Chapter 4

(Adrian POV)

She is awake.

I can hear the rustle of the silk sheets even before she calls out. Lana moves like a wounded animal, slowly, cautiously. There's a red mark on her thigh where I held her too tightly last night. She hasn't noticed it yet. She'll notice it when she tries to get up.

The door is still locked. She's not ready to cross the threshold.

I wait in the living room, a brand: new file in my hand. When the maid knocks, I nod. "Bring him his breakfast. Put the envelope next to it."

A few minutes pass before I hear the soft click of her fork against the porcelain. She's eating. She's hungry, then. That's good.

I'm coming in.

She froze when she saw me, a cup of coffee in my hand, my shirt half: buttoned, my hair still damp from the shower. It's better to appear composed than disorganized, especially in the morning.

"You're in my house, in my bed, you bear my name," I said casually. "You could at least say hello."

She doesn't. She just stares at me. She's intelligent.

I place the file on the table in front of her. "Read it. I've updated the contract."

Her fingers hesitated before she opened it.

"I removed the clause that stated I could assign your tasks to someone else," I lie casually. "I thought you'd feel safer that way."

She looks up. "Why did you do that?"

"Because your father is no longer here and you belong to me now," I said simply. "No need to make the situation worse."

She flips through it quickly. A small crease forms between her eyebrows. I see it shift when she reaches page twelve. Clause 49 is there, crystal clear, but the font is microscopic. In italics. Drowned in legal jargon.

She won't see it. Not yet.

"You've prolonged that," she murmurs.

"I made it binding," I corrected her. "You married into the blood, Lana. My world has rules. You said 'yes' without reading the fine print. That's your responsibility."

His voice was monotonous. "You said it was a formality."

"It was." I take a sip of coffee. "Now it's a matter of survival."

The way she looks at me, as if she's searching for an ounce of pity, almost makes me want to laugh. But I don't. Not yet.

"I want to leave," she said.

"You can't." I smile. "Not tonight. We have dinner."

" With whom ?

"Strangers who think they're important." I take her plate and put the contract back in the folder. "They'll ask you questions. Smile. Stay silent."

"What if I don't do it?"

"Then I'll show you exactly what it means to be disobedient in this house."

She doesn't answer. She clenches her jaw, but nods.

GOOD.

I lean towards her and stroke her cheek with my fingertips. "Wear something black. Something that will make them understand that you're untouchable... even if you're not."

I leave before she can answer.

She still doesn't know.

But tonight, she will begin to understand the truth she has believed.

She descends dressed in black silk. Thin straps, bare shoulders, the slit rising high on her thigh as if she were in her place.

My maid chose her. I told her, "Make her look untouchable." She did it. But that doesn't stop them from wanting to touch her.

Lana walks cautiously, as if the ground might collapse. Good. She's learning.

When she reaches me, I let my gaze linger slowly, deliberately, claiming her before they even try. She moves beneath my gaze. I like it.

I offer her my arm without speaking. She takes it.

We enter the dining room together.

Seven guests, all predators: Russian oil tycoons, members of Gulf royalty, two old: money American heirs. They smile, showing their teeth. Their wives wear diamonds that could finance wars. And yet, their attention lingers on her like smoke.

The innocent one.

My fiancée.

The one they cannot touch.

One of them, Viktor, leans back in his chair, smug. "So, this is what the West has to offer? The one that married a ghost?"

I smile coldly. "Say my name again, and I'll rip your tongue out."

He laughed, but his eyes remained fixed on her. "She looks... inexperienced."

"She's mine," I said, putting an arm around her waist. "That puts her out of your reach."

Dinner begins.

Wine. Game. Coded conversations. They talk about markets, weapons, and territories. But their eyes undress her with every sip of champagne.

Lana flinches when one of them says something vulgar in Arabic.

I snap my fingers. The music stops.

"She's not for sale," I said coldly. "Not tonight. Never."

A small laugh is heard. "Everything has a price."

— Then you can't afford it.

The tension is rising. She feels it. Her spine stiffens, her lips tighten like those of a girl waiting to be asked to smile.

The women start talking about jewelry. About power marriages. About death clauses in prenuptial agreements. Lana apologizes and leaves, slowly but surely.

She doesn't know I'm behind her.

She doesn't see how her dress clings to her body when she turns the corners.

She doesn't realize she's heading towards the part of the house where she shouldn't be going.

She opens the wrong door.

And she sees it.

Bare: chested. Still damp from his shower. His face...

No, not mine.

But almost.

Too close.

He tilts his head, amused. A tattoo darkens his chest: flames curl to form a single letter, an A.

"You're early," he said nonchalantly. "I was told dessert comes first."

She stares at him, trembling. "Who are you?"

He steps forward, his voice low and cruel. "The one your contract didn't mention."

A mocking smile. "The other husband."

She gasps, but the door closes before she can escape. The ratchet lock.

And I've been smiling from the hallway. Let the game begin.

She does not return to the table.

I wait five minutes. Then ten. I finish his wine. They continue to ask me questions that I don't answer. I let them wonder.

Then I get up.

I already know where she went. There's only one room on this floor that's both open and off: limits. But she took the wrong corridor. She opened the wrong door. The one with the mirror.

I walk slowly. Not because I'm in a hurry, but because I want her to absorb what she has seen.

When I open the door, she's still there, back against the wall, eyes wide, fingers clenched so tightly that her knuckles are white.

And opposite her, sprawled on the leather sofa like sin incarnate, is Lucien.

He's half: dressed, still damp from his shower, an open black shirt revealing the tattoo over his heart. Mine is shaped like flames. His is tattooed in smoke. The same shape, reversed.

He looked up and smiled when he saw me. "You took your time, brother. I was just making my introduction."

Lana turns to me as if I were her lifeline. "Who the hell is this?"

I close the door behind me. "My brother."

"He looks exactly like you," she said in a broken voice. "Why does he look so much like you?"

Lucien gets up and walks towards her. Not quickly. Slowly enough that terror tightens in his throat.

"Because we were created together," he murmurs, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "One to wear the crown. The other to burn the world."

She recoiled abruptly as if her fingers had burned her.

I lean against the door. "You've read the contract, haven't you?"

She looks at me as if I've gone mad. "Of course I read the contract..."

"No," I interrupt. "You read the summary. The page my assistant gave you."

Lucien laughed, a deep and cold laugh.

She opens her mouth. She tries to understand. The silence between us stretches until it becomes heavy.

"I signed a marriage contract," she said. "With you."

I agree. "Exactly."

Lucien positioned himself behind her. "A joint contract. With us."

"It's illegal," she whispers.

"No," I said. "It's strategic. Everything you signed is binding, Lana. The names were there, you just didn't look closely."

She shakes her head. "No, no, it's not possible. You... you cheated on me."

Lucien leans towards her, his mouth close to her ear. "We didn't deceive you. We simply didn't stop you from being stupid."

"Why?" Her voice broke. "Why would you do this to me?"

Lucien answered first. "Because Adrian needed a woman..."

"...and I needed something to keep me from getting bored," I finished.

She walks away from the two of us, her hands trembling.

"No. No, you don't have the right to do that. I'm not a toy that you can pass from hand to hand..."

"You're not being passed from hand to hand," I said calmly. "You're being claimed. Equally."

"It's disgusting."

Lucien tilts his head. "Do you think the world you just married into is clean?"

I take a step forward. "You want to leave, Lana? Go ahead. But the men downstairs? The ones who asked how much you cost? They'd tear you to pieces before you even reached the door."

"She's not ready," Lucien said softly. "Should we show her what happens when people break their contracts?"

I watch her face. She's pale now, but her gaze is sharp. She's thinking. She's calculating. And she's terrified.

She's starting to understand.

I approach him and lift his chin. "You didn't read the fine print. But now you live with it."

Lucien touches the tattoo on her chest. "We'll take turns, darling."

She opens her mouth. "You can't be serious."

I'm not answering.

Lucien smiled. "You'll be begging us to give you one rather than the other. It's only a matter of time."

She rushes towards the door.

I block it without even raising my hand.

She freezes.

Behind her, Lucien whispers, "We're not here to hurt you."

I lean towards her. "But we're going to break you. Until you understand who you belong to."

She turns towards me, tears in her eyes, but beneath the fear, there is fire.

"The two of you?" she murmured. "All this time, it was just the two of you?"

The lights are flashing. A storm is brewing outside.

Lucien nudges her. "Welcome home, Mrs. Vervain."

She says nothing more. She simply stares at me.

Not like she did at the table. Not with resentment or confusion.

This time, it's about awareness.

This time, she knows.

And when I finally open the door for her to leave... she doesn't move.

Because she understands something now:

She never married the devil. She married the twins who own hell.