Chapter Five

Lucian's Pov

The house was way quiet when I walked in. Too quiet. My boots echoed across the marble floor. I looked down at my bloodstained shirt, and Mateo's word still lingered.

I was rolling up my sleeves when I heard the low murmur of voices coming from the sitting room. My stepmother didn’t entertain guests at this hour unless it was something serious—or dangerous.

I moved closer, walking silently. Her voice was calm, clipped. She stood backing me while talking to a man whose face was hidden beneath the shadows of his coat’s collar. 

"Have far have you gone? Rosaline, my stepmother asked. "Time is ticking, you do know that."

"I—" He lifted his eyes, and looked in my direction. I tried to hide but it was of no use. He'd seen me anyways.

Rosaline followed his eyes, and she turned. She frowned at me.

"You may leave." She said, and he slightly bowed before slipping out the back without a word.

I didn’t follow.

“Friend of yours?” I asked, walking in like I hadn’t just interrupted something suspicious.

Rosaline didn’t miss a beat, clearly angry that I had been eavesdropping. “Where have you been?”

“Handling a problem,” I said, pouring myself a drink. “A task you gave to me remember? I took a sip from my glass. "You’re welcome.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where are they?" Rosaline tilted her head to the side, hoping to see two men who were badly beaten up. "You were supposed to bring them in alive."

“They tried to kill me.” I retorted. "I acted in self defense."

“And you think that matters?” she snapped, stepping closer. “We needed them alive, Lucian. To find out who their boss is. I wanted names, not corpses.”

I took a slow sip. “They didn’t give me much of a choice when they almost put a bullet in my head.”

“You always have a choice,” she said coldly. “You just keep making the wrong ones.”

She walked to the bar cabinet, pulled open a drawer, and slapped a folder onto the table. A photo slid out of it. My stomach sank the moment I saw it.

Me and Jace.

Blurry, but clear enough to see what was happening. He was close, too close. My head was tilted toward him, like I was listening—or laughing. The club’s lights caught just enough to make it damning.

How did she get this? As always, she had someone watching me. My grip tightened around the glass in my hand.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, voice sharp with disbelief. “This is what you were doing when you were supposed to be working?”

I said nothing, just let her go on and on like she always did.

“Do you think this is a joke? Some fling you can sneak around with while I clean up your messes?”

My jaw tightened. “What I do with Jace is none of your business.”

"It is." She fired back. "I am your mother, don't forget what happened to the last time." Her words brought back memories that had taken a great deal to forget.

"You're my stepmother, so you'd better act like one and stop—"

She slapped me hard across the cheek.

Pain bloomed across my cheek, but I didn’t move. I stared at her, every muscle in my body coiled tight with anger.

“You forget who made you,” she said. “I gave you everything. Your name, your power, your place in this family. And this—this is how you want to repay me?”

I kept my voice level. “I never asked for any of this.”

"Your father ruined this empire." She tapped her chest repeatedly. "I made Moreau what it us today!

Her expression twisted. She turned, pulled another envelope from the drawer, and shoved it into my hand.

“A shipment’s arriving tomorrow at the southern docks. You’ll make sure the drugs are smuggled through clean. There must be no mistakes. No bodies this time around, all I want are results.”

I held the envelope but didn’t look at it. My pulse was still thudding from the slap, from the photo, from her voice cutting through me like broken glass.

She left without another word, leaving me all alone to wallow in my pain. 

I stayed in my wing, pacing. I should’ve been used to it by now—the control, the expectations, the constant reminders that I wasn’t free. But tonight, it all pressed down harder.

The photo. Her piercing words. Jace, his face still lingered in my thoughts.

I didn’t know what scared me more—Who she was using and how the person had found out where I was or how much it rattled me that she had.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I said to come in and one of my men stepped in. “Boss, just wanted to let you know we’ve replaced the cook. The last one quit—uh, said something about the house being cursed.”

I rolled my eyes. More like he was scared of Rosaline who smashed three ceramic plates on his head because he'd added a pinch of salt to her meal.

I raised an eyebrow. “And the new one? Who is he?”

He hesitated a bit before he replied. “You might want to see for yourself.” His reaction told me something was off.

That got my attention, making me wonder who it was.

I followed him out into the hallway, and into the kitchen where the new cook was. He had his back turned to me, but I recognized him either way. 

I had thought about him so much that I'd now imagined him being the new cook in my home.

"Mr Moreau is here." The man in my company informed him and he turned. I froze.

Standing there, looking both awkward and far too calm, was Jace.

Wearing an apron, holding a spatula.

I stared at him, stunned. “What the hell are you doing here?” I looked at him from head to toe, unable to believe he was the one here.

He gave me a small, tight smile. “Apparently, I’m your new cook.” he answered. "Mr Moreau."