While Kelsey was beyond worried back in the room, pacing and second-guessing every decision she had made in the last twelve hours, Lucien had quietly slipped away—down the short, silent corridor that connected his bedroom to his private study. A room no one entered without permission.
The walls were lined with old books—some bound in languages forgotten by time—while ancient blades, relics from wars long past, hung like grim trophies in strategic symmetry. At the center of it all, under the dim golden light of a vintage chandelier, stood a sleek black desk where Lucien now leaned, one hand flat on its surface, the other holding his phone to his ear.
A voice crackled on the other end. One of his men.
"He's been restrained," the voice said. "What do you want us to do with him?"
Lucien's jaw tensed.
The question wasn't unexpected. The man they had captured was no ordinary criminal—he had dared to try and kill Lucien Sinclair, and had nearly succeeded if Lucien hadn't anticipated the ambush.
Lucien's lips parted, his voice cold and low, velvet laced with quiet rage.
"Keep him entertained," he said. "I want to personally deal with him."
There was no need to elaborate.
That tone—so deceptively calm voice was laced with the promise of pain.
He ended the call and slowly lowered the phone onto the desk. His fingers lingered there, flexing once, the veins along his hand visible, pulsing like they held back something untamable. His reflection in the dark glass window caught his eye—and for a fleeting second, his pupils flared, a dark flicker, like smoke laced with fire, coiling in the depths of his eyes.
Lucien had lived well over a century. He had fought in the shadows of forgotten wars, taken down creatures of power and ancient magic, seen empires fall and rise again. There were codes in his world, ones etched in blood, and anyone who tried to end his life… didn't get a second chance.
And yet, despite the beast still alive in his chest, Kelsey's presence had started changing something in him. She didn't know it, but her scent, her fire, the way she looked at him like he wasn't invincible—it twisted something in him. Made him want to become something… better. Or at least pretend to.
He hadn't been angry when she slapped him.
No—he had wanted her to stew in guilt, to wonder what kind of man she had struck. Not because he wanted revenge, but because he wanted her to realize the gravity of him—the layers she hadn't yet peeled back. The depth she hadn't begun to comprehend.
That slap? It was nothing.
But her worry?
That was the beginning of her unraveling.
With a final glance at his desk, he turned and strode back through the corridor. His footsteps were silent, calculated. The hallway was still. The only sound was the soft creak of the bedroom door as it opened once again.
And there she was..
Kelsey stood at the glass balcony, her back to him, arms crossed tightly under her chest. She had stepped outside, perhaps for air or maybe for escape, but either way, she didn't turn when she heard the door.
Lucien walked toward her—unhurried, I silence of a predator.
He stopped just behind her, standing close enough to feel the heat from her body through the thin fabric of her clothes, but not touching. His eyes didn't fall on her—they remained fixed ahead at the view, the morning skyline cast in gold and steel hues as the sun climbed over the sleeping city.
The balcony wrapped around the building like a crown, all glass and gleaming chrome, giving a wide, cinematic view of a world she had once belonged to—free, untamed. But up here, above it all, she was not part of that life.
She was his now.
And though he didn't say a word right away, the silence between them was electric.
When she could finally no longer bear the heavy silence between them, Kelsey turned to face him. Her arms were still crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line, but the fire in her eyes had dulled just a little—replaced by something else. Frustration? Conflict? Or perhaps… a reflection of guilt.
Her voice, low and tired, trembled slightly—not with fear, but sheer disbelief.
"Why are you doing this?"
Lucien's eyes remained on her for a beat longer before his lips parted to speak.
His voice—a deep, resonant baritone, smooth like aged whiskey and laced with danger—rolled off his tongue like a confession too raw to fake.
"Because of love."
The words landed like a strike to her chest. They were the last words she had expected—not from him. Not after everything. And certainly not in this way.
She took a step forward, her brow furrowed in disbelief.
"Is this how you love someone?" she hissed. "By locking them in your room like a prized possession?"
Lucien let out a soft sigh—half amusement, half ache—as he took a deliberate step closer.
His eyes didn't waver. They never wavered.
"You've never been in love before, Kelsey…" he said, voice lowering, velvet and fire.
"So let me tell you what it feels like."
He paused, just long enough to build the ache of anticipation, his gaze locked with hers, every inch of his presence radiating heat.
it's an intoxication. Something that feels like a drug that you can barely survive without and the worst part about it is that you can't control it. That maddening desire.., the crazy want to possess that person you love...- I know that it will surely take you sometime, but once you feel it, you will come to understand me."
Something about the way he said it made her skin prickle. His nearness. His restraint. The heat beneath it all.
And despite herself, it shook her.
Desperate to put space between them—mentally, emotionally—she pushed back.
"You don't know me as well as you think," she said quickly, her chin tilted in defiance.
"There is someone I love.._"
The moment those words left her lips, the entire air around them shifted.
Lucien moved fast—so fast she barely noticed until his finger was already on her lips, silencing her mid-sentence.
His touch was deceptively soft, yet commanded her silence like a king claiming what was his.
His eyes darkened—jealousy dancing like a shadow behind them, molten and sharp. He leaned in close, so close she could feel his breath on her lips, warm and possessive.
"Don't," he murmured.
His voice was quiet—but it seethed with emotion. "Don't make up imaginary people just to test me... and if...," he trailed before adding... "If that person you are speaking of is real, let us just hope he is very very far from here.