Elira woke to the weight of Lucien's body pressed close beside her, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding her like an anchor in a sea of chaos. Yesterday's nightmare still clung to her skin, but here, in this quiet moment, something fragile stirred — a flicker of something like safety.
Lucien didn't say a word. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, unreadable, but when they finally met hers, there was a softness there she hadn't expected.
"I don't know if I'm ready," she whispered.
He tightened his grip just slightly. "None of this will be easy. But you're not alone anymore."
It had been days since Elira asked Lucien to sleep beside her—a request he had found difficult to accept but honored nonetheless. The restraint was evident in the tight line of his jaw and the careful way he kept his distance at times, but he stayed, offering silent protection.
Now, the day they had both been anticipating arrived. The day of their departure.
Elira rose slowly, the muscles in her body stiff from restless sleep. She moved to the wardrobe, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of the clothes Isabelle had helped pick out for her. She chose a simple, comfortable outfit — something unassuming, yet elegant. The reflection in the mirror showed a woman still burdened by fear, but also carrying a fragile hope.
Lucien waited outside the door, giving her space but never out of reach. When she stepped out, the quiet between them was filled with unspoken understanding.
Downstairs, Ms. Jane was already in the kitchen, preparing chamomile tea—her gentle way of soothing Elira's restless nerves.
"Elira, dear," Ms. Jane said softly as Elira entered. "It's good to see you up."
Elira smiled faintly, grateful for the kindness in the woman's eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Jane."
Ms. Jane pressed the warm cup into her hands. "For strength."
Lucien arrived, his presence commanding but careful. He nodded respectfully at Ms. Jane, who gave him a knowing look.
Outside, the sound of heels echoed through the hall. Madame Isabelle and Mr. Arcelli appeared, their faces unreadable yet serious.
"Are you ready?" Mr. Arcelli asked, voice low but firm.
Elira swallowed hard, nodding. "I think so."
Madame Isabelle stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Elira's shoulder. "Remember, we are all here for you."
Lucien's father's gaze shifted to Lucien. "I'll be overseeing the company while you're gone. Focus on her. This vacation is important."
Lucien's eyes darkened, but he didn't reply. Instead, he reached out, offering his arm to Elira.
Together, they moved toward the waiting car, the weight of the moment pressing down on them all.
Ms. Jane followed quietly, her presence a comforting shadow as the door closed behind them.
___
As the city faded behind them, replaced by stretches of green and open sky, Elira felt the tight knot in her chest loosen — just a little.
Lucien didn't speak much during the drive, but his presence was a steady shield. When she glanced his way, she caught the faintest hint of a smile, fleeting but genuine.
They arrived at the villa, secluded among towering pines and untouched earth. The air was crisp, scented with pine and fresh earth — a stark contrast to the sterile luxury they'd left behind.
Lucien stepped forward, his voice low but sure. "This is home, for now."
Elira took a tentative breath, stepping inside. Warmth greeted her — soft linens, the subtle crackle of a fire, the kind of quiet that wasn't empty but full of possibilities.
As the days unfolded, they shared moments both small and profound — meals eaten in companionable silence, walks through the woods where words felt unnecessary, and nights spent side by side, where the barriers between them began to crack.
Elira found herself watching Lucien in new ways — how his eyes softened when he thought she wasn't looking, how his hand would linger just a little longer when he touched her arm.
And Lucien, despite his usual control, showed glimpses of something deeper — a vulnerability he hid even from himself.
The vacation wasn't a cure, but it was a beginning. A fragile, trembling first step toward something neither of them had dared to hope for.
The first night at the villa, Lucien decided to cook dinner himself — steak, perfectly seared, with a bottle of rich red wine he'd brought along for the occasion.
He watched Elira quietly as she settled into the calmness of the room, her eyes reflecting a peace he rarely saw on her. Yet beneath that fragile calm, a battalion of heavily trained guards surrounded the villa, their presence hidden deliberately from her. Lucien insisted on shielding Elira from anything that might disturb this rare tranquility.
"What are you making?" Elira's soft voice chimed in, breaking through his thoughts.
"Steak," he answered, a rare softness in his tone. "I found a good wine, too. Thought we might get fancy in this lovely place."
Elira laughed — the first genuine laugh he'd heard from her in days. The curve of her smile struck something deep in him. Unable to stop himself, Lucien reached out, cupping her face gently as if memorizing every detail of that rare, beautiful expression.
Elira didn't flinch. Instead, she held his gaze steadily, then slowly traced her fingers over his lips, her touch light and deliberate. A strange warmth spread through Lucien's stomach — a quiet invitation, a silent promise. They both knew what crossing this line would mean. There was no turning back.
Just as their lips hovered, a soft, unexpected sound broke the moment.
"Meow."
A small cat sat at the doorway, watching them with curious eyes.
Elira withdrew her hand quickly, and Lucien pulled back, both suddenly aware of the awkwardness between them. Yet in their hearts, they understood what lingered beneath the surface — desire, hope, and the promise of something more.
Lucien set the food on the table and poured them each a glass of wine. He lit the mood by sharing stories of his childhood — mischievous tales and quiet memories that softened the edges of his usual guardedness.
They ate and drank, their conversation flowing naturally, filled with small jokes and gentle teasing. For a while, the pain and fear that had haunted them seemed to melt away, replaced by something fragile and new: comfort.
After dinner, the night grew quiet and heavy with unspoken feelings. Lucien stood, gently bidding Elira goodnight and gesturing toward his room.
But just as he turned to leave, a small hand gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly. He paused and looked back.
Elira's eyes searched his, hesitant but filled with a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show.
"Are you not going to keep me warm tonight?" she whispered, voice trembling slightly.
Lucien's breath caught. Unsure how to respond, he asked carefully, "Are you asking me to sleep next to you?"
She nodded, eyes wide and earnest, like a lost child afraid of the dark.
"Keep me warm. I need you."
Without hesitation, Lucien closed the space between them, his lips crashing onto hers with a fierce hunger — years of restraint pouring out in that single kiss. She clung to him, legs winding around his waist as he carried her gently to his room.
"Are you sure about this, Elira?" Lucien's voice was a rough whisper against her lips, thick with barely contained desire. "Because if I continue, there will be no turning back. Tell me now if you want me to stop."
Instead of words, her answer was a soft, possessive kiss pressed against the sensitive skin of his neck. A slow, deliberate trail of moisture followed, marking him, claiming him in a silent language only they understood.
Lucien gently lowered her onto the soft mattress, his gaze never leaving hers. The kisses continued, softer now, exploring the delicate curve of her jawline, the sensitive hollow of her throat. His fingers traced the line of her collarbone, then dipped lower, to the edge of her silken nightgown. He tugged at the fabric, and it whispered to the floor, revealing the delicate lace of her underthings beneath.
Her eyes followed his movements, a mixture of trepidation and undeniable longing swirling within their depths. Her hands, emboldened by desire, reached for the hem of his shirt, her fingers tangling in the soft cotton as she slowly pulled it upwards. The moonlight danced across his chest, highlighting the lean muscle and the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. She traced the contours of his abdomen, her touch feather-light yet sending shivers of anticipation through him.
The unspoken invitation was clear. Fire ignited in Lucien's veins, a primal urge to possess and be possessed. He shed his remaining clothes with a swiftness born of urgency, his eyes locked on Elira as he stood before her, vulnerable and raw in the moonlight.
To be Continue...