Cracks in the Armor
The night was quiet, the estate wrapped in shadows, but Lucian's mind was anything but calm. He found Elena in the garden, sitting under the pale glow of the moon. She looked so peaceful, yet her presence stirred something restless inside him.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, his voice low.
Elena turned, smiling softly. "And you shouldn't always carry the world on your shoulders."
For a long moment, he just stood there. No one ever spoke to him that way. No one ever dared. Finally, he sat beside her, his usual guarded mask slipping.
"My father raised me in blood and iron," Lucian began, his tone heavy. "Every choice I've made since then… every empire I built, every enemy I crushed… it was all to survive. To prove I wasn't weak."
Elena listened, her eyes never leaving his face. He had never told anyone this—not even his closest men.
"And yet," he continued, his gaze darkening, "sometimes I wonder if I've just been building a cage for myself. Power doesn't feel like power when you have no one to share it with."
Her hand brushed against his, light as a feather. "You're not as cold as you pretend to be, Lucian."
But before he could answer, the sharp crack of gunfire shattered the night.
The guards shouted from the front gates. Chaos erupted instantly—men rushing, weapons drawn. Isabella's scream echoed from the house.
Lucian's instincts took over. He grabbed Elena's hand. "Stay with me!"
They ran inside, just as masked men stormed the entryway. Bullets tore through glass, the chandelier crashed to the ground, and the smell of gunpowder filled the air.
Elena clung to him, fear in her eyes, but Lucian only grew colder, deadlier. The ruthless boss was back in full force.
"Get Isabella!" he barked to one of his men. Then, pulling Elena behind him, he raised his gun.
This wasn't just another attack. This was personal. Someone had discovered Lucian's one weakness—his hidden heart.