CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

ELENA

He pulled back.

The heat in his eyes dimmed like a flame snuffed out by a sudden gust. His hands loosened from my waist. His breath brushed my cheek once more—then nothing.

The air shifted. The tension that had crackled like a live wire dissolved, leaving me stupidly hanging against the wall with my chest heaving.

He stepped back like I was nothing more than a passing thought.

“Lucian—”

“Dinner’s cold,” he said, tone flat. Not a trace of what just happened lingered in his voice. Like he hadn’t just caged me between his body and the wall. Like I hadn’t just dared him in Italian.

My mouth opened but nothing came out. He straightened his sleeves, composed, elegant, untouchable. The mask slid back into place with surgical precision.

He walked to the dining table, sat, and picked up his fork. Just like that.

I stood there for a second, brain struggling to catch up.

Did I hallucinate that entire moment?

“Elena,” he said without looking up, “are you going to stand there all night or sit?”

I blinked, gathered the last strands of my dignity, and walked over. I sat opposite him, my knees still weak.

He cut into the chicken like it offended him. “You made this?”

“Yes.” My voice sounded too soft, too unsure.

He hummed—a low sound, neither impressed nor dismissive. He chewed, swallowed, then said, “It’s good.”

I almost choked. “Did you just… thank me?”

His gaze lifted slowly. “Don’t push it.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. This man could ruin me with a look, and yet a single half-hearted compliment had me glowing like an idiot.

We ate mostly in silence at first. But I kept sneaking glances at him. He was so composed, like that wall scene never happened. Meanwhile, my heart was still doing somersaults.

Halfway through the meal, he set his fork down. “Soon, we’ll be attending a charity gala.”

I perked up. “Gala?”

“Yes. Black tie. You’ll wear something decent. You’ll be on my arm. You’ll smile.”

My brows furrowed. “Like your—what? Date?”

He gave me a sharp look. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re my fiancée. People expect to see us together.”

The word fiancée still made my stomach twist. “So… this is going to be our thing? Galas and events?”

“Yes.” He leaned back, folding his arms. “There are multiple lined up this month. Charities. Fundraisers. Business dinners. You’ll attend every single one. You’ll look like you belong. You’ll act like you belong. Understood?”

My lips parted. “You mean like a real couple.”

He arched a brow. “You’re catching on.”

I tried not to smile but failed miserably. “I like this.”

“Of course you do,” he said dryly. “You enjoy being paraded.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t enjoy being paraded. I enjoy the power of being beside you.”

That made him pause—not for long, but I saw it. A flicker in his eyes. He didn’t respond, just picked up his glass of wine.

“I could be good at this,” I continued, leaning forward slightly. “Gala Elena. Charity Elena. The perfect fiancée everyone envies.”

“I don’t need perfect,” he cut in, voice like a blade. “I need obedient. I need you to show up, look the part, and not embarrass me.”

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to push back. Not now. Not when I was still learning his boundaries.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “I can do that.”

“Good.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood.

“That’s it?” I asked, incredulous.

“That’s it.”

He walked toward the hallway leading to his room. I turned in my seat, watching his tall, broad frame move with cold elegance.

“Lucian,” I called out.

He stopped, looked over his shoulder.

“Goodnight,” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

For a second, he said nothing. Then—“Goodnight, Elena.”

And just like that, he disappeared into his room, shutting the door with that quiet, final click that somehow echoed louder than any slam.

I stared at the empty space for a while.

The apartment was too big. Too quiet.

I cleaned the table, washed the dishes, my mind replaying that moment against the wall on a loop. The way he’d looked at me. The way he’d pulled back.

Part of me wanted to be angry. Another part… hated how much I craved that look again.

I went to my room, changed into my silk nightgown, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

He’d said “Goodnight.” He’d thanked me. He’d told me about his world, even if it was all business.

Baby steps.

Tomorrow, I’d be on his arm. I’d smile. I’d play the role he wanted—no, needed.

But tonight… I let myself whisper into the darkness, “You’ll give in eventually, Lucian.”