Twilight had bled out across the sky, leaving behind a bruised purple that seeped through the mansion's tall windows. Lucian sat in the dim of his study, a single lamp burning amber, a glass of scotch sweating rings onto the mahogany desk. He hadn't touched the drink in twenty minutes. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, tense, waiting.
He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm—hard, the way you do when exhaustion has stopped being a feeling and become a location you inhabit. Then he pressed enter.
Summit Heights patient records bloomed across the screen.
He'd re-run the ring's hologram a dozen times now, extracting every detail. The video had no timestamp. But on the wall behind Mrs. Salvatore's bandaged head, half-hidden by a curtain, there was a calendar. He'd zoomed in, enhanced, cross-referenced. The date matched his birthday. The day he was born. So the video was made that day—a mother, shattered but alive, recording a goodbye to a son she'd never hold.
Hacking Summit Heights had been a tassel, as he'd expected. The hospital catered to the elite, the powerful, the people whose secrets were currency. Their data was encrypted in layers so dense most hackers would've just set their laptops on fire and walked away. But Lucian wasn't most hackers. He'd been in the underworld since he was fourteen; code was a language he spoke better than small talk.
He cracked it.
The file opened: M.J. Salvatore. Admitted after a car accident. Brutally injured while heavily pregnant. The baby was saved. She was not.
Status: Deceased.
Lucian's frown carved deep lines into his face. Deceased. He sat back, the word rattling around his skull. The woman in the video had looked ravaged—bandages swathing half her face, voice trembling—but she'd been alive. Speaking. Fighting through the pain to leave him a message. Could she really be dead?
Denial drove his fingers back to the keyboard. He searched deeper, tearing through databases, cross-referencing identities. Files poured in.
M.J. Salvatore: doctorate in Engineering Technology, awarded young. Married at twenty to her college love—a man named David Stark.
Lucian gasped at the information before him. His mind raced in all directions at once. He remembered the night of the coronation—Alaric, and the old man saying he looked just like Lucian Stark. What if he truly is a Stark? I mean, the man practically said he looks like that Lucian.
His brow furrowed deeper. Of all families—creepy, wealthy, and powerful—the Starks turned out to be his birth family.
His mind shifted to Adrian. Is he the brother his mother referred to? But Mr. Stark's wife isn't dead. He'd never have a dead wife that isn't publicly recorded.
Did the mother who acted so loving, caring, and in pain—as if separating from him was unbearable—fake his death? But they are living so lavishly. They have everything under control, and they have been on top of Crestfall for the past eight years. What danger did she mean?
Lucian's fists clenched. She said she wasn't abandoning him, but she sure did—only to live her life with her husband and son, while he lived poorly.
Lucian recalled how he used to live by a thread with his mother. Sometimes, they would even sleep on the floors of Summits Heights Hospital because their landlord had just evicted them over unpaid rent. He was very small then and wished he could do something to feed himself and his mother.
One day, he even went out into the street to search for food in dustbins because when Merisa got paid, she used all the money to clear rent debts, leaving them with nothing to eat. That's when he met Abel Throne, who had empathy for them, took them in, and later married Merisa. He was Mr. Stark's butler—his right-hand man—until he died brutally at the hands of unknown assassins.
Those assassins are the reason Lucian got into the underworld ring, furiously hunting them down. That's where he met Alex, who led him into that path. He found those assassins, and no matter how well-trained they were, Lucian still got to them—and killed them.
But the Starks didn't even do anything. Not even a word of condolences.
His anger started to boil over as his fists clenched tighter. He didn't even realize he was gripping a pen so hard that it broke in his hand. Now he was bleeding.
"Oh, my god—Lucy?!" The voice broke his tense trance, and he quickly closed his laptop with his free hand.
Only then did he realize he'd hurt his hand.
Star rushed up to him with care and gently opened his palm. She removed the pen with care.
"Are you alright? What's wrong?" Star asked as she walked him to the sink. He didn't answer.
She gently washed his wound and took the first aid kit from the cupboard. She treated it and bandaged it.
She was worried seeing him hurt. But Lucian's mind changed gears the moment his eyes landed on Star. She was breathtaking in ways he couldn't describe. He was simply starstruck.
"Where are you going?" Lucian asked.
"Oh, Adrian asked me to be his date today at the gala," Star said.
Adrian—the name now tasted bitter in Lucian's ears, if names could even have a taste. The man who held Star's heart. Lucian's jaw tightened just hearing it.
"You're still seeing him," Lucian said shortly.
"Yeah, he's my friend. I'm not gonna just stop seeing him," Star stated.
Lucian sat because his heart was really hurting and he had to mask his outburst in front of her, just like he always did. He sat down on the couch where Star was already seated. He ran a hand through his locks with exhaustion.
"I thought you were killing feelings for him?" Lucian asked, his voice calm, but only he knew how stoic he was being.
"Yeah, it's just feelings. Don't get worked up." She elbowed him lightly, a playful gesture that landed like a brick. "You're really acting like a jealous boyfriend. You're my brother. You're supposed to be on my side."
Only Lucian knew how much those words hurt. Star stood up and walked to where his laptop was.
"I'm not your brother," Lucian said calmly.
Star turned with a creased eyebrow. "What?" she asked, because she clearly hadn't heard him right—even though she clearly had.
"I'm not your brother," Lucian repeated, his voice clear now.
"What are you talking about? Is this about Adrian's contract marriage? Or my feelings for him? Lucy, I said I won't ever marry for love, but I'm not going to be celibate forever," Star spoke, her voice a little on edge.
"Yeah, right. You told me weeks ago," Lucian said, looking down to hide his angry face. Star had never seen him furious before, and even in this tension, he wasn't going to show her his bad side.
"Oh, you're still hung up on me breaking that promise I made when I was fifteen?" Star asked with annoyance in her voice.
Just a week ago, she'd told Lucian that her promise to let him take her virginity was now broken. She said she'd grown up and that he was her brother now, and it just seemed inappropriate and weird.
Lucian had really been looking forward to it, and he'd even gotten his hopes up when he'd talked to her one day and she hadn't forgotten about it. But now that she'd broken it, it really meant she was gone from him. He hadn't said anything then because he was acting all gentlemanly, but now, seeing her stunning in this dress she wore for Adrian, it was really hurting.
"That's not the point, Star!" His voice erupted, louder than he'd intended. He was surprised at himself.
"What's the point? You've been upset about one thing all week—"
"I didn't save you from Frieda's men just so you could run into Adrian's arms!" Lucian burst out, and even Star flinched.
But the realization hit hard and very late. Star hadn't known who saved her from Frieda's men. And her savior was the one who built her the Chateau just like she'd sketched it in her dream sketchbook. And her savior had photos of her—some even when she hadn't known she was being watched in the master bedroom. She'd burned some of those pictures just yesterday.
"You saved me from Frieda's men?" Her voice was a whisper.
Lucian's anger vanished and regret replaced it just as instantly. This was why he always controlled his anger—he always tended to speak things that weren't supposed to be spoken.
Seeing his silence, Star got her answer.
"Oh my god... are you in love with me?" Star asked.
"Boss, here's your... whoa," Lazarus said, coming into the room unexpectedly with a new suit bag in his hand, but he stopped, seeing Star's ethereal outfit on her body, and he was stunned. Behind him was Alex, who really wished he hadn't followed in here.
Star laughed. A sad, hollow laugh—the sound of someone who'd been in the dark and now realized how much of a fool she'd been.
"When you said you'd be in trouble with your boss, you meant Lucian?" She looked at Alex, then back at Lucian. Her chuckle was dry, humorless.
The revelation hit her hard and tears welled up. She didn't know why she was crying, so she blamed it on hormones.
Seeing Star's tears—something he despised—Lucian reached out with his bandaged hand to wipe them away, but—
"Don't touch me!" Star yelled.
She backed away, her whole body trembling. "You know, I came here to tell you I wasn't going to accept Adrian's marriage contract." Her voice cracked. "Now? I've changed my mind. We're getting married tonight!"
She turned and stormed out, barely holding herself together, the echo of her heels a fading heartbeat.
The room went quiet.
Alex broke the silence first. "That's really gotta sting." His voice was dry, but not unkind.
Lucian only sighed, ballooning his cheeks, the weight of his own foolishness pressing down on him like a physical thing.
"Let's see how she reacts when she finds out exactly how you saved her," Alex added, twisting the knife with the calm cruelty of a man who'd raised Lucian and knew where every scar was.
Lucian didn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Didn't even look at him. Instead, he rose, grabbed the suit bag from Lazarus, and headed upstairs without a word.
Lazarus and Alex exchanged a glance—the kind that said it's going to be a long night—and waited for the inevitable fallout.
***
Star got back to her car, the Mercedes-Benz. One of the cars her savior had left for her in the Chateau garage. And now that she knew it was Lucian, it felt different. She remembered how she'd punched him because he hadn't saved her, and it turned out he actually had.
But why did he hide that he was her savior? Was it because his gesture went a little too far—building her dream house, her dream cars, her dream bedroom? It was perverted of him, yes, but he could have just confessed that he loved her. They'd grown up together. She would have understood. Maybe not immediately, but eventually. Why wait until it festered into this—a revelation that felt more like a wound?
Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot and unwelcome. A new, horrible thought surfaced. If Lucian had been watching her that closely, for that long... did he see what happened with the hooligans? Did he witness her rape? The question hit like a physical blow. Her stomach turned. She didn't want to remember that night, but her brain, treacherous, began reaching for her traumatic moments.
But her PTSD didn't let her.
But there was a gala dinner, and Adrian was waiting for her at the restaurant where they would depart together.
Star flipped the rearview mirror toward her. She opened the dashboard drawer and pulled out a small makeup kit—foundation, concealer, a soft brush. She worked quickly, dabbing away the tear tracks, blending the redness around her eyes back to something close to calm. A little highlighter. A fresh coat of gloss. The face that stared back at her was flawless again. Composed. But the scent of Lucian's betrayal still clung to her skin, a ghost she couldn't wash off.
She reversed out of the driveway and drove.
No matter. She reversed and drove to the restaurant. Then she found Adrian waiting for her. They'd planned to eat first before heading to the yacht, because at galas people tended to have long speeches, and the time for food stretched long. And given their craving, it really wasn't worth the risk.
Adrian turned to look at his stunning woman, and his breath was practically taken away. Even the diners stopped eating just to look at her. It was as if time stopped and she was moving in slow motion.
The gown was a liquid gold masterpiece, draped and sculpted rather than simply worn. It clung to her frame with deliberate elegance, the fabric gathering and crossing at her waist in soft, artful folds that both shaped and softened her silhouette. There was a high slit along one leg, revealing just enough with each step to make movement part of the spectacle. The material caught the light from every angle—subtle shimmer, not loud sparkle—like it was designed to glow rather than shine.
The neckline was low and fluid, framing her collarbones and shoulders without looking forced. Everything about the dress felt intentional: it didn't hide her body, it honored it. The slight fullness at her midsection didn't take away from her presence—instead, it added a softness that contrasted beautifully with the sharp precision of the gown's structure. She looked fuller, yes, but in a way that read as warm, radiant… almost untouchably feminine.
Her hair fell in long, thick waves down her back and over her shoulders—rich brown with depth, slightly tousled like she hadn't tried too hard, even though every strand sat perfectly. And then her eyes—hazel, catching the same golden light as the dress—tied everything together. They didn't just reflect the room; they held it.
She didn't look like she was trying to impress anyone.
She looked like the standard everyone else just failed to meet.
"You look—" Adrian didn't even finish his sentence; he kissed Star, lightly, possessively. Marking his territory on this amazing woman.
"Let's get married," Star said when he pulled back. The words came out unfiltered, raw, unplanned and utterly real.
Adrian was shocked—really shocked—because he hadn't expected those words. He'd even given up on it, but here she was.
"Right now. You have connections. Use them."
A grin split his face—triumph, joy, disbelief all tangled together. He swept her up off her feet, earning a startled laugh and a swat on his shoulder, and carried her toward the car. Somewhere between the restaurant's revolving door and the passenger seat, he had his phone out, dialing Lazarus.
"Meet me at the Crestfall Bureau of Affairs," he said, voice electric. "Bring the contract."
He hung up before Lazarus could ask questions.
Star buckled her seatbelt, a small, private smile tugging at her lips. The night ahead was supposed to be about business and politics and people she didn't care about. Instead, it was about this. About them. About choosing something for herself, even if it had started as a reaction.
Adrian slid into the driver's seat, looked at her like she'd just handed him the moon, and stepped on the gas.