Ariella didn't speak to Lucien the entire ride home.
She sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, his coat still wrapped around her like a claim she didn't know how to shake off.
He didn't speak either.
But she could feel it — the tension in his jaw, the restraint in his fingers as they gripped the steering wheel, the way his eyes kept flicking toward her at every red light.
He wasn't angry.
He was possessive.
And that scared her more than his silence ever could.
When they arrived at the penthouse, she moved to head upstairs, but his voice stopped her.
"Ariella."
She froze.
"I need you to listen to something."
She turned slowly, expecting another order, another threat.
Instead, Lucien walked to a locked drawer in his office, pulled out a thin black folder, and placed it on the table.
Ariella narrowed her eyes. "What is that?"
"My past."
She blinked. "What?"
Lucien looked at her — really looked at her — and for the first time, she saw something real beneath the billionaire mask.
Pain.
"There are things people whisper about me," he said. "Some are lies. Some… aren't."
He pushed the folder toward her.
"I'm giving you a choice. Open it and see for yourself. Or walk away and keep hating the version of me you've made up in your head."
She hesitated.
Every instinct told her don't touch it.
But her hand moved anyway.
Inside the folder were newspaper clippings. Photos. Legal documents. And a single, haunting image:
A much younger Lucien Kane, handcuffed, being dragged from a courtroom.
Her eyes scanned the headline:
"Heir to Kane Empire Acquitted After Brutal Fire Incident"
Another article:
"CEO's Son Blamed for Brother's Death — Case Dismissed."
Her heart dropped.
Lucien stood by the window, staring out at the city like it could wash away what she was reading.
"You killed someone," she whispered.
He turned slowly. "I didn't. But the world thinks I did."
"Your… your brother?"
He nodded once.
"We were close. Until we weren't. And one night, he set fire to our summer estate with me inside. He died. I lived. And no one's believed me since."
Ariella stared at him, stunned.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked softly.
"Because I don't trust anyone. I never have. But if I'm going to keep you in my world, you deserve to know what you're tied to."
She swallowed. The Lucien she thought she knew — cold, cruel, calculating — didn't match the one standing in front of her now.
Broken. Burned. Alone.
"You don't owe me your truth," she said quietly. "But thank you for giving it anyway."
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Lucien stepped forward, his voice low.
"Don't mistake honesty for weakness, Ariella. I'm still dangerous."
She nodded.
"I know. But now I'm not sure if I'm afraid of you…"
She met his gaze.
"…or afraid of what I'm starting to feel."