
Aurora stared. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"
His gaze met hers, slow and unreadable. "Checking on my wife."
"You don't get to do that."
He stepped forward. "Actually, I do. You're under my roof, wearing my ring, protected by my name. I can walk into any room I damn well please."
She drew back. "I'll move out."
Lucien's jaw tightened. He set down his coffee slowly.
"You think you can walk away that easily?"
"This is a contract. I didn't sign over my soul."
He was in front of her now, his eyes a storm. "No. But you're dangerously close to signing over something else."
She swallowed. "Like what?"
He leaned in, his voice low and dark.
"Your heart."
They didn't speak for two days after that.
Lucien didn't show up for breakfast. Aurora didn't ask.
But the silence wasn't peace.
It was pressure.
Building.
Boiling.
And when it finally snapped, it happened at midnight.
Aurora was coming down the staircase after a call with her father when she heard voices in the library.
Lucien. And a woman.
Her voice was high, flirtatious. Laughter, then the sound of heels clicking on hardwood.
Aurora turned to leave—but the door opened suddenly.
The woman, tall, stunning, clearly familiar with Lucien, stepped out first.
"Oh," she said, eyes sweeping over Aurora. "I didn't know you had company."
Lucien appeared behind her, eyes unreadable. "Aurora, this is Elise. An old… friend."
Elise smiled. "A very close one."
Aurora's spine straightened. "I'm sure."
Lucien stepped between them. "She was just leaving."
Elise pouted. "Don't be rude, Lucien. Your wife and I should talk sometime. I'm sure we have so much in common."
"I doubt it," Aurora said coolly. "I don't sleep with married men."
The woman's expression froze. Lucien's eyes flared.
Elise left in a storm of perfume and heels.
Aurora turned to walk away, but Lucien caught her arm.
"You didn't have to say that."
She yanked her arm back. "Why not? You're the one who brought her here."
"I didn't touch her."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"That I don't care," she snapped, voice shaking. "But I won't be humiliated."
Lucien stared at her for a long, long moment.
And then he did something she didn't expect.
He laughed.
Low. Dark. Dangerous.
"You do care," he said softly. "You hate the idea of me with someone else. And you hate that it makes you feel something."
Her heart thudded. "You're wrong."
He stepped closer. "Am I?"
Then, without warning, he kissed her.
Hard. Deep. Demanding.
Her hands pressed against his chest, trying to push him away—but her fingers curled into his shirt instead.
She hated him. She wanted him. She was burning.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was hoarse.
"Next time you want to walk away, Aurora… remember how your body answered before your mouth did."
She didn't sleep that night either.
Because he was right.
And that terrified her more than anything.