CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

ELENA

The tequila hit harder than the last one.

I slammed the glass back onto the counter, ignoring the way the bartender’s brows creased like I was a car wreck he couldn’t look away from. Maybe I was.

Good. Let them stare. Let the whole damn city stare.

“That’s number… four?” the bartender asked carefully.

“Six,” I corrected with a smirk. My words slurred a little, but whatever. “But thanks for keeping score, Coach.”

He muttered something under his breath and walked away, wisely deciding he valued his life.

I leaned back on the barstool, the room spinning just enough to blur the neon lights. And then—like some cliché out of a bad romance novel—I felt it.

Eyes. On me.

The kind of stare that made your skin tighten, your spine straighten, even when you were drunk and broken.

I turned my head and nearly choked.

Sitting in a dark booth across the bar, glass of whiskey in hand, was Lucian Moretti.

Yes, that Lucian Moretti. The man people whispered about in boardrooms and back alleys. Billionaire. Business shark.

And he was staring at me.

“Oh, perfect,” I muttered, grabbing my glass again. “Just what I needed. The Devil himself at my pity party.”

When I looked again, he hadn’t moved. Not a sip of his drink. Not a shift of his shoulders. Just watching. Like I was the evening’s entertainment.

“Why?” I hissed at no one in particular. “Why do men always stare like they own something? Newsflash, buddy, I am not on the menu.”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The voice wasn’t Lucian’s. No, this was a drunk idiot who smelled like cheap beer and Axe body spray. He leaned too close, his breath hitting my cheek. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t drink alone.”

“Pretty girl like me is about to rearrange your face if you don’t step back.”

His buddy laughed, sliding in on my other side. “Feisty. We like feisty.”

Of course they did. Men like this always did.

Before I could reach for the bottle to brain them both, another voice cut through the chaos.

“Leave.”

One word. Low. Smooth. Dangerous.

I froze.

The drunks froze.

Because Lucian Moretti was standing behind me.

I didn’t even hear him move, but there he was. Tall. Sharp suit. An aura so heavy the two men instantly backed off like cockroaches running from light.

“Sorry, man, didn’t know she was—”

Lucian didn’t even look at them. “Leave.”

They scattered.

And suddenly it was just me and him.

I twisted on the stool, trying to muster my best glare even though my stomach was doing Olympic flips. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Mafia Monopoly himself. What, no empire to run tonight?”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “You’re drunk.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” I hiccupped, waving the empty glass. “Gold star for observation.”

He gestured for the bartender, who immediately handed me water like Lucian had mind control. I snorted. “Wow. Do you practice that intimidation trick in the mirror, or is it natural?”

“Elena.” His voice wrapped around my name again. Too smooth. Too intimate.

And that’s when I cracked.

“Do you know what they did to me?” The words tumbled out, hot and messy. “Adrian. Aria. My perfect fiancé and my perfect twin. They screwed each other in my bed. On my sheets. While I was downstairs like the world’s biggest idiot.”

I laughed, the sound sharp and jagged. “Aria said I was the weaker twin. Adrian said I was too curvy. Can you believe that? Too curvy.” I gestured at my body, nearly knocking over the water. “This? Apparently, too much for him. He likes his women skinny and soulless.”

Lucian’s eyes darkened. But he didn’t interrupt.

“And me?” I pressed on, drunk and furious. “I saved myself for him. Virgin at twenty-three because I thought I was waiting for something real. Joke’s on me, huh? Turns out my something real wanted my sister.”

My throat burned. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Silence stretched.

Then Lucian said, very calmly, “I know.”

My head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“I know about Adrian and Aria.” He leaned in, close enough that I caught the faintest whiff of his cologne—dark, expensive, like sin bottled. “I know everything. And I’m giving you a choice, Elena.”

My heart stumbled. “A choice?”

“You can cry over them.” His gaze pinned me down like I was prey. “Or you can burn them. Stand by my side. Pretend to be mine. And together, we’ll destroy them piece by piece.”

I stared.

He was serious. Deadly serious.

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” He sipped his whiskey, unbothered. “But imagine it. Adrian, watching you on my arm. Knowing you’ll never crawl back to him. Knowing he lost to me.”

My chest tightened. The image of Adrian’s face twisted with jealousy… God, it was tempting. Too tempting.

“And Aria,” Lucian continued, voice velvet and venom. “Your perfect twin, seething every time I touch you. Watching the spotlight shift to you. Watching her fade into the background. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

A dangerous thrill curled through me. He wasn’t wrong.

“You want me to play your lover,” I said slowly.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to help you get your revenge.”

I drained the water, slammed the glass down, and met his eyes. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Lucian blinked once, as if he hadn’t expected me to cave so fast. “That easy?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I leaned closer, my breath still heavy with tequila. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because I want to watch them burn.”

His gaze flicked over my face, searching, calculating. “Then we have a deal.”

Silence pulsed between us.

And then I said it.

“One condition.”

Lucian stilled. “What condition?”

“You take my virginity.”

The words dropped like a bomb.

His hand froze halfway to his glass. For the first time since I’d met him, Lucian Moretti looked… shocked.

“Elena.”

“What?” I shrugged, forcing lightness into my voice even as my pulse thundered. “I was saving it for Adrian. But since he prefers my sister…” My lips curled into a smirk that felt sharper than glass. “Might as well lose it to someone who actually knows what he’s doing.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah. And?” I tilted my head, leaning in closer. “Don’t tell me the big, bad Lucian Moretti is scared of a little virgin.”

His eyes flashed. Dangerous. Hungry. But beneath it—conflict.

I laughed, the sound shaky but defiant. “Relax, I’m not asking for flowers and candles. Just—” My throat closed, but I forced it out. “I don’t want the first time I give myself to someone to be to a man who hated my body. If I’m going to lose it, I want it to be to someone who’ll ruin me properly.”

Lucian’s stare burned into me, unreadable.

For a long moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, very softly, he said, “Careful, Elena. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

But my smile only widened, wicked and broken. “Oh, I think I do.”

The second his lips touched mine, the floor disappeared from under me.

Lucian didn’t kiss like a man testing waters. He kissed like he owned the damn ocean. His mouth was fire, all command and no mercy, and I swear I forgot how to breathe.

“Breathe, Elena,” he muttered against my lips.

“I—can’t,” I whispered, clutching at his shirt like it was the only solid thing in this universe.

He chuckled, low and sinful, the kind of sound you only hear in nightmares and fantasies. Then he pulled me, steady, sure, toward the back of the club. His palm pressed at the small of my back, guiding me like I didn’t even get a choice.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice thinner than I wanted it to be.

“My office,” he said simply, like that explained everything. “I don’t share what’s mine with the public.”

My chest squeezed. What’s mine. Excuse me? I wasn’t his anything. And yet the claim hit low, too low, leaving a shiver sliding down my spine that I absolutely refused to acknowledge.

The hallway swallowed us, dark and expensive, until he pushed open a door that screamed money and control. Sleek wood. Black leather. Floor-to-ceiling windows spilling city light across the room. It was the kind of office that belonged to men like him—men you weren’t supposed to look at too long, let alone kiss.

But then he turned and pinned me against the door before I could blink. His mouth was on mine again, and I completely forgot why I should be resisting.

Lucian kissed like it was war, and I was already losing. His tongue slid against mine, and my knees betrayed me, buckling until I was hanging onto him like a lifeline.

“You’re drunk,” he murmured, thumb brushing across my swollen lower lip.

“Not drunk enough to imagine this,” I shot back before my brain could catch up.

His smirk was sharp enough to cut. “Careful, Elena. I like a woman with claws.”

My throat tightened. “You don’t even know me.”

“Oh, I know enough.” His gaze dropped, slow, deliberate, tracing my curves like he already had me stripped bare. “And I know I want to know more.”

My heart stuttered. “You don’t even—”

“Stop.” His voice turned lethal, soft but absolute. “You talk too much when you’re scared.”

I froze. Because damn it, he was right.

His tie loosened with one flick of his wrist, silk sliding through his fingers, and suddenly my brain went offline.

“What are you—”

“Testing limits.” His words brushed over me, smooth and dangerous. “Take off your clothes.”

My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, princess.” His tone left no room for misunderstanding.

And maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the rage simmering under my skin from earlier tonight. Maybe it was the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle he’d already solved. But my trembling hands went to the zipper of my dress anyway.

The fabric slid off my shoulders, pooling at my feet, and his sharp inhale sliced through the silence.

He cursed in Italian—low, raw, reverent.

And unfortunately for him, I understood every damn word.

But I wasn’t about to let him know that.

Lucian’s jaw flexed, his eyes dragging over me with the kind of hunger that made my skin burn. “Christ, Elena…” His voice cracked on my name like it was too heavy, too dangerous.

And then his tie was around my wrists, binding them gently but firmly.

“Wait—” My breath hitched.

He paused, his hand cupping my jaw, thumb brushing the edge of my mouth. “Are you sure?”

I hated that he asked. Hated that he gave me an out. Because now I couldn’t blame the alcohol. I couldn’t blame my humiliation. This was me. Choosing this.

“Yes,” I whispered, hating how needy it sounded.

His smirk returned, darker now. “Then kneel.”

My pulse jumped into overdrive. My brain screamed that this was reckless, stupid, insane. But my knees bent anyway, the carpet cool against my skin as I sank down in front of him, wrists tied, vision spinning.

And for the first time that night, it wasn’t Adrian’s betrayal I was thinking about.

It was Lucian.

The man who was about to ruin me.