Chapter Six: Spoiled

(Third Person's Limited –Lucien POV)

Lucien said nothing as he walked, Noah slung over his shoulder like some defiant little cargo. The boy squirmed, of course — legs kicking, voice muffled by the fabric of Lucien’s shirt — but it didn’t matter. Not one bit.

Control wasn’t loud.

It was effortless.

And right now, Lucien felt it burning in his palms.

He reached the door to Noah’s room, pushed it open with one hand, and stepped in like he owned the air itself. Because he did.

Noah was dropped onto his feet—gently, but with intent. Like a line had been drawn.

The boy stumbled a little but caught himself, that stupidly pretty face twisted in defiance.

“What the fuck,” Noah hissed, brushing off his thighs like he’d been tossed into a pit. “Did you just call me yours back there?”

Lucien didn’t blink. “I did.”

Noah’s brows shot up. “Are you high on your own ego or just going through a villain phase?”

Lucien stepped closer. “I own you now, Noah.”

Noah let out a dry laugh. “You don’t get to say shit like that just because I work for you. You’re not—this isn’t medieval times, you smug wall of muscle—”

“I didn’t say you were an employee.”

Lucien’s voice was quiet. Almost amused.

“But I did say you’re mine.”

That silenced him.

Lucien watched, head tilted slightly. Studying the way Noah’s mouth parted — like he wanted to argue, but the words failed to line up.

“You hacked me,” Lucien said softly, stepping closer. “You disrespected my men. You challenge me with every breath you take in my house. And yet, I’ve let you live here. I let you talk. I let you mouth off. You think I’d tolerate that from anyone else?”

Noah swallowed, jaw clenched. His voice was quieter now. “No.”

Lucien leaned in, slow and deliberate, until they stood barely a breath apart. His next words ghosted against Noah’s cheek:

“Exactly. So the next time someone raises a hand to you, they better pray I’m not in the room. Because no one touches what’s mine.”

Noah’s breath hitched.

Lucien could hear it. Feel it.

They were too close now. Close enough that he could see the shimmer of confusion flickering behind Noah’s sarcasm. Close enough to smell that faint trace of mint gum the boy always seemed to chew.

Lucien’s fingers twitched at his side.

He wanted to touch him. Not violently. Not even possessively. Just touch.

But he didn’t.

Because if he did, he wouldn’t stop.

And he couldn’t afford to blur that line. Not yet.

Noah broke first.

He turned away with a breath that sounded almost shaky. “You’re insane,” he muttered, retreating toward the bed. “Like full-on therapy-needed insane.”

Lucien smirked.

“Perhaps. But you’re still here.”

Noah didn’t answer.

He climbed onto the bed and turned his back to him, clearly done with the conversation.

Lucien lingered a moment longer, watching the subtle rise and fall of Noah’s shoulders.

Then he left, closing the door behind him without a sound.

__

Later That Night

Lucien sat alone in his study, one hand cradling a half-finished glass of wine, the other navigating a remote.

Security feeds lit the wall in grayscale — corners of his domain frozen in stillness.

And then there he was.

Noah.

Tangled in sheets, breathing soft and rhythmic. Legs sprawled like he owned the mattress. A tiny frown still curved on his lips, even in sleep.

Lucien leaned forward.

Watched him.

He should’ve broken him by now. Should’ve installed a tracker in his laptop, locked the doors tighter, assigned a guard to follow him like a shadow.

But he hadn’t.

Because somewhere along the way, breaking him stopped feeling satisfying.

Lucien lifted the glass to his lips.

The screen flickered with Noah’s soft body curling deeper into the blankets.

“What the fuck are you doing to me…” Lucien whispered.

He didn’t blink for a long time.

_

Lucien didn't sleep.

He told himself it was the paperwork. The business. The loose ends in the Czech operation. But his fingers never moved beyond the rim of his wine glass.

Noah’s sleeping form filled the screen.

And the seconds ticked by like a countdown.

__

The Next Morning

Lucien’s phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

Another buzz. A knock. Then the unmistakable creak of Red’s boots outside his door.

“Don’t,” Lucien warned without looking up.

The footsteps stopped.

He heard them retreat.

Good.

Lucien set the glass down with a sigh and finally rose. He didn’t bother fixing his hair or changing his black satin robe as he made his way to the penthouse.

When the elevator doors opened, he found Noah exactly where he expected him to be.

Sprawled on the floor. Again.

Surrounded by an empty mug, a half-eaten pastry he clearly stole from the second kitchen, and a beat-up tablet Lucien never authorized.

Lucien didn’t speak.

Noah noticed him anyway. “You’re up early. Or were you watching me breathe all night like a creep?”

Lucien said nothing. Just walked in.

“You know,” Noah added, “most normal people use alarms. But I guess when you’re a walking Bond villain—”

Lucien plucked the tablet from his hand mid-sentence.

Noah blinked. “Rude.”

“This isn’t secure.”

“Neither is your haircut, but here we are.”

Lucien turned the tablet over in his palm. It was a cheap, outdated thing. Probably scavenged from one of the lesser-used tech rooms.

“Stop eating that. You keep disobeying me.” His tone was flat. But something beneath it crackled like a wire about to short.

“I don’t remember signing your behavior manual.” Noah stood, brushing pastry crumbs off his shirt. “Also, if you’re about to do that whole ‘I could kill you’ speech again, maybe spice it up this time. Throw in a haiku or something.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed.

He stepped forward.

Noah stepped back. But only once.

“I said stop.”

Noah popped a leftover crumb in his mouth. Chewed with exaggerated slowness. “Make me.”

Lucien’s hand twitched at his side. For a second—just a second—he thought about pinning Noah to the floor. Making him stay down. Forcing obedience. He had every reason to.

But instead…

He stepped closer. Until the space between them crackled with invisible wire.

Noah’s breath caught.

Good.

Lucien leaned in—close enough to speak into the curve of his neck. “You really want me to lose control?”

Noah didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat bobbed once. Twice.

Lucien reached out—not to strike, but to slide two fingers under Noah’s chin and tilt his head up.

Noah looked at him like he didn’t know whether to run or lean in.

Lucien smirked. There it is.

That moment. That flicker of vulnerability under the sarcasm. That space between command and collapse.

It was addictive.

Lucien let go.

Turned.

Walked away.

He didn’t even look back as he said over his shoulder, “Clean yourself up. You’ve got a job to do today.”

He disappeared through the door.

__

Hours Later – Back in His Study

Lucien lit a cigarette he didn’t want.

Watched the footage again. Noah, standing still under his touch. Noah, eyes wide, breath shallow. Noah, silent.

He rewound the moment. Again. Again.

Not because he needed reassurance.

But because for a heartbeat, Lucien had felt calm.

Not powerful. Not superior. Calm.

And that was far more terrifying.

Because control meant structure. Balance. Power.

But need?

Need makes men weak. Need made kings fall.

Lucien exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the frozen frame of Noah’s face.

“I’m not falling for you,” he said aloud to the empty room. “I’m training you.”

The silence didn’t argue.

But it also didn’t agree.