Elara's POV
The rain lashed against the tall villa windows as I hurried through the servants' wing, the tray gone from my hands but the weight of his touch still burning on my wrist.
You belong wherever I say you do.
The words clung to me like silk I couldn't tear away. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of my heart. It was foolish—dangerous—to let them mean anything. Men like him didn't protect girls like me.
And yet, I found myself standing outside his door. I hadn't meant to come here. My legs had carried me of their own accord, pulled by something I couldn't name.
I raised my hand to knock, then dropped it quickly. No. If Isabella saw me here, I'd—
The door opened.
Lucian stood framed in the dim light of his room, his collar loosened, his dark eyes unreadable. My breath caught.
"Elara." My name on his lips was too soft, too dangerous.
"I—I was just passing," I whispered, stepping back.
"You're shaking." His voice was a quiet blade, cutting through my denial.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
Before I could protest, his hand closed gently around my wrist. Warmth seared through my skin. My control slipped, tears spilling faster than I could wipe them away.
And then I was in his arms.
Strong, unyielding, and unbearably safe. My body trembled as his hand pressed against the back of my head, steadying me as if I might shatter.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," he murmured. His breath stirred my hair, his words seeping into the cracks I had hidden from everyone else.
For one dangerous heartbeat, I let myself believe him.
Lucian's POV
Her body shook against mine, small and fragile, but there was fire in her still—I could feel it even through her tears. The scent of her—sweet, like honey and flour from the kitchen—clung to me, burrowing under my skin in ways I didn't want to admit.
Isabella's cruelty had done this. I should have stopped it earlier. The thought of her venom dragging Elara down filled me with a fury I could barely contain.
I tightened my hold, pressing my thumb against her wrist where her pulse hammered frantically. Every instinct in me demanded to shield her, claim her, lock her away where nothing and no one could touch her.
"Elara." Her name tasted like danger and temptation. "Do you think I'd let her speak of you that way? Do you think I'd let anyone break what's mine?"
She lifted her head then, eyes wide and wet, lips trembling as if she didn't know whether to argue or surrender. For a moment, the space between us pulsed with something undeniable. I could almost feel the shape of her mouth beneath mine.
I wanted it. Wanted her.
But not yet. Not like this.
I forced myself to let go, my voice rough with restraint. "Go, before the storm swallows us both."
She fled into the corridor, but her presence clung to me like a phantom.
And as thunder rolled through the night, I knew the truth I could no longer ignore.
She was mine—whether she realized it yet or not.