Elara's POV
The next morning, I moved through the villa like a ghost. My chest still bore the faint sting of spilled coffee, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness in my heart.
I avoided the main halls, kept my eyes down, and buried myself in work — scrubbing, polishing, arranging. If I moved fast enough, maybe no one would notice me. Maybe I could forget the way Lucian had looked at me last night, as though he'd seen me… truly seen me.
But forgetting wasn't so easy.
By evening, I carried a tray of fresh pastries to the study, my hands trembling. I hadn't meant to bake them, but my nerves had driven me into the villa's enormous kitchen, where the ingredients had practically begged to be touched. Baking was all I knew, the one thing that gave me a sense of belonging.
I placed the tray gently on his desk. "Coffee, sir. And… I thought you might like these."
Lucian looked up from his papers, his dark eyes unreadable. For a long moment, silence stretched between us. Then he reached for one of the pastries, breaking it in half.
The bite was small, deliberate. His jaw shifted once, twice, before he leaned back in his chair.
"You made this?"
I nodded, my throat dry.
His gaze sharpened, and I felt pinned beneath it. "You shouldn't waste your time cooking for me. It's not part of your job."
"I… I'm sorry. I only thought—"
But then, his lips twitched. Just slightly. "Don't apologize."
The tension in my chest loosened, though only for a heartbeat. Because just then, the door opened.
Isabella swept in, silk trailing behind her like a crimson shadow. Her eyes fell instantly on me, then to the tray.
"What's this?" she asked, her voice laced with disdain. "Playing housemaid and cook now? How very eager."
Heat rushed to my face, shame curling in my stomach. I started to step back, but Lucian's voice stopped me.
"They're good," he said simply, his eyes still on me.
Isabella's expression flickered — just for a second — before she turned her smile back on him. "Well. If pastries impress you so easily, perhaps I should take up baking myself."
The venom in her tone was for me, but I didn't dare meet her eyes. I lowered my head and hurried out, my hands shaking.
Still, one thought followed me down the hall, stubborn and impossible to silence:
He had defended me again.
Lucian's POV
I watched her retreat, her shoulders tense, her hands clutched tight as though she carried the weight of the world.
She thought she was invisible in this house. She thought she was disposable.
But every day, every moment, she was becoming the one thing I couldn't ignore.
And that terrified me.