The steak melted on my tongue like sin wrapped in butter, and I hated how good it tasted. Every bite felt like surrender, like I was chewing pieces of my pride along with the rare meat. Lucien watched me from the armchair, wine glass cradled in one hand, the other resting loose on his thigh. He didn't eat. He just observed, eyes half-lidded, like a panther deciding whether the rabbit in front of him was worth the chase or better left trembling.
I swallowed the last bite and pushed the plate away. The clink of silver on porcelain sounded too loud in the quiet room. "I'm full," I said, even though my stomach still growled for more. Pride is a stubborn thing; it clings even when everything else has let go.
Lucien set his glass down with deliberate slowness. "Good. Now you can think clearly." He rose, unfolding from the chair like smoke, and crossed the room to the massive bed. He pulled back the charcoal duvet with a casual flick. The sheets underneath were black silk, glossy and cool-looking, the kind of luxury I'd only seen in magazines. "Sleep here tonight."
I stayed rooted to the chair. "I'm not sharing a bed with you."
He laughed, low and rich, the sound curling around my spine. "Who said anything about sharing? I have guest rooms. But tonight, you stay where I can see you." His gaze flicked to the door, then back to me. "Trust issues go both ways, puppy. You tried to stab me three hours ago."
Fair point. I still felt the ghost of his forearm pressing my cheek to brick. My skin prickled at the memory. "So I'm a prisoner with five-star sheets?"
"Call it protective custody." He walked to the nightstand, opened a drawer, and pulled out a slim silver chain with a small black pendant. It caught the low light and glinted like liquid obsidian. "And insurance."
I stood up fast. "What the hell is that?"
"A tracker." He stepped closer, slow, giving me time to bolt if I wanted. I didn't. "Small. Waterproof. GPS. Heart-rate monitor. It'll tell me if you're running, if you're scared, if your pulse spikes when you're lying." He held it out between two fingers. "Put it on."
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. "And if I don't?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then tonight gets less comfortable. I don't enjoy hurting people who don't deserve it. But I will if they force my hand."
The air between us thickened. I could smell the faint cedar of his cologne again, mixed with the wine on his breath. My heart hammered loud enough that I wondered if the stupid necklace could already hear it. I snatched it from his fingers before I could second-guess myself. The metal was cool against my palm, heavier than it looked.
I slipped it over my head. The pendant settled against my sternum, right over my racing heart. A soft click sounded when the clasp locked. No key. No visible seam. Just ownership.
Lucien's expression softened, just a fraction. "Better." He reached out, brushed his thumb once along the chain where it lay against my collarbone. The touch was light, almost tender, and it sent a shiver racing down my arms. "Now you're safe."
"Safe," I echoed, voice flat. "Right. Because nothing says safety like a leash."
He tilted his head. "Leashes keep things from running into traffic. You were already in traffic, sweetheart. I just gave you a direction."
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to kiss him. The contradiction burned in my chest like cheap liquor. Instead I turned away, toward the bed, because looking at him hurt in ways I didn't understand yet.
I climbed under the covers. The silk slid over my skin like cool water, shocking after weeks of scratchy blankets and park benches. I sank into the mattress and hated how perfect it felt. My body betrayed me immediately, relaxing against my will.
Lucien moved to the door. "Lights dim to thirty percent," he said to the room. The overheads softened to a warm amber glow. "Sleep. I'll be across the hall if you need anything."
I rolled onto my side, facing away from him. "I won't."
A pause. Then, softer, "We'll see."
The door clicked shut. I heard the lock engage from the outside. Not a prison cell, but close enough.
I lay there in the half-dark, staring at the city lights bleeding through the windows. The necklace rested heavy against my skin, warm now from my body heat. Every few minutes I thought I felt it pulse, like it was listening. Like he was listening.
My mind spun. Aunt Mara's smug face when she handed me the eviction notice. The empty bank app on my cracked phone screen. The way Lucien's hand had felt around my wrist in the alley—strong, certain, terrifyingly gentle when it could have been cruel.
I should have been terrified. I was terrified. But underneath that, something else stirred. Something hungry. Something that had been starving long before the money disappeared.
I closed my eyes and tried to picture escape routes. Windows too high. Doors locked. Guards probably outside. And even if I made it to the street, where would I go? Back to the rain? Back to nothing?
The bed smelled like him. Cedar, smoke, power.
I pressed my face into the pillow and breathed in deep, hating myself for it.
Sleep came fast after that, heavy and dreamless, the way only true exhaustion can deliver. But right before I slipped under, one last thought drifted through the haze.
I wasn't sure I wanted to leave.
Not yet.
Not when the devil had finally given me a bed, a meal, and a leash that felt—god help me—almost like belonging.
The necklace pulsed once, soft against my heartbeat.
And somewhere across the hall, I knew he felt it too.