Beast’s Fury

The heavy library doors clicked shut behind me, and for a second, I just stood there in the stifling heat of the room. It was barely noon, but the curtains were drawn so tight that the sun was a mere suggestion. The air was thick with the suffocating scent of expensive bourbon and something sharper—the smell of a man who had let himself rot in his own bitterness.

“You’re late,” the voice growled from the shadows.

“I didn’t realize we had a schedule, Lu,” I said, instantly flicking on the switch. My voice was smooth, airy, and carried that shallow, playful lilt of Vivian’s. Inside, my heart was a trapped bird, but my vocal cords were steady. “The sun is out. You should try seeing it. Oh, wait—”

I bit my tongue, faking the gasp of a woman who had just realized she’d made a cruel joke. Vivian was a bitch; she would have said that.

In a heartbeat, the shadow moved.

I didn’t even see him launch himself from the chair. One second he was a silhouette, and the next, a wall of heat and muscle slammed into me. I gasped as my back hit the oak door with a thud that rattled my teeth.

Lucian’s hands were on either side of my head, pinning me. He was so close I could feel the frantic heat radiating off his skin. He smelled of hard liquor and cold sweat. Even with those clouded, sightless eyes staring past my ear, he was the most terrifying thing I had ever encountered.

“You think this is funny?” he hissed, his face inches from mine. His jaw was covered in a rough, neglected stubble, and his breath was hot against my cheek. “You think you can just walk back in here with your perfume and your ‘darling’ this and ‘darling’ that, and I’ll just fall at your feet?”

“Lucian, you’re hurting me,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. I needed to be Vivian. Vivian wouldn’t be scared; she’d be annoyed. “Let go. This dress is silk.”

He let out a jagged, mocking laugh that sent shivers down my spine. He leaned closer, his chest pressing against mine, his sheer physical strength making it impossible for me to move.

“Silk? Is that all you care about? Of course it is.” He moved one hand from the door, his long fingers grazing my neck before settling on my throat—not squeezing, but there, a reminder of how easily he could break me. “You’re a gold-digger, Vivian. A vulture. You left when the car crashed because you couldn’t stand the thought of being a nurse to a broken man. But now that the estate is at stake, now that Mother probably promised you a bigger slice of the inheritance to ‘fix’ me, you’re back.”

“That’s not true,” I whispered.

“Isn’t it?” His thumb brushed over my pulse point. I prayed he couldn’t feel how my heart was trying to leap out of my chest. “You only love things that shine. And right now, I’m just a heap of rusted metal in the dark. How much is she paying you to be here? How much is my sight worth to you in cold, hard cash?”

The cruelty in his voice was like a physical weight. For a second, the real Celeste wanted to crumble. I wanted to cry and tell him I was doing this for a little boy in a hospital bed. But I couldn’t. If I broke character, Noah was dead.

I took a breath and forced my spine to stiffen. I didn’t pull away. Instead, I leaned into him, my hand coming up to rest on his heaving chest. I could feel his heart thundering—not with love, but with a rage so deep it was visceral.

“Think what you want, Lucian,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, steady hum, dropping the “sweet” act for something sharper. “Call me a vulture. Call me a liar. Tell yourself whatever you need to hear to keep yourself feeling like a victim. But I’m not leaving.”

He stiffened, his grip on my throat tightening just a fraction. “What did you say?”

“I said, I’m. Not. Leaving.” I stared right into those beautiful, ruined eyes. “You want to hide in the dark? Fine. I’ll sit here and watch you do it. You want to drink yourself into a stupor? I’ll pour the glass. But you don’t get to scare me away anymore. I’m the only ghost in this house that isn’t afraid of you.”

Lucian recoiled as if I’d burned him. He let go of my neck and stumbled back, his hand searching for the edge of a table to steady himself. He looked lost, his face contorted in a mask of pure fury and confusion.

“I hate you,” he spat, his voice trembling. “I hate the sound of your footsteps. I hate the way you breathe.”

“Then hate me,” I replied, smoothing out my silk dress and stepping away from the door. My legs were shaking, but I made sure my heels clicked firmly on the floor. “But get used to it. Because I’m the only one who’s staying.”

I walked over to the decanter on the sideboard, my hands finally shaking now that his touch was gone. I poured a glass of water—not scotch—and set it down on the table with a sharp clack.

“Drink this. You smell like a dive bar in the slums,” I said, my voice dripping with the effortless disdain I had practiced for hours.

I set the glass down on the mahogany table with a sharp clack that echoed in the cavernous room. He stood there, a fallen king in a dark empire, his chest still heaving from the exertion of pinning me against the door. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. But for the first time since I’d stepped into this tomb of a house, I felt the air change. The power was no longer entirely his.

He was using his anger as a shield, a jagged wall of glass meant to cut anyone who got too close. But I could see the cracks now. He wasn’t trying to drive me away—he was testing the gravity of my lie. He wanted to see if I’d shatter as easily as the real Vivian had.

“I’ll be in the garden,” I added, smoothing the wrinkles out of my silk skirt with trembling fingers I hoped he couldn’t hear. “When you’re ready to act like a man instead of a wounded animal, come find me.”

I turned, my heels clicking a sharp, steady rhythm against the floorboards as I headed for the exit.

“Vivian.”

His voice stopped me. It wasn’t the roar of the beast this time. It was small, hollow, and so raw it made my own throat ache.

I paused, my hand gripping the cold brass knob of the library door. I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. “Yes?”

“Don’t think for a second that this changes anything,” he whispered into the shadows. “You’re still the woman who left me to die in that wreckage. You’re still the woman who didn’t even look back.”

The guilt hit me like a physical weight, but I swallowed it down, forcing the mask of Vivian back into place. “And you’re still the man who’s too afraid to live, Lucian. I’m here. That’s more than you deserve.”

I stepped out and pulled the door shut, leaning my head against the cold stone wall of the hallway. I let out a jagged breath, my lungs burning as if I’d been underwater. My neck still felt the ghost of his fingers, the heat of his skin, and the terrifying strength of a man who had nothing left to lose.

I was supposed to be taming him. I was supposed to be the actress, the girl of a thousand voices, playing the role of a lifetime to save my brother. But as I caught my reflection in the gilded mirror across the hall—the sharp, unfamiliar bob, the blood-red lips, the coldness in my own eyes—I felt a shiver of true terror.

Who is going to be left of Celeste by the time this is over?

I started to walk away, my mind already racing toward the next lie I had to tell, when I noticed something. A small, silver object was lying on the floor near the west wing stairs. It was a cufflink—one of Lucian’s.

I reached down to pick it up, but a shadow fell over me before my fingers could touch the metal.

“You’re very good,” a voice whispered from the darkness of the corridor.

I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. Standing there was Marcus, Lucian’s head of security, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed with a lethal suspicion that made Emelia’s threats feel like child’s play.

“Vivian Lancaster had a scar on her left shoulder from a skiing accident in Switzerland,” he said, stepping into the light, his gaze dropping to my bare, unblemished skin. “You don’t. So, who the hell are you, and what have you done with the real one?”