The evening hush settled over the villa like velvet. The chandeliers glowed low, their golden light spilling across the marble corridors. Elara balanced a silver tray in her hands, careful not to let the delicate china rattle. She had learned quickly that silence was safer than being noticed.
Her steps slowed when she heard raised voices ahead.
"…you treat her like she belongs here!" Isabella's sharp voice cut through the air. "She's nothing, Lucian. A girl who doesn't know the difference between silver and platinum. And you—"
"Enough." His voice was deep, commanding. It made Elara freeze in the shadows, heart pounding.
Lucian's tone softened, but only slightly. "You've made it clear you despise her. What I don't understand, Isabella, is why you're so threatened by a maid."
Elara's grip tightened on the tray. The teacups rattled despite her effort to hold still. She couldn't breathe. She shouldn't be listening. She should turn back. But her legs felt rooted to the floor.
Isabella's laugh rang out, brittle and cruel. "Threatened? Don't flatter her. I just don't like dirt dragged into my home. Or into your sight."
The silence that followed was heavier than any words. Then came his reply, low and lethal.
"She is under my protection."
Elara's chest squeezed. Her pulse thundered in her ears. He said it as if it were law, unshakable and absolute.
Isabella's scoff echoed before heels clicked sharply against the marble, fading into the distance.
When Elara dared to peek around the corner, she found Lucian alone. His tall frame leaned against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed as though the argument had drained him.
The tray trembled in her hands. She should walk away, pretend she hadn't heard. But the words left her lips before she could stop them.
"You shouldn't defend me like that."
His head lifted instantly. His gaze locked on her, catching her in the half-shadow. Slowly, he straightened, each step toward her echoing with quiet authority.
"Elara." Her name in his mouth was both a warning and a promise. He stopped just inches away, his presence enveloping her. "You think I'd let her speak of you that way?"
Her throat went dry. "I don't belong here. You don't need to—"
His hand lifted, fingers brushing her wrist where it balanced the tray. The warmth of his touch bled through her skin, making her breath falter.
"You belong wherever I say you do." His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "And as long as you are here, no one touches you. No one."
Her lips parted, but no sound came. The intensity in his eyes stripped her bare, leaving her trembling under a weight she couldn't name.
The tray wobbled, and he steadied it with one strong hand. His fingers lingered, burning against hers.
For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Just her, him, and the forbidden electricity that seemed to pull them closer and closer until—
She blinked, stepping back as though waking from a dream. "I… I should deliver this."
He let the tray go but not her eyes. "Go," he murmured, though it sounded more like an order than permission.
As she hurried down the corridor, the warmth of his touch lingered on her wrist, a mark she couldn't erase. And somewhere deep inside, Elara knew: the shadows between them were no longer safe.