I could feel his heartbeat.
Or maybe it was mine.
Too fast. Too loud. Too close.
Lucien's hand was still around my throat—not hurting, not forcing… just there. A silent reminder that everything between us had changed.
Five years.
Five years of distance.
Of silence.
Of pretending he didn't exist beyond a name and a signature.
And now—
He was everywhere.
"You're trembling," he murmured, his voice low, almost curious.
"I'm not," I lied.
His lips almost curved.
Almost.
"Liar."
Heat rushed to my face, but I didn't look away. I refused to.
"I'm not afraid of you," I said, even though my pulse betrayed me.
That faint, dangerous smile returned.
"You should be."
My breath caught.
But something in me—something stubborn, something tired of being small—pushed back.
"Or what?" I whispered.
Big mistake.
His eyes darkened.
Not with anger.
With something far more dangerous.
Interest.
In one smooth movement, he closed the last inch between us.
My back pressed harder against the wall, his body a solid wall of heat and control in front of me. I could feel him now—every line, every breath, every shift of muscle.
Too close.
Far too close.
"You really don't understand," he said softly.
"Then explain."
The words barely left my lips before I felt it—
His fingers tightening slightly at my throat.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to make my breath hitch.
"I don't repeat myself," he murmured.
My lips parted.
His gaze dropped to them.
And everything stilled.
The air.
The room.
The space between us.
"You've never touched me," I whispered, the realization hitting all over again. "Not once in five years."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Dark.
Controlled.
Barely restrained.
"I know."
My heart skipped.
"Why?" I asked, softer now.
For the first time—
He hesitated.
Just for a second.
"You weren't mine," he said.
The words sent a strange ache through my chest.
"And now?"
His thumb brushed lightly against my lower lip.
My breath caught.
"Now…" he said quietly, "you are."
I should have stopped him.
Should have turned my head.
Should have said something—anything.
But I didn't.
Because I felt it too.
That pull.
That tension that had been building for five years without me even realizing it.
And now it was breaking.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
His hand slid from my throat to my jaw, tilting my face up.
Giving him full access.
Full control.
"Ophelia," he said, my name rolling off his tongue like something he'd been holding back for far too long.
The way he said it—
It didn't sound like a name.
It sounded like a claim.
My fingers curled into his shirt before I could stop myself.
And that was it.
That was the moment everything snapped.
His lips crashed into mine.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
Possessive.
Demanding.
Like he had waited five years and wasn't willing to wait another second.
A gasp escaped me, but he swallowed it, his hand tightening at my jaw as he deepened the kiss instantly.
There was no learning curve.
No awkwardness.
Just heat.
Raw, overwhelming heat that sent my mind spinning.
My hands pushed against his chest—
But they didn't push him away.
They held on.
And he noticed.
Of course he did.
A low, almost satisfied sound rumbled from him as his other hand slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him.
Trapping me.
Claiming me.
Owning every inch of space between us.
"Lucien—" I tried to speak, but it came out broken, breathless.
He didn't stop.
Didn't slow down.
If anything—
He kissed me harder.
Like he was proving something.
Like he was marking me in a way no one could see…
…but everyone would feel.
My head spun as I clutched his shirt tighter, my body betraying every protest my mind tried to form.
This was wrong.
This wasn't part of the deal.
This wasn't supposed to happen—
But it felt…
Too real.
Too consuming.
Too—
His lips suddenly slowed.
Not pulling away.
Just easing.
Giving me a second to breathe.
To think.
To realize what was happening.
Big mistake.
Because the moment I did—
I froze.
"What are you doing?" I whispered against his lips.
His forehead rested lightly against mine, his breath steady while mine was anything but.
"Kissing my wife."
My heart stuttered.
"This isn't—this isn't real," I said, even as my fingers remained curled in his shirt. "This isn't us."
A pause.
Then—
"It is now."
I shook my head slightly. "You don't just get to decide that—"
"Yes," he interrupted softly. "I do."
His hand tightened at my waist.
Not painfully.
Just enough to remind me he was still in control.
"Five years, Ophelia," he murmured. "Five years of letting you walk past me like I didn't exist."
His eyes locked onto mine.
Dark.
Intense.
Unforgiving.
"I'm done with that."
My breath hitched.
"You don't get to just change everything overnight," I said, even though my voice was weaker now.
"Watch me."
And before I could respond—
He kissed me again.
Slower this time.
Deeper.
More deliberate.
Like he wasn't just claiming me anymore…
He was learning me.
Memorizing.
Taking his time with something he had denied himself for far too long.
And this time—
I didn't resist.
Because somewhere between the lies…
The fear…
And the truth I didn't fully understand yet—
I realized something that terrified me more than anything else.
I wasn't just trapped with Lucien Valtieri.
I was starting to feel him.