Blackthorne didn't host "parties."
It hosted events.
Private, selective,dangerous in silk and champagne.
Zara wasn't supposed to be here.
Scholarship students rarely received invitations to the Ashford Society's Autumn Gathering — a secretive circle of legacy families and future power players.
But her study partner had insisted.
"You need connections," her friend had said. "This is how they build empires."
Zara didn't care about empires.
She cared about survival.
Still… she came.
The manor house just beyond campus glowed with golden light. Classical music drifted through open doors. Laughter echoed under crystal chandeliers.
Everyone looked polished.
Expensive.
Untouchable.
Zara wore a simple elegant black dress.
She told herself she didn't care if he was here.
That lie lasted exactly twelve seconds.
Because the moment she stepped inside—
She felt it.
That awareness that shift in the air
Her eyes lifted.
And there he was.
Lucien Ashford stood near the grand staircase, jacket off, sleeves slightly rolled, drink in hand. Effortlessly Calm.
But he wasn't smiling.
He was watching her like he'd been waiting.
Her stomach tightened.
She refused to break eye contact first.
Big mistake.
Because Lucien didn't look away either.
Not when someone touched his arm.
Not when a blonde girl leaned in to whisper something in his ear.
Not even when Zara's jaw tightened.
The blonde laughed softly, fingers lingering on his sleeve.
Zara told herself it didn't matter.
It absolutely mattered.
She turned sharply and walked toward the balcony doors, needing air.
Cool night wind hit her skin as she stepped outside.
Her pulse wouldn't settle.
Why should she care?
He wasn't hers.
He had never claimed to be.
"You're angry."
His voice came from behind her.
She didn't turn.
"I don't remember asking for company."
"You didn't."
Footsteps approached.
The space between them shifted.
"You looked at her," she said before she could stop herself.
A dangerous silence followed.
Then
"You were watching me," he replied calmly.
Her breath caught.
"That isn't an answer."
"It is."
She turned now.
He was close.
Too close.
Moonlight caught the sharp lines of his face. His expression wasn't playful tonight.
It was intent.
"You don't like the idea of me with someone else," he said quietly.
"I don't like arrogance."
A slow step forward.
"And I don't like pretending."
Her back brushed the balcony
Railing
Trapped
Just cornered.
"You think I didn't notice the way your jaw tightened?" he continued softly. "The way your fingers curled?"
Her pulse was racing so hard she felt it in her throat.
"You're very observant for someone who claims not to care."
Lucien's hand lifted.
Slowly
Deliberately
Hovering near her waist.
Giving her the choice.
"You don't belong in rooms like this," he murmured.
Anger flared in her eyes.
"I earned my place here."
"That's not what I meant."
His voice lowered.
"You don't belong in rooms where men like them look at you like you're something to win."
The words hit differently.
"And you're different?" she challenged.
"Yes."
The confidence in that single word sent heat down her spine.
A burst of laughter sounded inside the house.
Music swelled.
The world continued.
But out here?
It was just them.
Lucien finally touched her.
His hand settled at her waist again.
Claiming.
Her breath trembled.
"Tell me to stop," he said softly.
She should have.
She didn't.
His thumb traced slightly higher along her side.
Barely there.
Enough to make her knees weaken.
"Lucien…" his name left her lips like an invitation.
He leaned in slowy, intentional.
Her heartbeat thundered.
Just inches away now.
His breath brushed her skin.
And then—
Footsteps approached the balcony doors.
Lucien pulled back instantly.
Controlled again.
Mask in place.
But his eyes?
Still burning.
"This isn't finished," he said quietly.
And this time
It wasn't a threat.
It was a promise.