Lucian's POV
The study smelled faintly of smoke and old leather, the firelight throwing restless shadows across the walls. Isabella stood near the window, a glass of wine in her hand, her posture perfect, her smile sharpened like a blade.
"You've been quiet all evening," she purred, swirling the glass. "Is something troubling you, darling?"
I watched her carefully, every muscle in my body tense. The image she projected — refined, untouchable, the perfect fiancée — would have fooled anyone else. But I had seen the venom behind her silk.
I thought of Elara, kneeling on the floor, tears staining her cheeks as Isabella walked away laughing. Rage stirred in me again, black and bitter.
"You humiliated her," I said flatly.
The smile on Isabella's lips faltered. "Excuse me?"
"Elara," I growled, my tone sharper than I intended. "You shoved her, spilled food all over her. You made her cry."
For a moment, silence hung between us — thick, suffocating. Then Isabella laughed, soft and mocking.
"She's a maid, Lucian. Crying is practically part of the uniform. Why should you care?"
My hands curled into fists at my sides. "Because no one in this house deserves to be treated like dirt. Not by you. Not by anyone."
Her eyes narrowed. She set the wine glass down with a deliberate clink, stepping closer, her perfume suffocating in its sweetness.
"Tell me," she whispered, tilting her head, "why does this little maid matter to you so much? Why do you look at her as if—"
"Enough." My voice cracked like a whip, and for the first time, Isabella flinched.
I took a step toward her, my glare cutting through her icy composure. "I will not tolerate cruelty under my roof. If you ever touch her again—"
I stopped myself. The words balanced on the edge of something dangerous, something that would give away too much.
Her lips curved, not in amusement this time, but in something sharper. A realization.
"Oh," she breathed, her smile spreading slowly. "So it's like that, isn't it?"
I held her gaze, refusing to confirm, refusing to deny.
She laughed again, but the sound was brittle this time, cracking at the edges. "Careful, Lucian. Attach yourself to the wrong kind of woman, and you'll destroy everything you've built."
Her words lingered like smoke, but I turned away, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of a reply.
Inside, though, the truth pulsed in me, undeniable.
I didn't care about building empires.
I cared about Elara.
And that terrified me more than Isabella's fury ever could.