Chapter 5 – His Rules, Her Fire
[Lucien's POV]
I watched her across the massive dining table. She sat straight, her fingers coiled tightly around the wine glass, untouched. She wasn't trembling anymore, but she wasn't relaxed either.
Good. Fear kept people honest.
"You haven't touched your food," I said.
She looked up at me, her eyes sharper than the steak knife beside her. "Maybe I lost my appetite somewhere between being kidnapped and paraded like your pet."
My brow arched, slow. "You weren't kidnapped, Aria. You walked into that party on your own two feet."
"I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice," I said evenly, "but you made yours when you signed that contract."
Her jaw clenched. "To protect my brother. Not to sleep in your prison."
"It's not a prison," I replied coldly. "Unless you break the rules."
Her lips curled. "And what are those? That I sit. Eat. Smile like I'm not being auctioned off to a devil?"
I leaned back in my chair, swirling the wine in my glass lazily. "You don't have to smile, Aria. You just have to obey."
She pushed her plate away, untouched. "Then get used to disappointment."
Silence hung like a blade between us. I liked her anger. It was better than the fake smiles and submissive bows I'd grown used to. But it was also dangerous—for her.
I stood. "Follow me."
She didn't move.
I walked around the table and stopped beside her chair. Slowly, deliberately, I placed my hand on her neck, fingers sliding into her hair. "I won't hurt you," I said, voice low. "Unless you make me."
Her breath hitched.
Good. Fear was a language we both spoke fluently.
I released her and walked away. It took her five seconds before she followed.
---
[Aria's POV]
He led me to a room at the far end of the penthouse. Double doors. Dark wood. Dim lighting. It wasn't a bedroom—it was a study. One wall was covered in books. Another in security monitors. The third, filled with liquor. And in the center—a desk, massive and black.
"This is where you'll work," he said. "I don't like idle wives."
"I'm not your wife yet," I snapped.
He smirked. "Not yet."
Lucien walked to the desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a thin file and dropped it in front of me. "Your new identity. You'll carry this name, sign this account, and live under my protection."
"I don't want your protection."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "That's not your choice anymore, Aria. From this moment forward, everything about you belongs to me."
My heart beat fast—but not from fear. From rage. From heat. From the sick realization that part of me… part of me liked the way his voice dipped when he said my name. The way his eyes darkened when I disobeyed.
"I'm not a thing you can own," I whispered.
Lucien reached out and brushed a finger along my jaw, slow. His touch burned like fire.
"You're not a thing," he said. "You're a weapon. And I intend to make you mine—piece by piece."
---
[Lucien's POV] – Later That Night
She was quiet. Too quiet.
I watched the surveillance monitor from my bedroom. She hadn't left the study since our last conversation. She was sitting at the desk now, flipping through the file I'd given her—financial records, false ID papers, and a detailed schedule of her new life.
I knew it was a lot to process. But she had no idea what world she'd stepped into.
My phone vibrated.
> Vincent: Your uncle is asking about the girl. Says you're going soft.
I stared at the message for a long second before replying.
> Me: He can ask at her funeral if he crosses me again.
---
[Aria's POV] – Midnight
The file was a lie.
Every page—fake credentials, forged records, even a fabricated birth certificate. As far as the world was concerned, Aria Monroe no longer existed. I was someone else now. Someone tied to Lucien Moretti by ink and fire.
I closed the file and stood. My hands were shaking again.
I didn't know who I was anymore.
The door opened behind me.
Lucien stepped in, loose tie around his neck, sleeves rolled up, dangerous as sin.
"Still awake?" he asked.
"I'm not used to cages," I murmured.
He walked to the liquor shelf and poured two fingers of whiskey. "It's not a cage. It's a castle."
"Then why do I feel like a prisoner?"
Lucien handed me the glass. "Because freedom is a lie. We all serve something—blood, power, family. I just chose to stop pretending."
"And me?" I asked. "What did I choose?"
He stepped closer, brushed my hair behind my shoulder. His fingers grazed my skin. "You chose to survive."
I shivered, despite myself.
His hand lingered on my neck. Possessive. Hot.
"I won't hurt you, Aria," he whispered. "But I will own you."
His lips hovered by my ear, so close I could feel the promise in his breath.
"Mind. Body. Soul."