C4 – THE PROPOSAL

C4 – THE PROPOSAL

Lucy walked behind the butler, her hands clenched tight. Her footsteps echoed softly against the gleaming marble, and although the house was a spectacle of luxury, the air felt thick.

The butler stopped in front of a large double door and, without looking at her, spoke in a deep, dry voice:

"The master is waiting for you."

He gave her a slight nod and walked away, without another word.

Lucy stood still in front of the door, feeling her heart pound against her chest like a caged animal. Inside, fear clawed its way up her throat, burning her tongue.

She wanted to run. She wished she hadn't come. But this was her only option. There was no turning back.

So she took a deep breath, once, twice. And her trembling hand rose and knocked on the door.

"Come in," a deep voice sounded from the other side.

And a shiver ran through her body. She told herself it was from tension, from fear... but also from what she knew: the man behind that door shared the same blood as her husband.

She turned the knob and entered.

And then she saw him.

Eros was standing by the window, his back to her—but when he turned... it was like electricity shot through her body. Tall. Dark-haired, tousled in an untamable way. His face was angular, sharply defined, with a shadow of stubble that gave him a wild edge. But what left her paralyzed were his eyes: gray, cold, like sharpened steel. There was something dangerous about him, something he couldn't—and wouldn't—hide.

"H-hello," she whispered. It was all that came out of her mouth.

Eros raised an eyebrow, surprised.

His brother had curious taste... Ezra's wife was trembling like a leaf, and yet there was something about her that immediately commanded attention. Maybe it was her palpable sweetness. Chestnut hair, honey-colored eyes that glowed under the light as if they were about to shatter into tears, pink and plump lips... And that small, delicate body, like something from another world.

Desire hit him brutally and instantly. He felt his cock strain hard against his pants, and that enraged him.

He moved.

He rose unhurriedly and circled the desk with slow steps, as if he had no rush but definitely had a purpose. Meanwhile, Lucy didn't dare move. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears; each of his steps made her tremble. And when he stopped in front of her, he was so close she could see the tiny freckles on her nose.

"Is that all you're going to say?" he asked, with a half-smile. "Hello?"

Eros's eyes cut through her, studying her as if he could read the secrets etched into her skin. She tried to hold his gaze but couldn't. She dropped her eyes, breathing raggedly. She felt naked, defenseless, without shelter.

"Come on, Lucy, speak. It's now or never. You can't keep running," she urged herself.

"I want you to protect me," she finally said, her voice barely a thread.

Eros frowned, as if he hadn't heard correctly, when she added:

"From your brother?"

Eros's expression shifted.

Suddenly, interest gleamed in his eyes. And he took a slow step, then another, circling her without taking his eyes off her. He stopped behind her, and his breath brushed her ear. She swallowed hard.

"Why would you want that?" he asked, as if he didn't need anything more than that closeness to make her talk.

Lucy stood still, but her body betrayed her: trembling breath, tense muscles, fear racing beneath her skin. His scent surrounded her—clean, masculine, dark.

"Because... because..." The words stumbled in her throat. "Because he... he abused me! Multiple times!"

Eros's body tensed instantly. He spun on his heel and stood in front of her again.

"What?" he growled, his voice rough, almost dangerous.

Lucy dropped her gaze, ashamed and on the verge of tears.

"He's... impotent. And since he can't... perform... with me... he used things..." The last word died in a whisper.

Eros clenched his fists.

Veins stood out on his arms. He was fighting himself not to explode.

"Are you telling me my brother raped you?"

Lucy didn't respond. She couldn't. Only a single tear slid down her cheek.

"He was angry... he blamed me. He said I didn't excite him. I... I tried to make it work. I swear I tried. I didn't know he was sick..."

Eros stared at her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. As if he didn't know what circle of hell he'd just stepped into.

"What happened that made you escape?" he finally asked, reining in the rage consuming him.

Lucy looked up, confused.

"What?"

"Besides that, chérie (darling)... what else happened? Why does Ezra want you dead?"

The French endearment disarmed her inside, but not enough to forget what was coming.

"I... I..." she whispered. "I hit him. I stabbed him with a knife. And then I ran."

Her body began to tremble, completely out of control. Remembering her pain was too much. She covered her face with her hands, and the sobs burst out without warning—violent, uncontrollable.

"I just... ran," she repeated, between cries.

Eros said nothing. But his eyes were fixed on her, on every tremor of her body. He breathed heavily. Fury boiled in his blood. But beyond the rage... something else was stirring in him. Something dangerous.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with everything left unsaid. Lucy was still trembling, the dried tears still marking her face.

Eros, for his part, watched her closely, but his mind was far away. What Lucy had just confessed didn't just disturb him—it pushed him into that dark place he'd kept sealed for so long.

Ezra.

His goddamn brother.

He'd always been a manipulative bastard, egotistical and power-hungry. For as long as he could remember, their relationship had been rotten. Competition, veiled betrayals, silent contempt. It hadn't surprised him when he heard Ezra had gotten married—just another move to bolster his public image.

Eros hadn't given it much thought at the time, but now he understood.

Now it all fit.

Ezra's explosive temper, his sick need for control, his resentment whenever anyone questioned his authority... It wasn't just sexual frustration. It was humiliation. Literal and figurative impotence. And Lucy had been the target of all of it.

When he looked at her again—her face red, her hands clenched into fists on her lap—something shifted inside him.

It wasn't desire. It wasn't compassion. It was something more... primal.

And Eros didn't like feeling that for anyone.

But there she was.

Shattered. Begging. Trusting him as if he were her only salvation.

And he was. Though she didn't know it yet.

Donatello's rejection echoed in his head again. He needed a wife. Not a romance, not a distraction—a respectable figure by his side.

And fate, with its usual irony, had dropped exactly who he needed at his doorstep—and he was going to take her.

Lucy's soft sobs pulled him from his thoughts, and he adjusted his emotions. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white linen handkerchief, extending it toward her with a slow, almost deliberate movement.

His gray eyes lost some of their hardness, though his voice still came out firm:

"Don't cry for him, belleza (beauty). Ezra doesn't deserve your tears."

Lucy looked at him in surprise.

There was sweetness in his words, a tenderness disguised beneath the sarcasm. She took the handkerchief with trembling hands, as if it were something too delicate to touch. She dried her face slowly, feeling the soft texture of the fabric against her skin.

Eros sighed, and his mind started racing again like a train without brakes. They were in the middle of chaos... but within the chaos, there was a way out.

An advantage.

He smiled—that cold smile that few people saw without trembling.

"Tell me something," he broke the silence again. "Why did you come to me? Why didn't you go to your family?"

Lucy swallowed hard. Panic still floated in her eyes.

"My family won't help me," she murmured. "If Ezra knows I'm there, he'll come for me. But here... here he wouldn't dare to step foot."

Eros leaned slightly toward her, analyzing every word. It wasn't just fear. It was certainty. She'd chosen his house because she believed Ezra would never cross that line. And she was right.

With a slow, almost gentle movement, he lifted her chin with two fingers. Her skin was warm and trembled under his touch.

"Why, belleza (beauty)? Why wouldn't he come?"

"Because... because he's afraid of you," she whispered. "I don't know what happened... he never talked much about you, but... I know it. He's afraid of you."

A spark lit in Eros's eyes.

He wouldn't admit it, but he liked hearing that. That even his brother recognized him as a man you didn't cross without consequences.

He stepped back from her, letting her breathe, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You're right," he said calmly. "Ezra and I are enemies. We have been ever since he stole my place as head of the family. But he didn't leave without scars. Have you seen them?"

Lucy nodded with a shiver.

"Then that gives you an idea of who I am," he added with a half-smile.

Lucy shook her head immediately. This man might be dangerous, but she trusted him. She didn't know why—but she did.

"I don't care," she said, her voice shaky but firm. "Just tell me if you'll help me or not."

Eros didn't hesitate.

"I just decided I will. But there's a price."

"Money?" she asked, confused. "I don't think you need it."

"No," he said, a twisted smile curling his lips. "But since you've come to my door... you'll be my first choice."

Lucy blinked, uncertain.

"What... what is it?"

Eros moved toward her again—for some reason, he couldn't stay away—leaned in, and his mouth brushed her ear:

"That you pretend to be my wife," he let his masculine breath wash over her, "...for the next six months."

She froze.

Her eyes widened; her mind struggled to process what she'd just heard.

And Eros, with a smile that mixed threat and desire, pulled back just slightly, but kept eye contact:

"That's my price, mon amour (my love)."

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