"I want to set a condition."
Lucien raised a brow slightly. "You've just learned who I really am, and you still want to bargain?"
Aurora met his gaze steadily. "Precisely because I know."
She took a deep breath. "I want to continue working at the hospital."
Silence followed.
Lucien didn't answer right away. His gaze dropped for a moment, as if weighing numbers and risks in his mind. His world revolved around acquisitions and corporate wars—but this request… was too human to dismiss outright.
"A public hospital?" he asked.
"Yes," Aurora replied firmly. "As a duty doctor. Not a symbolic position. I want to remain myself."
Lucien crossed his arms over his chest. "A Severin wife doesn't work irregular hours. The media will—"
"You can manage the media," Aurora cut in. "You always manage everything, don't you?"
The corner of Lucien's lips lifted faintly. Not a smile—more like a silent acknowledgment.
"You're bold," he said. "And that's dangerous."
"I won't survive if I don't work," Aurora replied. "You need a wife. I need my life."
Lucien stepped closer again, stopping at an intimate distance.
"Fine," he said at last.
Aurora blinked. "You… agree?"
Lucien let out a soft, mocking laugh.
"Of course," he said lightly. "Anything for you, my beloved wife."
He took Aurora's hand. His movement was gentle, almost respectful. His lips brushed the back of her hand—briefly, politely.
The touch made Aurora tense for a moment.
The words sounded sweet, but Aurora was sharp enough to catch the irony beneath them.
My beloved wife.
Not a promise—but a mark of ownership.
Aurora slowly withdrew her hand, looking at Lucien with a gaze that no longer wavered.
Lucien smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with calculation.
Aurora left the room without looking back. The door closed softly behind her, leaving a silence that finally felt comfortable to Lucien.
He let out a short breath, then chuckled.
The corner of his lips curved into a thin smirk.
"My beloved…" he murmured.
The word felt foreign—and that was precisely what made it intriguing.
He picked up the glass of whiskey he had left earlier, swirling it slowly before taking a single sip. In his mind, fragments of that rainy night resurfaced—Aurora's honest eyes, her deft hands, the way she looked at the world as if she still believed in kindness.
Lucien stared at the closed door.
"Ah," he continued softly, with satisfaction, "you have no idea what kind of game you've just stepped into."
Yet for the first time in a long while, that game felt alive.
And Lucien Severin enjoyed a challenge.
The black car glided smoothly through city streets that were beginning to empty. Aurora sat in the back seat, her posture straight, hands folded in her lap. The driver and another man—one of Lucien's subordinates—sat in front, speaking little.
"Mrs. Severin," the man in the passenger seat finally said, his tone professional. "We're almost there."
Aurora gave a brief nod. The title still sounded foreign to her ears.
The building towered above them, its glass walls reflecting the city's night lights. Aurora looked up as the car entered a private parking area. There were no crowds now. No cameras.
A private elevator carried them straight to the top floor.
The doors opened silently.
The penthouse was vast, modern, and luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows revealed the city spread out like a map of lights. Dark-toned furniture was arranged with meticulous order.
"This is your residence," the man said, handing her an access card. "Mr. Lucien will join you later tonight."
Aurora stepped inside slowly. Her shoes clicked softly against the marble floor. She looked around—the spacious living room, the modern kitchen with gleaming appliances, the hallway leading to closed doors of dark wood.
And a framed photograph of their wedding, already displayed—since when, she didn't know.
"If you need anything," the man continued, "staff are available twenty-four hours a day. Schedules and security protocols have been adjusted."
Aurora accepted the card. "Thank you."
The guards took their leave, and the door closed again, leaving her alone.
Aurora stood in the middle of the room, her breath catching for a moment.
Her old apartment had felt warm, filled with stacks of medical books. This place… was too quiet.
She walked toward the window and looked down at the city below.
This was where she was now—the wife of a powerful man.
The occupant of a luxurious penthouse she had never chosen.
Aurora clenched the access card in her hand.
***
Lucien lounged in a black leather chair, one leg crossed over the other. His suit jacket was off, the top button of his white shirt undone—the appearance of a man who had shed his public role.
Before him, multiple screens displayed different angles of his penthouse.
The living room.
The long corridor.
The modern kitchen.
The wide window overlooking the city.
The bedroom.
And finally—Aurora.
She stood near the window, her silhouette cut by the city lights. Calm, yet clearly not entirely at ease. She slipped off her shoes, exhaled, then hugged herself briefly before moving deeper into the room.
Lucien watched without overt expression.
Slowly, the corner of his lips lifted.
"My beloved wife," he murmured.
The words sounded almost… gentle.
He picked up the tablet beside his chair and opened digital files—Aurora's hospital schedule, her daily routes, key contacts. Everything neatly arranged, controlled with the same precision as the corporations under his name.
Lucien looked back at the screen.
Aurora was now sitting on the sofa, surveying her surroundings as if assessing a new territory she would have to conquer—or survive within.
"Endure," Lucien said softly, whether to the screen or to himself. "Weak women are destroyed in my world."
He turned off several screens, leaving only one.
Aurora.
The thin, dangerous smirk returned.
He hadn't only gained a wife today—he had gained something unexpected.
Lucien chuckled quietly as one screen showed the hallway leading to the bathroom—then shut off automatically.
"Ah," he murmured, leaning his head back against the chair, that faint smirk still on his face. "I'd truly be insane if I installed hidden cameras in there."
He moved his fingers, ensuring the privacy system was active. Some areas were never subject to surveillance.
Lucien glanced at the remaining screens, then shut them down one by one until the room sank back into darkness.
"Relax," he said quietly, whether to himself or to the woman in the penthouse. "I know my limits."
"My beloved wife," he whispered once more—
just before the last light went out.