The moment the weight of his body left the bed, I didn't stop to think. I scrambled up —this man, this Lucien, was unlike anyone I had ever faced. I didn't know what he was, or what kind of sick power he possessed, but I knew I had to get out. Now.
I reached the door and risked a glance back. He wasn't even chasing me. He stood there by the bed, hands shoved casually in his pockets, wearing a grin that made my blood run cold. Even from across the room, I could see them—his canines. They were slightly longer, sharper, glinting with a predatory edge that no normal human possessed.
He just kept grinning.
I fumbled with the black-and-gold key, my fingers shaking as I shoved it into the lock. Sigh. The door unlocked. Relief surged through me. Just a step… and I would be gone. Free.
But the air suddenly turned heavy.
The hair on my arms stood up. I looked forward and my breath hitched.
Lucien was right there. Directly in front of me.
There were no footsteps. No sound. He had covered the distance in a fraction of a second, moving faster than the eye could follow. I tried to push past him, to dive into the portal, but my body betrayed me. I went rigid. It wasn't just fear—it was like an invisible force had locked my joints in place. I was stiff, pinned to the spot by nothing but his gaze.
He leaned in, looking deep into my eyes. I felt a strange, terrifying pull, as if my very soul was being dragged out of me. I couldn't fight it. I felt myself slipping away, the world fading into a suffocating black.
My knees gave out, but I never hit the floor. Lucien's arms wrapped around me, catching me before I fell into the abyss.
...….
He looked down at the girl unconscious in his arms, her head lolling against his chest. His gaze shifted to the door she had opened—the shimmering, unstable rift that looked less like a doorway and more like a portal.
He reached out, snatching the black-and-gold key from the lock. As his fingers closed around the metal, the portal flickered and died, leaving only the solid wood of the door behind.
He leaned over her, his thumb tracing the line of her throat where her pulse slowed under his touch.
"You're a glitch in my world, Charlène," he whispered, his voice dropping to a dark, unhinged rasp. "And I think I'll take you apart piece by piece just to see how you work."
————————-
I woke up, but the world felt tilted.
I wasn't on the cold floor of my apartment. I wasn't feeling the sting of Viktor's slap. I was lying on silk sheets.
I scrambled into a sitting position, my hand flying to my waist. Empty. My blade was gone. My black-and-gold key—the only thing that gave me power, the only thing that could save Leo—was nowhere to be found.
Panic flooded my chest. I tried to piece together how I got here. I remembered the key. I remembered entering this very room—I remembered hiding by the bed, listening to the steady hiss of the shower in the bathroom. I remembered the weight of the knife in my hand and the image of Leo's face giving me the strength to prepare for the kill.
And then... nothing.
I didn't remember him walking out. It was as if someone had reached into my brain and cut the film exactly at the moment I was waiting to pounce.
"Am I still dreaming?" I whispered, my voice cracking.
I checked my face in the reflection of the glass wall. The bruises from Viktor—the ones that had throbbed just hours ago—were nearly gone. My skin looked healthy. Healed.
The door opened.
I froze, pulling the silk duvet to my chest. The door swung open, and for the first time, I saw him without the mask.
I'd spent my life around the most powerful men in Europe, but Lucien De Rossi was... different. Without the mask, he looked like he'd been carved by God himself —not the gentle kind, but the cruel, meticulous one who took his time creating monsters that could pass for saints.
Dark, curly hair framed his face, slightly damp, falling effortlessly over sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass.
He was wearing a white, crisp shirt—unbuttoned at the collar and down the chest, revealing the hard, toned muscle beneath. My eyes drifted down his arm, where his sleeves were rolled.
I stopped breathing.
A tattoo peeked out from beneath the fabric, dark ink against his olive skin. It was a snake, its body curling with lethal grace around his forearm. The design was unmistakable—it was the exact same serpent etched into the bow of my blackened-gold key.
No.
That wasn't possible.
My gaze lifted slowly, unwillingly, until it collided with his eyes.
It was a total mind-f*ck. How was I supposed to slide a blade into a face that looked like a masterpiece? How could someone this beautiful be the man I was sent to destroy?
Lucien stepped closer, his hazel eyes—those same burning, gold-flecked eyes from the ball—tracking the way my gaze lingered on his skin. He didn't look like a man who had been attacked. He looked like a man who had finally caught the thing he'd been hunting.
"You're finally awake."
"What did you do to me?" I demanded, my voice trembling as I backed against the headboard. "Where is my key?"
Lucien didn't answer right away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out my key, letting it dangle from his fingers right next to the snake tattoo on his wrist
"You fainted, Charlène," he said, his expression unreadable. "You broke into my bedroom, stood there like a deer in headlights, and collapsed before you could even make your move."
"I didn't faint," I snapped, though the hole in my memory made my heart sink. "I had a knife. I was going to—How do you know my name?"
"You were going to do what, Phoenix?" he asked, leaning down until I was trapped between the bed and his massive frame. "You looked like you'd seen a demon. I think the stress of your little heist has finally caught up with you."
He laughed, a dark, melodic sound that didn't reach his eyes. "You're in my house now. And until I decide why you carry a key that matches my skin... you aren't going anywhere."