Lucien Lachance Novels & Stories

"You've broken promises before." "Not this one." For a brief moment, neither man spoke. The silence between them felt older than the tunnel itself. Adrian finally broke it. "Who are you?" Lucien turned toward him. "I've had many titles." "Explorer." "Scholar." "Traitor." "Kingmaker." He smiled faintly. "But none of them matter." "What matters..." He glanced at the journal inside Adrian's backpack. "...is what you're carrying." "The journal?" "No." "The missing page."

My eyes widened a little as I was pulled back against another body. “And you are…” Lucien. “Ah, Mr. Alden. It is nice meeting you. I am Charles Carlton. Pardon my manners.” Lucien only nodded in reply as he watched the man before us. “Let’s leave here,” Lucien whispered in my ear. “Thank you so much for your company.” “No need to thank me. Let me invite you to dinner when you are less busy?” he said, bringing out his card and handing it over to me. Lucien was fast enough to collect it from him.

He got up and went outside, and I knew he was calling my father and getting men to dig into Lucien’s past. He sat across from me, his posture straight but his hands twined nervously together. Lucien was tall, his dark brown hair falling in waves over his brow, and he had the same sharp green eyes as mine—eyes that seemed to flicker with cautious curiosity. There was something steady about his presence, a watchfulness in the way he scanned the room, taking in every detail as if memorizing it. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft but carried a weight, as though he was used to keeping secrets. He was handsome, with a strong jaw and a confident air that hinted at his future as an alpha, bu

Lucien stated and to further quell the conversation. “announce me!”. Jasper cleared his throat, to him this conversation was far from over. “King Lucien Perez Michelo da Vinci, the king of all the nine plains and beyond has arrived!!”.

Jace asked, his curiosity piqued, his eagerness palpable in the weighty silence that fell between them. Lucien shrugged once more, standing up from his chair, his piercing gaze locking onto Jace’s as if searching for the right moment to divulge his secret. Jace, often calm, felt a simmering curiosity and perplexity . “Do you remember Mr. Kane?” With a few nods, Jace responded. “Yes. He was Dad's secretary when he was still alive but resigned a few months after his death. What does that have to do with your reason?” Lucien's lips twitched as he gathered his thoughts. “The last time I visited the countryside, he was the one I was supposed to meet with before getting caught in an accident. It w

I lay there staring at the ceiling, my chest tight, my body aching in ways I didn’t know how to name. The next day, Chase was late. Just five minutes. Lucien noticed. He noticed everything. In the middle of a meeting, Lucien stopped speaking and looked directly at him. “You’re late.” “I apologize, sir,” Chase said calmly. Lucien’s gaze sharpened. “Apologies are meaningless without submission.” Chase met his eyes. “I won’t beg,” he said quietly. The room went still. Lucien smiled. Not kindly. “Interesting,” he said. “I see you’re still confused about your position.”

“This is Lucien Moreau. The owner of the château. And the man who practically funded this entire event.” Venice’s throat went dry as thoughts flooding her head. When?! How?! Lucien Moreau. Billionaire. Owner. Powerful. Most of all, Sexy and refined. The scholarship boy she once mocked. His gaze locked onto hers. Recognition flickered there. Then something darker. “Of course,” Lucien said smoothly, his French accent refined and deliberate. “I remember Venice Laurent.” Her heart pounded. He remembers. His lips curved slightly but, not quite a smile.

After our incredibly and scorching encounter on Friday, Louis had given me the bad news that he had to travel to LA that very night for work reasons, as the chef in charge of a series of dinners organized by his school for the benefit of the Red Cross, had been in an accident and Louis had to supply him. Imagine my surprise to learn that my husband not only had a culinary school here in New York, but also in Los Angeles, Chicago, and Florida. Apparently, there were branches all around the world, but Louis only lent his name and image to those. Since then, I had been in charge of the house... And it showed. Aiden kept asking about Louis, Sansa kept her eyes on the elevator, and Milena... Well

"He completed a fellowship there. Three years ago. Listed under 'Additional Professional Development.'" Lucien crossed the room in three strides. He leaned over my shoulder, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, his gaze fixed on the screen. "Laurent Maritime Academy is a front," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "James Laurent's father founded it in the nineties. It produces two dozen graduates a year, all of them placed in competing firms. All of them are reporting back." I looked up at him. "You knew?" "I suspected." His eyes didn't leave the screen. "I never had proof that any of them reached senior levels. Until now."

I flippe‌d the notepa⁠d⁠ over w⁠ithout comment. Marcus and Chen left around noon. Luc‌ien st‌ayed at hi⁠s desk, working through‌ something on his laptop. I was on th‍e sofa on the other s‍ide of‍ the study go‍ing through the rest of Vi‍ctor‍'s financ‍ial history that Ch⁠en‍ had compiled. After about twenty minutes of sile‌nce, Lucien said, without looki⁠ng up, "Whe‌re⁠ did you learn to c⁠on⁠struct a disinformatio‍n model⁠?"