CHAPTER THREE: The First Encounter—Eyes That Burn

I delete the text.

Then I stare at my phone like it might explode. The smart thing, the safe thing, is to pretend I never got it. Stay in my lane. Follow the rules that Ms. Chen laid out like commandments.

But curiosity has always been my weakness.

I slip my phone into my pocket and open my door, peeking into the hallway. Empty. Silent except for the whisper of air conditioning through vents I can't see. Everything in this house is hidden. The mechanics, the help, the truth.

The east wing calls to me like a dare.

I shouldn't go. I know I shouldn't. But my feet are already moving, carrying me down the west wing hallway, back toward the landing where the staircase splits. Left is forbidden. Left is where Adrian said not to go.

Left is exactly where I'm headed.

The east wing feels different. Darker, somehow, even though the afternoon light streams through the same massive windows. The air tastes richer here, expensive. Like leather and cedar and something else I can't name. Something that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

Last door on the left, he said.

I count them as I pass. One. Two. Three. Each one closed, hiding whatever secrets live behind them. Four. Five. My heart hammers against my ribs, loud enough that I'm sure someone will hear it and come investigate.

The last door stands slightly ajar.

I raise my hand to knock, then freeze. What am I doing? Meeting a stranger who texted me from an unknown number? A stranger who's supposed to be my stepbrother? This is how horror movies start.

"You came."

The voice slides through the gap in the door, low and rough, and something in my stomach flips. Not fear. Something worse.

I push the door open.

The room is massive, all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A desk sits near the window, papers scattered across it like he left in a hurry. But I barely register any of that because there's a man standing by the window, backlit by the afternoon sun, and my brain short-circuits.

He's tall. That's the first thing I notice. At least six-two, with shoulders that fill out his black t-shirt in a way that makes my mouth go dry. Dark hair, slightly too long, falls across his forehead. But it's when he turns, when his eyes land on me, that everything stops.

Blue-gray. Storm-colored. And focused on me with an intensity that steals my breath.

"You're Aria." It's not a question. His voice wraps around my name like he's tasting it, testing it on his tongue.

I can't speak. Can't move. Can't do anything but stare at Lucian Hayes and feel something fundamental shift inside me.

He's beautiful. Devastatingly, dangerously beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with symmetry and everything to do with presence. There's something predatory in the way he watches me, like I'm prey that wandered into his territory and he's deciding whether to chase or devour.

"You're not what I expected," he says, taking a step closer.

I find my voice, barely. "What did you expect?"

"Someone ordinary." Another step. "Someone forgettable." His eyes rake over me, and I feel it like a physical touch. "You're neither."

Heat floods my face. I should leave. Every instinct except one is screaming at me to run. But that one instinct, the loudest one, is rooted to the floor, drinking him in like water after a drought.

"You texted me," I manage. "About rules."

Something dark flashes across his face. "Rules. Yes." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Rule number one: stay away from me."

I blink. "What?"

"At school, in this house, everywhere. We're strangers. We don't talk. We don't look at each other. We definitely don't—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching so hard I see the muscle jump.

"We definitely don't what?"

He moves fast. One second he's by the window, the next he's right in front of me, close enough that I can smell him. Cedar and something spicy, something that makes my head spin. His eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide, and I watch his chest rise and fall with harsh breaths.

"This," he growls. "We don't do this."

"I don't understand."

"You will." His hand lifts, hovering near my face but not quite touching. I can feel the heat of his palm, the tremor in his fingers. "At the wedding tonight, when everyone's watching, I need you to pretend you don't feel it."

"Feel what?" My voice comes out breathless.

His eyes drop to my mouth, and something pulls tight in my stomach. "The pull. The draw. Whatever the hell this is between us." He leans in, and I stop breathing entirely. His lips brush my ear, and I shiver. "Because if my father sees it, if anyone sees it, we're both finished."

"I just met you." But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. Something in me recognizes him, knows him, wants him in a way that defies logic.

"I know." He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and what I see there terrifies me. Hunger. Desperation. Barely leashed control. "Believe me, I know how insane this is. But you feel it too. Don't lie to me."

I should lie. Should laugh it off and walk away and forget this conversation ever happened.

"I feel it," I whisper instead.

The confession hangs between us like a lit match dropped in gasoline. Lucian's eyes flash, and for a heartbeat, I think he's going to kiss me. I think I'm going to let him.

Instead, he steps back so fast he nearly stumbles. "The wedding starts in two hours. My father wanted it quick, quiet, no fuss. But everyone who matters in his world will be there." His voice is strained, rough. "They'll be watching you. Judging you. Waiting for you to make a mistake."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because…" He drags a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. "Because you walked into a trap, Aria. You and your mother both. My father doesn't do anything without a reason, and whatever his reason for marrying her, for bringing you here, it's not love."

Ice slides down my spine. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying be careful. Be smart. And for God's sake, stay away from me." He moves to the door, holding it open. A clear dismissal. "Especially at the wedding. When I look at you, when everyone's watching, you need to look away. Can you do that?"

No. Every cell in my body screams no. "Yes."

"Liar," he says softly, and there's something almost like pain in his voice. "Go. Before someone realizes you're here."

I force my feet to move, to carry me past him, through the door. I can feel his eyes on me, burning into my back, and it takes everything I have not to turn around.

"Aria."

I stop, hand on the doorframe.

"Tonight, when I walk into that reception, when our eyes meet for the first time in front of everyone..." He pauses, and I hear him exhale slowly. "It's going to be impossible. You need to know that."

I don't ask what he means. I already know.

I've felt impossible since the moment I walked into his room.

I flee back to the west wing, my heart racing, my skin too tight, my mind spinning with questions I don't have answers to. What just happened? What is this pull between us? And why does Lucian Hayes, who I met ten minutes ago, feel like the most dangerous and necessary thing I've ever encountered?

In my room, I lean against the closed door and try to catch my breath.

My phone buzzes.

I meant what I said. Stay away from me. It's the only way to keep you safe.

I stare at the message, then type: Safe from what?

The response comes immediately: From me.