Seeds of doubt

Georgia never let silence linger too long. She entered Lucien’s study with her usual confidence, heels tapping softly against the floor, carrying the faintest trace of her perfume.

This time, she didn’t ask where he had been. She already knew he wasn’t in his room that night, and she had filed that away like a weapon. Now, she came to sharpen it.

“Lucien,” she said smoothly, her voice low and coaxing. “You’re quieter than usual. I suppose… exhaustion will do that.”

His jaw tightened at the suggestion, but he didn’t bite. He only poured himself a drink, the glass clinking faintly.

Georgia stepped closer, her crimson nails brushing against his desk. “I saw her, you know. Maya. The way she avoids your gaze, the way she trembles when you’re near. You think that’s fear? No. That’s want.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped up at that. She smiled, slow and deliberate.

“She’s clever, I’ll give her that. Hiding it behind lowered lashes, scurrying like a mouse in corners. But women like her… they watch. They wait. And when the moment comes, they take it.”

Her words curled around him, poisonous and sweet. Lucien didn’t respond, but the flicker in his eyes told her she had struck somewhere raw.

Georgia leaned closer, her smile sharpened. “You think you lost control, Lucien? Maybe she made you.”

Maya’s hands were raw from scrubbing the dining hall’s marble floor, though she barely noticed the sting. All she could feel was the memory of Lucien’s eyes on her earlier, dark and searching, his words laced with something more than command.

“You were with me last night.”

She had nearly collapsed under the weight of it. He knew. Or he suspected. And if he suspected, others might too. She had thought the drug would make him forget. She had seen what a drug like that could do.

Her father often used it on women he was trying to make into whores. he would drug them and then video them. by the time they came to, they wouldn't remember a thing, but the video was always there to show them what had occurred, as a form of blackmail . Maybe the drug Georgia had given Lucien was a different type of drug.

The sound of footsteps broke her thoughts. Maya looked up just as Georgia entered, sweeping through the room like she owned the air itself. The older woman’s eyes flicked over her once, sharp as glass, before settling on the polished floor.

“Good,” Georgia said lightly. “At least you’re useful for something.”

Maya lowered her head, whispering, “Yes, signora.”

Georgia lingered longer than necessary, her gaze deliberate. “Though I wonder… how long before usefulness turns into ambition?”

Maya’s chest tightened. She didn’t respond, not trusting her voice. Georgia smiled faintly at her silence, as if it confirmed everything she already believed. Then she left, leaving Maya trembling in her wake.

For the first time since she entered the Santoro house, Maya felt not just fear, but the creeping sense of being hunted.

Lucien remained in his office long after Georgia’s departure, the taste of her words bitter in his mouth. He hated her games, her veiled accusations. And yet, what unsettled him most was not her malice, it was that she might not be entirely wrong.

He remembered Maya’s breathless gasp, the way she had clung to him, her body answering his as though it had always belonged there. Was it only the drug that drove him? Or had she wanted it too?

The uncertainty infuriated him. He didn’t question himself. Not in business. Not in war. And yet here he was, doubting.

When Maya finally entered the study with a tray of fresh ledgers, her steps hesitant, Lucien’s gaze locked onto her immediately. She froze, knuckles white around the tray.

“Set it down,” he ordered.

She obeyed, keeping her eyes down.

“Look at me, Santoro.”

Her lashes lifted slowly, revealing wide, dark eyes filled with nerves. Lucien studied her in silence, searching for cracks, for guilt, for desire.

His voice dropped to a murmur. “Tell me, was it me who lost control? Or you who wanted it?”

Her lips parted, breath caught, but no words came. Lucien leaned back, watching her with cold precision, while her silence screamed louder than any denial.

That night, Maya sat in her small room, her head buried in her hands. His question wouldn’t stop echoing. Was it me who lost control, or you who wanted it?

She had no answer. Because the truth, the one she couldn’t even admit to herself, was tangled. She hadn’t wanted it to happen, but when it did, she hadn’t stopped him. Her body had betrayed her, surrendering to him, even while her mind screamed no.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she forced them back. Crying was weakness, and weakness was dangerous here.

Meanwhile, in her chambers, Georgia poured herself a glass of red wine, satisfaction warming her like fire. She could feel the tension tightening between Lucien and Maya, the cracks spreading wider with every word she whispered into his ear.

She tilted the glass, watching the deep crimson swirl. “Soon,” she murmured to the empty room, lips curving into a predator’s smile.

In another part of the house, Lucien stood at his window, cigar burning low between his fingers, staring into the darkness. Georgia’s words and Maya’s silence battled in his mind.

And for the first time in years, Lucien Santoro felt uncertainty gnawing at his control.