Chapter Four: The Breath of A Secret

​The sound of the doorknob turning was a mechanical death knell. In the suffocating darkness of the master suite, time didn't just slow down; it curdled. Elena’s heart wasn't beating; it was thundering, a frantic, rhythmic percussion against her ribs that she was certain Julian would hear the moment he stepped inside.

​Lucas didn't panic. His calm was almost more terrifying than the threat of discovery. With the grace of a shadow, he rolled off the bed, his bare feet hitting the plush rug without a sound. In one fluid motion, he snatched his shirt from the floor and slid beneath the massive, silk-skirted frame of the Victorian-style bed. He vanished into the darkness just as the door creaked open.

​Elena scrambled to pull the duvet over her nakedness, her skin still slick and flushed from Lucas’s touch. She threw her head back against the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut, praying the darkness would hide the frantic rise and fall of her chest.

​The light from the hallway spilled into the room in a long, sharp golden rectangle. Julian stood in the doorway, his silhouette imposing and rigid. He didn't turn on the overhead lights Julian hated waste but the dim glow was enough to illuminate the disarray of the room.

​"Elena?" his voice was a low rumble. "Why are you asleep so early? And why is the door unlocked?"

​Elena forced her eyes open, squinting against the light. She tasted Lucas on her lips. She felt the cooling dampness of their shared heat between her thighs. The guilt was a physical weight, pressing the air out of her lungs.

​"Julian," she managed to say, her voice sounding thick and sleep-laden a miracle of adrenaline-fueled acting. "I had a migraine. The lights... they were too much. I must have forgotten the lock."

​Julian stepped into the room. Every footfall felt like a hammer blow. He walked toward the bed, his shadow stretching across the silk sheets. Elena held her breath, her entire body vibrating with the knowledge that Lucas was less than twelve inches beneath her, tucked into the shadows where Julian’s polished leather shoes now stood.

​Julian sat on the edge of the mattress. The bed groaned under his weight, the frame dipping. Elena felt a jolt of pure terror. If Lucas moved, if he breathed too loudly, if a stray thread of his clothing caught Julian’s eye, her life would end in a spray of glass and scandal.

​"A migraine?" Julian reached out, his hand cold as he placed it on her forehead. "You feel warm, Elena. Your skin is damp."

​"It’s just the fever from the pain," she lied, her voice a fragile thread. "I took something for it. I just need to sleep it off."

​Julian’s hand didn't move. It slid down from her forehead, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw the exact same spot Lucas had claimed only minutes before. The irony was a knife in her gut. "You should be more careful. With Lucas in the house, we can’t have doors left open. He has no respect for boundaries. I caught him lingering near the study earlier."

​Elena’s hand clutched the duvet tighter under the covers. Below her, she heard the faintest, almost imperceptible sound the sound of Lucas shifting his weight. To her, it sounded like a landslide.

​"Go to sleep, Julian," she whispered, desperate to end the moment. "You have a big day tomorrow."

​"I do," he sighed, finally retracting his hand. "But I think I'll shower first. This city air feels like filth on my skin."

​Julian stood up and walked toward the master bathroom. The sound of the heavy door closing and the subsequent hiss of the high-pressure shower provided the first moment of oxygen Elena had had in eternity.

​Immediately, Lucas slid out from under the bed. He didn't look shaken. In the dim light, he looked like a god of mischief. He stood up, naked to the waist, his muscles gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. He didn't rush to the door. Instead, he leaned over Elena, his face inches from hers.

​"That was close," he whispered, his eyes dancing with a dangerous, dark thrill.

​"Get out," she hissed, her eyes darting toward the bathroom door where the light shimmered through the frosted glass. "Lucas, please. If he finds you"

​"He won't," Lucas said. He reached out, his hand bold and possessive, sliding under the covers to find the curve of her waist. He squeezed, a bruising, reminder of what they had just done. "But remember this, Elena. You’re lying to him in his own bed. You’re mine now. Every time he touches you, you’ll feel me."

​He leaned down and pressed a hard, biting kiss to her collarbone a mark that would surely bruise. Then, with a wink that made her blood run cold, he slipped out the bedroom door and into the hallway shadows just as the shower noise cut off.

​The next hour was a slow-motion torture. Julian emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, smelling of clinical soap and mint. He climbed into the bed, the very spot where Lucas had been lying. He didn't try to be intimate ,Julian was rarely interested in her pleasure but he draped a heavy, proprietary arm over her waist.

​Elena lay there, stiff as a board, staring at the ceiling. The silence of the house was absolute, yet it felt like the walls were screaming. She was trapped between two men: one who owned her by law, and one who was stealing her by fire.

​The next morning, the tension had reached a boiling point. Elena stayed in her room until she heard Julian’s car leave. She went down to the kitchen, needing coffee to steady her frayed nerves.

​Lucas was already there. He was sitting at the breakfast bar, wearing the navy silk shirt from the day before, unbuttoned at the top. He was sketching in a small charcoal book, his movements fluid and aggressive.

​"We can't do that again," Elena said, her voice shaking as she poured her coffee. "He almost caught us, Lucas. I can't live like this."

​Lucas didn't look up from his sketch. "You’re right. We can't do that again  in his bed. It’s too small. Too cramped." He finally looked up, his gaze searing. "But the studio has plenty of room. And the doors lock from the inside."

​"I'm serious, Lucas. This has to stop."

​"Tell your body that," he said, standing up and walking toward her. He took the coffee cup from her hand and set it on the counter. He backed her against the refrigerator, his hands pinning her wrists. "Tell your heart to stop racing when I walk into the room. Tell yourself you didn't love every second of the danger."

​He leaned in, his lips grazing her ear. "I’m going to the studio. I’m going to paint you. Not the 'Mrs. Vance' version. The real you. The one who moans when I touch that spot on her neck."

​He let go of her wrists and started to walk away, but stopped at the door. "Oh, and Elena? Check your neck in the mirror. You might want to wear a scarf today. I left a little something for my father to wonder about."

​Elena rushed to the hallway mirror. There, right on the sensitive skin above her collarbone, was a dark, purplish bruise ,a love bite that no amount of makeup could fully hide.

​Her heart plummeted. Today was the day of the Vance Foundation Garden Party. Over a hundred of the city's elite would be at the house in three hours, including Julian’s most observant rivals.

​The afternoon was a blur of high-society performance. Elena wore a high-necked floral dress and a wide-brimmed hat, the silk scarf tied artfully around her neck to hide Lucas’s mark. She floated through the crowd, playing the perfect hostess, while Lucas stood by the bar, dressed in the suit she had bought him, looking like a prince of rebellion.

​Julian was in his element, holding court near the rose bushes. He beckoned Elena over. "Darling, come here. I want you to meet Senator Higgins."

​As Elena walked toward them, she felt a hand on her elbow. It was Lucas.

​"You look beautiful, Elena," he said loudly enough for the Senator to hear. Then, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that made her knees tremble. "But that scarf is slipping. I can see the edge of the bruise. If you don't come to the studio in ten minutes, I might just tell the Senator how you got it."

​He let go and walked away, leaving Elena standing in the sunlight, her face pale. She looked at Julian, who was laughing at one of the Senator’s jokes, completely oblivious.

​The cliffhanger? Elena made an excuse and slipped away toward the woods, toward the studio. But as she reached the door, she heard a voice from the shadows of the trees.

​"It’s a bit far for a stroll, isn't it, Mrs. Vance?"

​It was Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper. She wasn't looking at the garden; she was looking directly at the scarf around Elena’s neck with eyes that knew exactly what lay beneath it.