Camila's POV
The sound of the gunshot hadn't left my ears. It echoed inside me, louder than my own heartbeat, louder than the polished words Lucien used to mask cruelty as law.
I kept my head down as the room emptied. My hands trembled slightly as I touched the velvet hem of my dress—still flawless, as if nothing had happened. But I saw his blood. I saw the way the man's body crumpled like paper.
Lucien wasn't just dangerous. He was untouchable.
I walked slowly, pretending I was just another shadow fading from the gathering. The guards barely glanced at me. Good. Let them underestimate me.
My room was somewhere to the right, past a gold-plated archway and three useless locked doors. But I turned left.
I didn't know where I was going—only that I had to go. I had to find something. A map. A weakness. A window that led to freedom instead of polished stone.
The hall curved, dipped into dimmer light. The air grew colder. Cleaner, almost too clean, like antiseptic. I paused near a heavy wooden door, partially cracked open. Voices drifted out—frantic, low-pitched.
And then—a scream.
Sharp. Muffled. Choked by distance or gag.
My pulse kicked.
I should've turned away. I should've run.
Instead, I pushed the door open.
The hallway inside was narrow, different from the marble corridors above. Concrete walls. Harsh white lights. No paintings. No beauty. Just another door at the end, slightly ajar.
I crept forward, silent on bare feet. I shouldn't be here. Every instinct screamed it.
Through the cracked door, I saw shadows shifting. A man strapped to a chair. Bruised. Barely conscious.
Someone stood over him—back turned, tall, holding something that glinted under the light.
I gasped.
He turned, but I stepped back fast, heart thudding, pressing into the wall as the sound of something metallic clanged to the floor.
The door creaked louder. I backed up the hall, not daring to run until I rounded the corner.
My breath burned. My legs shook.
Whatever Lucien did upstairs with cold stares and expensive suits—this was different.
Down here, they weren't just executing rules. They were burying secrets.
And now… I might be one of them.
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Chapter — Lucien Valentini
A Pet That Wanders
Lucien stood before the glass wall, eyes trained on the moonlit garden below. From here, the estate stretched like a well-placed empire—orderly, controlled, silent.
Except one flame refused to stay in its lantern.
"She went left," Lucien said without turning.
Lucan stepped out of the shadows behind him. "You knew she would."
"I wanted to see how far she'd go."
Lucien tapped the crystal glass in his hand, the red liquid catching the moonlight like rubies. "Curious little thing. Always watching. Listening. Like a stray cat deciding if the devil's hand offers food or poison."
"She wandered into the sub-level corridor. Saw Room Six."
Lucien's lips curved faintly. "Did she see the man?"
Lucan hesitated. "Enough to have questions."
Lucien hummed. "Good. Let her stew."
Lucan's jaw ticked. "What if she talks?"
"She won't." His voice was final. "She knows the game now. She's seen a consequence. But fear alone won't keep her caged." He finally turned from the glass. "She needs to feel watched."
Lucan nodded. "Want me to station someone near her room?"
Lucien shook his head. "No. Let her feel clever. Let her think she's still ahead."
He walked slowly to the fire, tossing back the last of the wine. "The moment she thinks she's safe is when she'll break."
"She's not like the others," Lucan said quietly.
Lucien smiled at the fire. "No. She's not."
And that's exactly why he couldn't stop watching her.
The morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains, but it didn't bring warmth.
Not here.
I hadn't slept. Not really. Not after what I saw in that room—the blood, the scream, the way the guards dragged the man like a broken doll. My fingers still trembled under the sheets, heart pounding with the memory. I shouldn't have been there.
But I had been.
And now I was waiting—for punishment, for consequences, for Lucien's wrath.
Instead, a maid knocked at my door. "The master requests your presence in the atrium," she said softly.
Not demands. Requests.
Which meant it was worse.
I dressed slowly, choosing something simple but elegant—a black satin slip dress with thin straps, barely decent. It was all I had in the closet. Everything in this place was chosen for me, down to the shade of lipstick. It was all part of the game.
And he was the one moving the pieces.
The atrium was filled with orchids and light. A single chair sat in the middle, and beside it, Lucien.
He didn't speak when I entered. Just looked at me.
I met his gaze. I didn't bow, didn't speak either. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
His eyes slid down me, slow and deliberate. I could feel the heat of it—possessive, unspoken, dangerous.
"You found something last night," he said at last, voice smooth as silk over steel.
My throat tightened. "I got lost."
"That's not an answer."
"And that wasn't a question."
His eyes sparked, just for a second.
Then he smiled.
It was worse than anger.
"You're brave. Or stupid. Or both," he said, rising. He moved toward me like a predator who already knew you couldn't run. "So let's see how far that defiance goes."
He gestured to the chair. "Sit."
I didn't move.
"Sit, Camila."
My legs moved before my brain agreed. The chair was cold against the back of my thighs, the silence louder now.
Lucien pulled out a small velvet box and opened it.
A necklace.
Not gold or diamonds—black leather with a delicate silver clasp and a small tag. No larger than a coin. Elegant. Ominous.
"A collar?" I asked, voice barely a whisper.
"A reminder," he said. "That curiosity comes with a price. But loyalty comes with protection."
He leaned down, brushing my hair aside, the warmth of his breath teasing my neck.
"You can wear this," he murmured, fastening it with a snap. "Or I can take you back to the room you stumbled into."
Goosebumps rose on my arms. Not from fear.
From the way he touched me like I belonged to him already.
"I hope you choose wisely."
And then he stepped back.
"Breakfast will be served in ten minutes," he said casually, like we hadn't just crossed a line.
I sat frozen, collar tight around my neck.
Controlled.
Marked.
Still burning from his closeness.
But not broken.
Not yet.
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