The elevator chimed softly as it ascended to the top floor of Roux Industries, its gleaming interior reflecting the image of a woman standing perfectly still, yet visibly tense. Sera's fingers twitched by her sides as she tried to control her breathing. No matter how many times she stepped into Lucien's empire, it always felt like the walls were whispering things she tried so hard to forget.
The sky outside was clouded, casting filtered silver light through the glass panels of the penthouse office. It was barely 10 AM, but the mood already clung to the room like fog. She stepped out of the elevator with poise, her heels clicking against the marble floor, but her mind was anything but composed.
Today marked the third anniversary of that day.
A day the world forgot, but her soul remembered like a knife still twisting.
Lucien wasn't in his office yet. His jacket hung over the back of his leather chair, an untouched espresso still steaming on the side table. Sera stood still for a beat too long, eyes roaming the desk, the neat papers, the scent of him—warm spice and something darker, forbidden. She reached for the silver pen that sat beside his open folder, fingers grazing the initials engraved on its side.
"S. V."
Her initials.
A bitter breath left her lips before she realized it.
> Three Years Ago
Screaming.
Blood.
Chains.
A voice whispering, "You were never meant to survive this."
Sera's body flinched involuntarily, and she dropped the pen.
She clenched her fists. Not now. Don't remember now.
But the memory had teeth. It sank into her skull, prying open a door she'd welded shut.
She was only nineteen then. Helpless. But not innocent. Not anymore.
---
Just as the darkness began to rise in her like a tide, a loud crash echoed from the hallway.
Sera's head snapped toward the door. Then—
"Mr. Roux! Are you okay?!" a secretary's voice panicked through the corridor.
Her pulse surged as she dashed to the hallway—only to see Lucien half-drenched, shirt soaked through, his hand bleeding as he braced himself against the shattered glass wall of the conference room.
"What the hell happened?!" she cried, running to him.
Lucien turned his head slowly toward her, jaw clenched. Blood dripped down his wrist.
"She happened."
Sera followed his gaze, and there she stood at the far end of the room—Celeste Moreau, the woman from earlier. Her lipstick was smudged, blouse slightly torn, and eyes wide with something between desire and venom.
"I told you, Lucien," Celeste whispered, stepping forward slowly, her heels crunching over broken glass. "You don't walk away from me. Ever."
Security rushed in before Sera could move. Two guards pulled Celeste back, though she didn't resist—just stared at Sera with a twisted smile.
"You think you're different, don't you?" Celeste said to Sera, voice velvet soft. "But when the truth comes out, he'll run from you too. They always do."
Sera didn't respond. She couldn't. Not when every syllable Celeste uttered wrapped around the ghost of her past like a noose.
Lucien's eyes found hers from across the room.
And for the first time, he saw it—a flicker of real fear in Sera's soul.