CHAPTER FIVE

Zara’s POV

I sat frozen on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, the shadows of my past still clawing at me like ghosts that refused to stay buried. My father’s voice echoed in my head—“If you’re too soft, you die.” I had spent years becoming untouchable. Cold. Calculated. No one, not even the people closest to me, knew what happened the night I watched a man die at just seven years old. I’d buried that secret beneath layers of silk, sarcasm, and sharpened heels. But now… now someone had dug it up. Lucien. How the hell did he know? I hadn’t even spoken the name of that man in years. I burned the photos. I wiped the trail clean. So how? Was it that bitch he is seeing? One of my father’s old men? Did he pay someone to spy on me? My skin itched. My breath turned shallow. He was something else entirely—an enemy who didn’t fire shots but played with silence… and secrets. And if he had this? What else did he know?

I used to believe I was born cold.

But I wasn’t.

I was made that way.

I still remember the smell of iron—metallic and wet—the night my childhood ended. I was only seven. My hands still small enough to hold a doll, but instead, they were clenched into tight fists, shaking as blood pooled on the white marble floor of our compound.

“Watch,” my father growled.

I didn’t want to. I cried and begged and turned my face away, but one of his men gripped my chin and forced it toward the scene.

The man on the ground was pleading, sobbing, screaming for mercy.

My father—Don Castello, the lion of Port Lero—fired a bullet right between his eyes. I screamed. He looked at me, disappointed.

“If you ever want to lead, you must never flinch.”

That night, he threw my pink dollhouse into the fireplace. The flames crackled as I screamed for it. The next day, he bought me mission games, toy guns, books on strategy, and a puzzle of a battlefield. That was his idea of parenting.

So no—I wasn’t born ruthless.

He built me that way.

The present came crashing back as I stood in the grand hallway of Lucien’s home—our supposed home. My fists clenched at my sides, memories swirling in my head like smoke choking me.

Lucien stood at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, jaw tight, muscles tense under his black shirt. His veins popped slightly under the pressure of his restraint.

“You think you can embarrass me at dinner and walk away unscathed?” he said coldly.

I didn’t flinch. “I didn’t ask to be married. And I didn’t ask for you to look like you wanted to f*ck your side piece in public.”

His jaw twitched.

“Keep Vanessa out of your mouth,” he warned.

I laughed. “What? I thought you enjoyed seeing me flirt. The way your eyes burned when that man whispered in my ear… if you weren’t such a coward, you would’ve dragged me out sooner.”

Lucien took one step closer.

I stood my ground.

“Say that again,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You heard me. You’re just mad I didn’t choose you to play with tonight.”

That did it.

He stormed forward, closing the distance in seconds. Before I could blink, I slapped him—hard.

The sound cracked in the silence.

His head turned slightly from the force, but his gaze remained locked on mine—stormy, furious, unblinking.

Then, in one swift move, he grabbed me by the waist and slammed me against the wall.

I gasped, but not out of fear.

His hand wrapped gently but firmly around my throat—not squeezing, just holding. Like a warning. His body pressed into mine, firm and overwhelming.

We didn’t move.

We just breathed.

The tension between us was electric. Violent. Sensual. Wrong.

Lucien’s face was inches from mine, his breath hot against my skin.

“You think you scare me?” I whispered.

“No,” he replied, voice low. “But you piss me off.”

“Good.”

His eyes flicked down to my lips. For a moment, I thought he would kiss me.

But he didn’t.

He leaned in, brushing his cheek near mine. “You’re used to men falling at your feet. I’m not them.”

“I know,” I whispered, my pulse betraying me.

He released me suddenly, like the contact burned him. I stumbled slightly, breath shallow.

“You better get your act together, wife,” he said sharply. “Because this game you’re playing? I always win.”

He walked away without looking back.

I stood frozen against the wall, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, heat crawling under my skin where his fingers had touched.

I hated him.

But my body hadn’t gotten the memo.

Lucien’s POV

She slapped me.

No one has ever dared to do that.

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve reminded myself that she was just a spoiled brat in red lipstick and venom. But instead, I touched her. Held her throat. Let the darkness crawl through my veins because for the first time in my life… I didn’t want control. I wanted chaos.

And Zara is chaos.

The way she looked at me when I pressed her against the wall—half defiant, half aroused—nearly snapped the last thread of my restraint. I saw it. Felt it. She didn’t fear me. She was daring me.

And for a split second, I almost gave in.

I should’ve kissed her.

No. That would’ve been too easy.

I can’t fall into her games.

Later that night, I sat in the study, the dim light of a glass of whiskey casting amber shadows across my desk.

My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

The way her chest rose and fell under my hand. The heat of her skin. The spark in her eyes when I threatened her…

Was I going mad?

Before I could think further, my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

I frowned and picked it up.

“Lucien.” A voice I hadn’t heard in years.

Cold. Familiar.

“Who is this?”

“Tell your wife that Jace is back in town.”

My blood ran cold.

He wasn’t the kind of man to walk blindly into fire of course he knew who jace was— and Zara Black was a goddamn inferno. Beautiful, arrogant, unpredictable. She was chaos dressed in couture. And he wasn’t about to let that chaos burn him alive. So, he did what he did best, he did his research beforehe married her — he hunted. Quietly. Meticulously. He pulled strings, activated contacts, paid off disgruntled ex-employees, and followed digital breadcrumbs she thought she’d erased. It became his mission — not just to know her, but to own the very truth she tried to bury. Every whisper. Every scar. Every secret. If he was going to share a name with her, he needed to know exactly who the hell she was. And what he found? Was darker than he ever imagined. But instead of fear, all it did was light a fire in his chest. Now, it’s a game, he thought. And I never lose.

“Zara’s ex?” I asked, voice sharp.

A laugh. “She didn’t tell you? I’m not just her ex. I’m her first love. Her first everything.”

The line went dead.

I stood frozen.

What the fuck was he doing back?

And why now?