Chapter 2

Seraphina's POV

The silence in this house wasn’t peaceful. It was strategic.

Everything about the Marchesi estate was too calculated — the warmth of the fireplace, the softness of the bed, the absence of locks. They wanted her to forget she was caged.

She wouldn’t.

Seraphina sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her hands — not because she was afraid, but because she needed to appear afraid.

That was the game now.

She’d survived the betrayal of blood. The humiliation of being auctioned like fine jewelry. She’d swallowed every ounce of grief, buried it so deep not even her reflection could find it.

And now she was here.

His.

No.

Owned.

Seraphina didn’t flinch when the door creaked. She knew he was there. His presence didn’t announce itself with noise — only weight. The air shifted when he entered, like gravity bending around something larger than itself.

Lucien Marchesi.

The monster with a king’s face. The most handsome face that she had ever seen in her entire life.

She thought that Julian was already handsome, but he paled in comparison to Lucien. Not only is he handsome, but he is also full of charisma.

She waited for him to speak. For the usual script. The threat. The promise. But there was only silence. Studied. Calculated.

He was observing her. Like a collector with a new painting.

She hated how steady his gaze was.

Hated more how calm it made her.

His eyes—those rare, storm-colored irises that seemed almost silver when caught in sunlight—smolder with an intensity that pulls you in without permission. Warm and unreadable, they seem to hold secrets too heavy for words, a storm of emotion veiled behind the softness of earth and dusk.

“I won’t beg,” she said quietly, still looking forward.

Let him know from the beginning: she wouldn’t cower.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

That voice.

It didn’t belong to a man who raised his voice to get what he wanted. He didn’t need to. His calm was violence refined. Beautiful. Brutal.

Seraphina turned her head slowly and met his eyes.

And for a split second — she forgot her script.

Those eyes weren’t dead. They were burning. Controlled. Intelligent. Watching her not like prey, but like a puzzle.

That made him dangerous.

More dangerous than Julian. Than Gabe. Than any man who ever claimed to love her.

“Then why am I here?” she asked.

She already knew the answer.

But she needed to hear it.

To make it real.

Lucien stepped closer, his silhouette cutting into the soft lamplight. Not a single flicker of threat in his expression. And yet her pulse began to hum — not from fear.

From adrenaline.

From calculation.

“I bought you,” he said, as if it were fact. Not offense.

Because to him, it was.

Her lips barely moved when she answered. “Because you thought I’d be easy to break.”

He paused.

“No,” he said. “Because you weren’t afraid.”

Stupid.

Stupid man.

Everyone was afraid. Fear was currency in her world. You just learned to spend it in silence.

“Everyone’s afraid,” she said. “Some of us are just better at hiding it.”

He tilted his head. A slow, almost feline motion. Unreadable.

She knew she should’ve lowered her gaze then. Should’ve dipped her head, whispered something submissive. Played her part.

But her body rebelled.

She stood. She shouldn’t have, but she did.

Her bare feet brushed the rug. The silk robe slid down her shoulder slightly. She didn’t fix it.

She watched his eyes flicker — once.

That was the moment.

The first chip.

“I don’t care who you are,” she whispered. “You won’t break me.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Only said one thing:

“I don’t want to break you, Seraphina. I want to watch you break yourself.”

The room went still.

And for the first time since she was sold, she felt it.

The burn of battle.

The tension between two predators pretending to be something else.

A war had begun.

And she planned to win it.

_ _ _ _ _

Lucien's POV

She wouldn't cry.

That was the first thing Lucien noticed.

Women had cried before. Screamed. Bargained. Some had even tried to seduce him before the doors had closed.

But not her.

Seraphina Vale sat on the edge of the bed like a storm about to break — silent, spine straight, fingers clenched so tightly in her lap her knuckles had turned white.

He should’ve turned away then.

Should’ve shut the door and left her in peace. But he didn’t. He watched her from the shadows just a moment longer than he should’ve — and felt something unforgivable curl inside him.

Curiosity.

It was the first mistake a man like him could make.

He had seen her file. Watched the footage from the auction. He knew she was clever. She’d been bartered away by her own blood and hadn’t shed a single tear in public. That wasn’t grief.

That was calculation.

She was playing a role, even now. Dressed in velvet, but wrapped in armor far sharper than any blade.

And he couldn’t stop watching.

Lucien leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets, quiet enough that only a shift in her breath told him she knew he was there.

“I won’t beg,” she said without looking up.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

“You don’t have to,” he replied.

Another breath. A pause.

She finally turned her head, and those eyes met his — clear, unflinching, green like polished glass. The kind of eyes that had once belonged to saints. Before they were broken.

“Then why am I here?”

Lucien stepped inside the room.

It wasn’t to threaten her. Or comfort her. It wasn’t for any reason he would’ve accepted from one of his men.

He just needed to see what she would do.

Her jaw tightened when he got too close. But she didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t show fear.

And God help him, that lit something dangerous in him.

Not lust.

Respect.

A rare and volatile thing.

“I bought you,” he said simply. “Because you weren’t afraid.”

“Everyone’s afraid,” she answered. “Some of us are just better at hiding it.”

Lucien tilted his head.

Was that a warning?

A confession?

Or both?

She was playing him. He knew it. Every move she made, every word, was part of something larger.

But what she didn’t know — couldn’t possibly understand — was that he welcomed it.

Let her try.

Let her scheme and test and plot.

He’d spent his whole life building an empire on fire and lies. If she wanted to challenge the king, she’d have to do more than wear pretty chains and spit defiance like wine.

Lucien Marchesi didn’t fall.

He destroyed.

But still… he watched her as she stood, head high, and said quietly:

“I don’t care who you are. You won’t break me.”

He stared at her for a long, long time.

And then, in a voice so calm it made the air go still, he replied:

“I don’t want to break you, Seraphina. I want to watch you break yourself.”