Lucian stared down at her, eyes shadowed with stormy emotions. He hadn't meant for any of this. Seeing her again—like that, in that place—had broken something inside him. But now, standing here in the quiet of his penthouse, holding her close, all his fury melted into something more dangerous: longing.
Caliste tilted her head, lips trembling slightly as her gaze searched his. "Lucian…"
He didn't wait.
His mouth captured hers in a kiss so intense it knocked the breath out of her. It wasn't gentle—it was raw, hungry, filled with all the pain and longing they'd buried for years. She gasped against his mouth, her hands gripping the front of his shirt as he pulled her tighter.
"Tell me to stop," he muttered against her lips, his breath warm and ragged.
But she didn't.
Instead, she kissed him back—fiercely, desperately—because she had missed this too. Missed him. Missed them. The man who once made her believe in forever.
Lucian's arms wrapped around her, lifting her effortlessly as he carried her to the bedroom like she weighed nothing. Caliste's heart pounded. Her mind screamed to be cautious, but her body—her heart—had already betrayed her.
As he laid her on the bed, his lips never left hers. His hands found her face, brushing her cheeks gently this time, as if trying to memorize every part of her again.
Their kiss deepened—not rushed, but soaked with years of unresolved emotions. Pain, love, regret… and something still burning brightly beneath it all.
Clothes were shed between whispers and stolen glances. The air grew thick with emotion and heat, but it wasn't just lust—it was something more ancient, more intimate. Like two souls finding their way back after being lost in the dark for too long.
And so, beneath the sheets of their once-shared bed, they rediscovered each other in every touch and every breath. No longer just strangers with a past—but two broken hearts finally finding their rhythm again.
Morning light crept into the room hours later, soft and golden, brushing over tangled sheets and the two bodies curled together like they were never meant to part.
Caliste slowly blinked awake, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a restless bird. Her limbs ached—a dull reminder of the night before. The events unfolded in her mind like a broken reel: the confrontation, the tension, the aching desire wrapped in rage.
Then, silence.
She turned her head.
Lucian was already awake.
He sat on the edge of a dark leather couch, dressed immaculately in a black button-down and tailored slacks. A steaming cup of coffee rested on the table in front of him, untouched. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his gaze…
Fixed on her.
Cold. Distant. Like he was staring through her, not at her.
Caliste quickly pulled the sheets up to her chest, her breath catching in her throat. The quiet between them felt louder than any argument they'd ever had. She swallowed the knot in her throat and sat up, the silk pooling around her waist.
"Good morning," she said, her voice too soft, almost embarrassed by its own sound.
Lucian said nothing.
The tension still lingered in the air like mist refusing to burn away with the morning light.
Caliste sat on the edge of the bed, the silk sheets clinging to her bare skin. Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the fabric, unsure whether to wrap it tighter or let it fall. Her heart thudded unevenly as silence stretched between them.
Then—
Ding-dong.
The sound of the doorbell cut through the stillness.
Lucian's eyes flicked toward the front, jaw tight, expression unreadable. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked out of the bedroom. The soft click of his shoes against the polished floors echoed, followed by the distant creak of the main door opening.
Caliste exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Moments later, Lucian returned.
His stride was firm, his presence heavy with command. In his hand was a small, matte black paper bag. Without so much as a glance, he tossed it toward her.
The bag landed beside her on the bed.
"Get dressed," Lucian said coolly. "Then meet me in the study. There's an agreement I want you to sign."
His tone left no room for questions.
Caliste looked up at him, startled. She wanted to ask what kind of agreement. She wanted to ask why he was doing this—why he bought her only to treat her like another pawn in his game. But something in his eyes made her stay silent.
He was cold. Colder than she'd ever seen him. Not even a flicker of emotion danced across his face.
She nodded slowly, swallowing her pride—and pain.
Lucian turned and walked out of the room, leaving her in silence once again.
Caliste reached for the bag, hands trembling as she pulled out what was inside.
A designer dress, black and sleek, along with a new set of undergarments and low heels. Everything screamed elegance, power, and control—his control.
She stood up, letting the sheets fall from her shoulders. The cool air kissed her skin as she slipped into the dress, the fabric smooth against her body. Her reflection in the mirror looked foreign—like someone who belonged in Lucian's world but had long since lost her way.
Her heart pounded as she stepped out of the bedroom.
The hallway was quiet, the scent of coffee and leather faint in the air. She walked slowly, every step feeling like a decision she couldn't undo.
When she reached the study door, it was already ajar.
Lucian stood inside by the tall windows, papers laid neatly across his sleek mahogany desk. His eyes lifted to her as she entered.
"Sit."
She obeyed, the plush leather chair cold beneath her.
He picked up a pen and handed it to her.
"This is a binding agreement," he began, voice calm and cutting. "You'll stay here. With me. Under my roof. You'll not go back to Silken Rose, nor will you see any man other than me."
Caliste's lips parted. "Lucian—"
He raised a hand, silencing her.
"You will be compensated. Well. You'll have your own room. Clothes. Food. Protection. But in return, I expect obedience and exclusivity."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"You want me to be your mistress?"