Chapter 5 – Whispers in the Dark

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The city night was restless, a shifting sea of headlights and murmurs that drifted through the towering glass of Lucien Vale’s penthouse. He stood alone in his office, a tumbler of amber whiskey untouched on his desk, his mind tangled in the storm Serena had left behind.

Triplets.

He hadn’t been able to focus since the gala. Every deal, every call, every meeting blurred into meaningless noise compared to the truth that now echoed in his skull. He had children—three of them—and Serena had kept them hidden.

A mix of anger and longing knotted in his chest. He didn’t know if he wanted to shake her for vanishing or pull her into his arms and demand to know everything.

But the one thing he knew? He wasn’t going to let her disappear again.

The quiet click of stilettos broke through his thoughts. Clara entered without knocking, her long black gown sweeping over the polished floor, the faint scent of jasmine announcing her presence before her voice did.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, her tone silky, but her eyes sharp as glass.

Lucien didn’t turn from the window. “I’ve been working.”

Clara circled his desk, her fingers trailing across the polished wood like a predator marking territory. “I saw the way you looked at her,” she murmured.

Lucien’s eyes flicked toward her, cold and unreadable. “At who?”

“That Omega at the gala.” Clara’s voice dripped with disdain. “The one who doesn’t belong here. The one who looked at you like you were the last man on earth.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” She tilted her head, studying him. “Because I’ve been promised a marriage, Lucien. A contract, a future. I won’t let some… outsider ruin that.”

Lucien moved from the window, the space between them shrinking. “This marriage is a transaction, Clara. Nothing more.”

Her smile was thin, a blade hidden in silk. “Transactions still have terms. And one of mine is exclusivity—both in public and behind closed doors.”

He almost laughed, but the sound would have been too bitter. “You have nothing to worry about,” he said, though the lie burned on his tongue.

Because he did worry—for Serena, for the children, for the inevitability of a collision between the two worlds he was trying to keep apart.

After Clara left, her perfume still lingering like a warning, Lucien sat at his desk and pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over Serena’s number—the one he had managed to find through a contact who owed him a favor.

He could call. Demand answers. Insist on seeing his children.

Instead, he typed a single message: We need to talk. Tomorrow.

**

On the other side of the city, Serena sat in the dim glow of her small kitchen, her hands curled around a cup of tea gone cold. The triplets were asleep in the next room, their soft breathing the only sound keeping her anchored.

Her phone buzzed.

She didn’t need to see the name to know who it was—his presence seemed to carry through even in silence. She read the message once, then twice.

Her chest tightened.

She wanted to ignore it. She wanted to pretend the gala hadn’t happened, that Lucien hadn’t looked at her with that mix of shock and possession. But some part of her—the part that remembered his voice against her skin, the warmth of his touch—refused to let go.

Her fingers hovered over the screen before she finally typed: One hour. Public place.

**

The next afternoon, they met at a quiet café tucked away from the main streets. Serena arrived first, sliding into a booth at the back, her coat pulled tightly around her.

When Lucien walked in, the air seemed to shift. He was in a dark suit, his presence a quiet storm. He didn’t sit immediately; instead, he stood at the edge of the table, studying her.

“You should have told me,” he said without preamble.

“I had my reasons,” she replied.

“I don’t care about your reasons. I care that I’ve missed years of their lives.”

“They’re not a trophy you can claim, Lucien,” Serena snapped. “They’re my children, and I will protect them from anything that threatens their stability. Including you.”

He leaned forward, his voice low. “I am not a threat to them. But I will not be a stranger in their lives.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the café’s quiet hum filling the space between their rapid heartbeats.

Then Lucien said, “I’m not leaving this city without seeing them.”

Serena’s breath caught, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she stood, pulling her coat tighter. “We’ll see.”

As she walked away, Lucien watched her go, the determination in his chest hardening into something unbreakable.

He would see them. And nothing—not Clara, not Serena’s walls—was going to stop him.

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