Still, I Stayed

Alora's Pov

The car ride is quiet but not peaceful. It's the kind of silence that presses on your chest, the kind you share with someone you once loved and no longer know how to reach.

Lucien's hand rests over mine. For a heartbeat, I forget the contract and the threats. I only notice the tension in his jaw, like he is bracing himself too.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

His fingers thread through mine, anchoring me. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t sound like a monster right now. He sounds like the boy who used to stand between me and the rain, shielding me with nothing but a stubborn kind of care.

Then the SUV door opens and the air buzzes with camera clicks and shouts. My name comes from a hundred mouths at once, demanding answers about the photo, about who I really am. It feels like stepping into a battlefield with a target on my back.

"Remember, Lo," he says softly. "You are my fiancée. Act like it."

He steps out first, then pulls me into his side. His arm a solid, protective wall against the surge of the crowd. For one terrifying second, I feel safe; and that is the scariest part. That I can still feel safe with him.

We reach the stairs, and the noise thickens. They aren't whispering about the photo anymore; they are talking about the blood on my name.

“How can he touch her?” someone sneers as we pass. “She's a crime scene in heels.”

Lucien stops, a statuesque billionaire protecting his prize, letting the cameras have their fill. I feel the heat crawl up my neck and I try to pull my hand away, but his fingers tightens.

“Stay with me."

Suddenly, a reporter breaks through the perimeter of the security detail thrusting a microphone toward us, his eyes hungry for a headline.

“Mr. Vale! Lucien!” the reporter shouts. “The city is still reeling from the death of your father. How can you announce a marriage to the sister of the man responsible for that? Is this love, or a twisted kind of penance?”

The room goes deathly silent. Even the violins falter. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for Lucien to push me over.

Lucien turns, pulling me hard against his chest. His voice is calm and devastatingly sincere.

“Fair question. My father’s death is a tragedy that changed me forever. George Blackwood’s actions are something the courts are still deciding.”

He looks at me.

“But I refuse to believe that a woman should be buried alive for the sins of her brother. Alora is not a murderer. She is a woman who has lost just as much as I have. If I, the man who lost a father, can find it in my heart to see the person she is, not the shadow she was born into, then why can’t this city?”

The room shifts. I feel it. He looks back at the cameras, his jaw set in a line of noble defiance.

“I’m not marrying a name. I’m marrying a woman I’ve known since we were children. This isn't penance," he finishes. "It’s the only way I know how to turn hate into a future.”

Applause follows. Soft. Then louder. He just turned the narrative from a scandal into a "star-crossed" tragedy. Making himself the hero of his own grief.

Inside, the lights soften. Champagne and lilies blur together. Lucien’s hand slides to my waist.

That’s when I see it.

A dark smear of dried blood along his palm; my sleeve’s twin. The mess he never cleaned. I can feel the tension radiating off him as he scans the room, managing a thousand scenarios.

"I have another perfect thing for the press," he mutters, pleased.

I don't like that look.

Then I see Marcel.

By the bar, flawless in a charcoal tuxedo. He looks like the boy who makes me laugh nine years ago, the only boy who knew my favourite colour. Only he is hardened now; by time and distance.

My breath hitches as my heart drops into my stomach. It can’t be.

I search Lucien’s face for malice, but he just looks... happy with the easy warmth of an old friend.

"Marcel!" Lucien calls out. The music seems to fade, and a few heads turn. "You made it."

Marcel looks up. His eyes, the warm, honest brown eyes I still remember, land on Lucien first, then at my hand. On the engagement ring.

But before he can speak, the heavy ballroom doors burst open. The buzz of the cameras outside intensifies.

Leyla walks in. She's stunning in an ice-blue gown that clings to her curves. She looks fierce, like she’s ready to burn the whole building down.

I grip Lucien’s arm, my fingers digging into his suit jacket. "Lucien, what are you doing?" I whisper, my voice trembling. "Please, don't do this."

He just squeezes my hand, a silent command to stay still. Then steps forward, pulling me with him into the centre of the floor. The press begins to cluster like vultures.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he starts, and the room falls into a hush. "I know there has been some... confusion today."

He looks at Leyla, then back at the crowd, his expression softening.

"My fiancée, Alora, is lucky enough to have a sister..." a deliberate pause. "A twin sister who would do anything for her. And today, Leyla was simply spending time with a very old friend of ours." He gestures toward Marcel. "Marcel just returned from Europe, and Leyla was the first to welcome him home."

He laughs, a small, charming sound that makes the room breathe a sigh of relief. "They look so much alike, it’s a wonder I didn't get confused myself."

The crowd laughs with him. The scandal is gone, replaced by a heartwarming story of twins and old friends.

"In fact," Lucien continues, taking my hand and holding it up for all to see, the diamond catching the light. "I am the luckiest man in the world tonight. My fiancée, Alora, and I are simply thrilled to have our family and friends here to celebrate our future."

His eyes searches for mine as he leans in, his forehead resting against mine.

"See?" he whispers. "I’ve took care of it. You're a Vale now.”

I stare at him, my mind a chaotic mess of gratitude and terror. He thinks he has saved me. He thinks he put the world back in its place.

I look over at Marcel. He's talking to Leyla now. The man who has loved me since summer camp, the man who knows every detail about me, is being treated like a guest, not a threat.

And Lucien has no idea he just invited my past to destroy our future.