Chapter 2: Betrayals in the Shadows

POV: Siena Blake

My fingers were still trembling as I stepped into the car.

I didn’t even remember walking down the driveway. One second I had been staring at the phone in my hand, the echo of Zane’s voice still ringing in my ears, and the next, I was gripping the steering wheel, my mind spinning faster than my pulse. Everything around me blurred. My breath felt shallow, like I was forgetting how to breathe.

Twelve hours. Return the ring. Pay the cancellation fees. Or have my humiliation broadcast to the world.

Those words chased themselves in circles in my mind, again and again, until they didn’t feel real anymore—just a cruel whisper echoing in a tunnel I couldn’t escape from.

It felt like I was standing in the middle of a battlefield—unarmed, bleeding, and completely alone.

The dress I was still wearing, the same one from last night, now felt like a weapon against my skin. The silver shimmer that had once made me feel beautiful now felt cold and heavy. It clung to my body, damp with the sweat of panic and dried tears. My skin itched under it, as if it wanted to peel away from everything that had happened. My heels sat on the passenger seat, kicked off in a rush, the soles stained with last night’s mistakes.

Even the air inside the car felt too heavy—too thick with silence. It was like the world outside had gone still, holding its breath while mine came in shaky, broken pieces.

I didn’t know where I was going.

I just drove.

Maybe part of me hoped I would wake up if I kept moving. That this day would vanish with the morning fog and I would return to a world where my father wasn’t in jail, my engagement wasn’t over, and I hadn’t woken up in a stranger’s bed. That if I drove far enough, fast enough, I could leave it all behind.

But I wasn’t that lucky.

And the world didn’t care.

My fingers hovered over my phone screen before I finally pressed the call button. Kendra’s name blinked back at me. The only name that still offered a tiny spark of familiarity in a world that had flipped on its head.

Kendra Monroe.

My best friend since sophomore year of high school. The person who knew my secrets before I even spoke them. The girl who held my hand when my parents split, who snuck into my room the night Zane first kissed me, who promised to be my maid of honor before either of us even had boyfriends. She was my constant. My mirror. My second half.

And the only one who had been with me last night.

If anyone knew what had happened, it was her.

The phone rang five times before she finally answered.

“Hello?” Her voice was groggy with sleep. That familiar scratch in her throat told me I’d just woken her—or maybe that she was pretending I had.

“It’s me,” I said. My voice came out sharp and raw, like I had been screaming in silence all morning.

“Siena? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Her concern rushed out, soft and urgent.

I didn’t know if it was real anymore. I didn’t trust anything anymore. Not even my own thoughts.

“No,” I whispered. My throat burned. “Nothing’s okay. My dad’s been arrested, Kendra. The house was crawling with cops. Reporters were everywhere. They took him away in cuffs, in front of everyone.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed, her voice trembling.

“And Zane—he ended the engagement,” I pushed on. The words were blades, and I was swallowing them whole. “He said there’s a video of me… in bed with someone. Someone I don’t even know. I woke up in a hotel suite this morning beside a man I’ve never seen before. Kendra, what happened last night?”

There was a beat of silence.

Too long.

Too quiet.

My stomach dropped. A cold wave moved through my body, like my instincts already knew something my heart couldn’t accept.

“What do you mean you woke up in a hotel?” she asked, her tone suddenly cautious. “Siena, you were supposed to go home. I—I thought you did. After the last round of drinks.”

“I didn’t.” I gripped the phone tighter. “I woke up in a strange room with a stranger, and I have no memory of getting there. I was drunk, Kendra. You were with me the whole night. What happened?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “I was drinking too. I must’ve passed out on one of the lounge couches. The last thing I remember is you saying something like… you wanted one last wild night before marriage. I saw you dancing with some guy. I thought you were just letting loose. I didn’t think—Siena, I’m so sorry.”

Her voice cracked. I could hear the tears forming, the breath catching in her throat.

But something about it felt… wrong.

Too soft. Too slow.

Too rehearsed.

Like she was reading lines from a script she’d written in her head.

“I need to see you,” I said, keeping my voice tight. My chest ached, but I wouldn’t cry. Not yet.

“Of course,” she said quickly. “I’m home. Come over. Please.”

I hung up before she could say more and turned sharply at the next junction, heading toward her apartment. I needed to look her in the eye. I needed to see her face when she said those words again. Because if there was one thing I’d learned in the last few hours, it was this:

People lie better when they’re scared.

And Kendra sounded scared.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled up outside her building.

Her car wasn’t there.

Her apartment windows were dark.

Still, I climbed out of the car and knocked. Rang the bell. Called her name.

Nothing.

I called again. Straight to voicemail. I sent a text. Waited. Another minute. Another five.

No reply.

She had lied.

She wasn’t home.

And if she wasn’t home, where the hell was she?

I sat back in the car, heart pounding, eyes glued to the screen of my phone. My mind raced through everything—flashes of conversations we’d had, little things I’d ignored. The way she’d shrugged off Zane’s late-night texts, the way she looked away when I asked why he kept canceling on me. The moment at brunch when her expression twisted before she smiled and said, “You’re lucky to have him.”

I’d believed her.

Like a fool.

Another buzz. A message from Zane this time. Cold. Unfeeling.

Tick tock, Siena. Twelve hours left.

I stared at it, fingers hovering over the screen. I wanted to scream. To curse. To send him a message that would burn. But before I could type anything, I caught a flash of movement.

A black Mercedes glided past my car.

My blood froze.

Zane.

Without thinking, I started the engine and pulled out, following him from a distance. Every part of me screamed that I was making a mistake—but I didn’t care.

I needed answers.

The Mercedes weaved through traffic with smooth confidence, like Zane had done this a hundred times before. Like he knew exactly where he was going. But he wasn’t heading home. He wasn’t going to his office.

He was going somewhere secret.

And then I saw it.

The hotel.

My stomach twisted.

The hotel.

The same luxury building I had escaped from this morning with a pounding head and a shattered heart. Room 804.

Zane pulled into the private driveway and handed his keys to the valet like he owned the world. He smoothed down his sleeves, adjusted his cuffs, and walked inside without a care.

I parked further down the street and waited.

I didn’t have to wait long.

She appeared moments later.

Kendra.

Wearing a black bodycon dress and red heels that matched her lipstick. Her hair was curled, her makeup flawless. She looked like she was ready for a date night.

She walked up to Zane, smiling like they shared a secret.

He greeted her like it was routine. Comfortable. Familiar.

They walked into the building side by side, his hand brushing her lower back.

At the elevator, he pulled out a gold keycard.

Penthouse.

They weren’t even trying to hide it.

My hands curled into fists on the steering wheel.

I waited a beat, then slipped inside through a side hallway used by staff. I found the emergency stairwell and climbed fast, heart pounding against my ribs with every step. When I reached the top, I crept down the hallway toward the suite.

Voices.

“…She’s probably losing her mind right now. Good. Let her panic,” Zane’s smug tone cut through the silence.

“She’s still so gullible. I almost felt bad listening to her cry on the phone earlier,” Kendra replied.

“She believed you?” he asked.

“Of course she did. I’m her best friend, remember?”

Their laughter stabbed me like knives.

I moved closer. The door was slightly ajar.

“She won’t be able to trace anything back to us?” Kendra asked.

“No. The DeLuca family handled everything. Her dad’s done. And if she talks, we’ve got the footage.”

“She doesn’t even know she slept with someone else,” Kendra said with a giggle. “She thinks it was just a drunken mistake.”

“Let her think that,” Zane sneered. “She was a pawn. Nothing more.”

My knees nearly gave out. I backed away, the hallway spinning.

And then I saw him.

The man from Room 804.

But now he was fully dressed—in a charcoal suit that fit him like it had been made for a god. Sharp lines. Cold gaze. Hair slicked back. Eyes like thunder.

He moved with purpose.

Two staff members walked past, whispering.

“That’s Lucian Voss.”

“The Lucian Voss?”

“Yeah. Voss Global. He owns half the city.”

Lucian Voss.

That’s who I had slept with?

I ducked behind the hallway wall, heart hammering. He didn’t even glance my way.

To him, I was just another night.

But to me?

He was the beginning of the end.

And maybe…

Maybe he’d be the start of something new, too.

Something dangerous.

Something I could control.

Lucian Voss wasn’t just powerful—he was untouchable.

But maybe, just maybe… I could touch him first.

And I would burn every last one of them with the fire they lit in me.

POV: Siena Blake

I didn’t know what I was doing, not really—not in the way that made sense to anyone with a shred of self-preservation. My entire life had gone up in flames in the span of a single morning, and instead of retreating into the shadows to lick my wounds and gather what was left of my pride, I found myself walking straight into the lion’s den.

I should’ve gone home. I should’ve collapsed under the crushing weight of humiliation and heartbreak, should’ve pulled the covers over my head and let the shame drown me in silence. I should’ve sat with the grief and let the betrayal simmer until it cooled into logic, into reason. But instead, I was moving with purpose, my heels clacking sharply against the pavement, my eyes fixed on the glittering tower ahead like it held the answers to everything that had gone wrong.

There was no logic in what I was doing. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was the aching, gnawing knowledge that my father—my sweet, stubborn, brilliant father—was sitting alone in a jail cell, branded a criminal for a crime he didn’t commit. Maybe it was the rage burning beneath my skin, the fury that had festered from the moment I heard Kendra laugh through that suite door, or maybe it was the echo of Zane’s cruelty still ringing in my ears. Or perhaps—most dangerously—it was the memory of a man with a face carved from stone and eyes that had seen the worst of the world and somehow survived it.

Lucian Voss.

He wasn’t just a stranger I had woken up beside. He was no ordinary man caught in the chaos of my ruined engagement. He was something else entirely—colder, sharper, and far more dangerous than anything I had ever encountered. He was a man who didn’t just walk into rooms; he claimed them. And in the twisted wreckage of my life, I saw him not as a mistake… but as a weapon.

If I couldn’t fight my enemies alone, maybe I could borrow their devil.

The hotel loomed in front of me, sleek and glittering, its glass facade reflecting the evening sun like a polished mask. It looked beautiful from the outside—refined, prestigious, even welcoming—but I knew better now. Behind the marble floors and gold trim, it was nothing but a gilded cage filled with secrets, betrayal, and lies.

I walked through the grand lobby, ignoring the subtle stares and hushed murmurs that followed me. My dress was wrinkled and clung to my body in all the wrong ways, my hair was pulled back into a messy twist that screamed exhaustion, and the heels I had shoved back on were scuffed and worn. I didn’t look like I belonged here—and I didn’t care. I wasn’t here to impress anyone. I was here for one thing only.

Lucian Voss.

The elevator ride to the top floor was swift and silent, a tense countdown to whatever foolish thing I was about to do. When the doors opened, I stepped out onto the private level, where two men in sleek black suits stood guarding the massive double doors of the penthouse. They looked like they had been carved from obsidian—expressionless, broad-shouldered, and entirely uninterested in whatever drama I was bringing to their boss’s doorstep.

I forced myself to approach, even as my stomach twisted and my legs threatened to buckle. I straightened my spine and lifted my chin, trying to mask the fact that every step I took felt like walking into enemy fire.

One of the guards moved to block me instantly, his voice clipped and professional. “Ma’am, this is a private floor. You can’t be here.”

“I need to see Mr. Voss,” I said, pushing the words out with as much calm as I could manage, even though my throat felt raw and tight.

He gave me a flat, unimpressed look. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I admitted, swallowing hard. “But I was with him last night.”

The guards exchanged a glance, one of them raising an eyebrow while the other let out a quiet scoff. I saw the flicker of judgment in their eyes, and it made my skin crawl. I hated that look—that assumption that I was just another woman trying to cling to the memory of a night that probably meant nothing to him.

“Mr. Voss doesn’t entertain uninvited guests,” one of them said with a smirk. “Especially not… repeats.”

Heat flooded my cheeks—equal parts embarrassment and fury.

“I’m not here for that,” I snapped, forcing the tremble from my voice. “Just tell him the woman from last night is here. Please.”

There was a long pause before one of them finally relented, disappearing behind the doors without another word. I stood there in silence, my heart thudding wildly against my ribs, the seconds stretching into what felt like hours. My hands were clenched into fists at my sides to keep them from shaking.

When the guard returned, he opened the door with a faintly amused smirk. “You’ve got five minutes.”

I stepped into the penthouse and the doors shut behind me with a heavy, echoing thud that sounded far too much like a trap closing.

The room was even dimmer than I remembered. The curtains were drawn tightly, letting only slivers of muted light slip through, and the soft glow of amber lamps reflected off polished wood and dark leather. Everything smelled expensive—aged scotch, smoked wood, and something faintly spicy I couldn’t place. The quiet buzz of wealth and power vibrated in the air like static.

Lucian Voss stood near the minibar, his back half-turned toward me, swirling a glass of dark liquor in his hand as if this were just another calm evening in his carefully curated world. He looked entirely at ease, completely unbothered by my presence, like he had expected this all along and already decided it wasn’t worth his time.

When his gaze slid toward me, it was slow and indifferent, like I was nothing more than a minor disruption.

And in that moment, I realized something that made my stomach drop.

He didn’t recognize me.

“You,” he said, his voice low and smooth, edged with boredom. “You’re the woman causing such a fuss outside my suite?”

I blinked, stunned. “You don’t remember me?”

He took a small sip of his drink, his eyes cool and unreadable. “Should I?”

The words hit harder than I expected. It shouldn’t have hurt—I didn’t even know him—but somehow, it did.

“I’m the woman you slept with last night,” I said quietly, each word thick with humiliation. “The one you left in bed without a single word.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. “Hm,” he murmured, still entirely unfazed. “You must be mistaken.”

“I’m not.”

A beat of silence passed between us, heavy and tense.

Then, slowly, a cruel little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So let me guess. We had a magical night together, and now you’ve come to cash in your fairy tale ending?”

“It wasn’t magical,” I snapped, the words laced with acid. “I was drunk. I don’t even remember most of it. But I woke up next to you. And now my life is falling apart.”

He raised one eyebrow with mild curiosity.

“My father was arrested,” I said, stepping closer, willing him to hear the urgency in my voice. “He’s being framed by powerful people—Vincent DeLuca is behind it. I know you have connections. Influence. Power. I’m asking you to use it.”

He said nothing.

“Please,” I added, softer now. “I’m not asking for miracles. I just need you to look into it. Someone like you can find out things the police won’t. Maybe you can help.”

Lucian moved to the sofa, lowering himself with the grace of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. He looked at me with a quiet detachment, as if weighing my value like a piece on a chessboard.

“And why,” he asked, voice slow and almost lazy, “would I do that?”

I took another step forward. “Because I’m asking you. Because I have no one left. Because whether you remember it or not, you were there when this nightmare started.”

He laughed—a dark, hollow sound devoid of any real humor.

“You think one night in my bed entitles you to favors?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “Do you even know who I am?”

“Yes,” I shot back, frustration tightening my chest. “Lucian Voss. CEO of Voss Global. The untouchable billionaire who thinks he’s above consequences.”

He smiled, a sharp glint in his eyes. “Flattery won’t help you.”

“I’m not flattering you,” I said. “I’m begging.”

He rose slowly, circling me like a predator enjoying the scent of weakness. “You came here thinking what? That I’d suddenly grow a conscience? That I’d play the hero because we happened to fuck once?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you meant it.” His voice was razor-sharp now. “You thought you could cry your way into my wallet. Tell me—did you cry this hard while you were grinding on me in bed?”

His words were poison. Cruel and deliberate.

I stared at him, my throat tight with rage. “You’re a monster.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe. But at least I don’t pretend to be anything else.”

Tears stung my eyes. “You don’t even care.”

“No,” he said without blinking. “I don’t care about you, or your father, or your sob story. And since this conversation adds nothing of value to my day, it’s over.”

He turned, walked to the desk, and calmly pulled out a sleek silver checkbook. With one flick of his pen, he wrote something down, tore the check, and tossed it onto the floor at my feet.

“Here,” he said. “Payment. For your… services.”

I stared at the check.

Ten thousand dollars.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up. Then, slowly, I crumpled it in my fist.

Lucian raised an eyebrow.

“You think you can buy me?” I whispered.

“I think I already did.”

I walked toward him, standing inches from his chest. “You arrogant son of a bitch.”

He shrugged. “Most women would’ve taken the money with a smile.”

“I’m not most women.”

“Clearly.”

Something inside me cracked wide open.

I tore the check in half. Then again. And again. Shreds of paper fluttered from my hands like ash as I threw them in his face.

He didn’t flinch.

“You’re disgusting,” I hissed. “I thought maybe—just maybe—you had a soul buried under all that money and power. I was wrong.”

“Clearly,” he repeated, amused.

“You’re not just heartless. You’re soulless. You think your wealth makes you God?”

He smiled faintly. “No. My wealth just lets me stop pretending the world isn’t cruel.”

I slapped him.

The sound cracked through the room like lightning.

He didn’t move. But his jaw twitched.

I stepped back, breathing hard.

“Go to hell,” I spat.

“Already there,” he said softly. “I’ll save you a seat.”

I turned and stormed toward the door, blood pounding in my ears.

“Oh, and sweetheart?” he called.

I paused.

“If you’re going to sell your body—make sure you charge more than your pride.”

I walked out without a word, my head held high, even as my soul bled inside me.

Lucian Voss was a devil.

And now, he was on my list.

POV: Ares Voss

The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she wasn’t meant for me—not in the way fate typically wraps things in bows or in the way destiny carves love stories out of blood and chance. No, this girl didn’t belong in my world, and yet, somehow, her presence in that room felt like an open wound I couldn’t look away from.

She wasn’t here to flirt, to tease, or to entice me the way so many others had—those desperate women who latched onto our last name like leeches hoping to drain power from our veins. No, this one was different. She wasn’t polished or primped. She didn’t smell of ambition or seduction. She looked… destroyed.

Ruined in a way that called to something dark inside me, something I didn’t show the world but carried like a blade beneath my ribs. Her eyes were hollowed out with grief, glassy with tears she probably hadn’t had time to cry. Her dress, once elegant, now hung limply around her body, wrinkled and smeared with evidence of the night she’d rather forget. Her movements were jerky and unbalanced, as if she was running on adrenaline that had long since turned to dust. She looked like a woman who had screamed herself hoarse behind closed doors, then glued her pieces together just long enough to come here and beg.

And she didn’t even know who she was looking at.

To her, I was Lucian.

And that… that was where the game began.

I stayed where I was, casually leaning against the edge of the minibar, the soft amber lighting bouncing off the sharp lines of my jaw and cheekbones, casting shadows where I wanted mystery to linger. I held a glass of scotch between my fingers, swirling it slowly—not because I needed a drink, but because I knew the image it painted. Calm. Collected. Powerful.

I didn’t speak. Not right away.

I watched her instead.

Every twitch of her fingers. Every frantic sweep of her eyes across my face, looking for something—recognition, comfort, a shred of decency she thought my brother had.

It didn’t take long.

“You,” I said after a while, my voice tight, laced with mockery. “You’re the woman causing such a fuss outside my suite?”

Her disbelief was almost touching.

Her lips parted. Her brows pulled together. “You don’t remember me?”

I tilted my head slightly, allowing the corners of my lips to twitch, not quite into a smirk but close enough to provoke her.

Should I?

The unspoken question danced between us, daring her to reach for answers she didn’t want.

She stumbled through her pain with surprising strength, announcing that she was the woman Lucian had slept with the night before. The honesty in her voice, the rawness of that confession, almost pulled a laugh from me. Because the irony was richer than the scotch in my hand. My flawless, careful, golden brother—the perfect heir to the Voss empire—had unknowingly tossed his little scandal into my lap. She had come here, broken and desperate, pouring her soul into the wrong twin’s hands.

And me?

I didn’t correct her.

Not even for a second.

Because there was something sinfully entertaining about being mistaken for Lucian. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. But it was the first time the misunderstanding tasted this sweet. Like revenge soaked in honey. Like power born from chaos.

Pretending to be Lucian was a game I’d played more than once. One we never discussed. One he would detest if he ever found out. But that’s the price of being born second. Of entering the world two minutes too late, only to find every door already closing in your face. No matter how sharp your mind, how brutal your ambition, you’re always the afterthought—the echo of someone greater.

Lucian was everything I was expected to be. Charming. Polished. The picture of restraint and intellect. A walking statue of control and calculated success.

And me?

I was the sin behind the family name. The sharp end of the blade Lucian kept sheathed. The voice that whispered when he needed silence. The hand that reached into shadows when he refused to get dirty.

So yes—I leaned into the lie. And I savored every second of it.

She stepped closer, voice cracking as she explained—begged—her side of the story. Her father. The video. The setup. The betrayal. Her whole life unraveling by the hour. She believed she was appealing to the man who had spent the night with her. She thought I was the one who had kissed her skin and tangled her limbs with mine. She thought there might be compassion behind my cold stare.

Lucian might have blinked in sympathy. Might have given her a tissue, nodded quietly, and promised to “have someone look into it” before ushering her out the door with cold civility.

But I?

I preferred fire over pity. I fed on discomfort, on vulnerability, on people thinking they could control the storm when they were already drowning in it.

“You think one night between the sheets entitles you to a favor?” I asked, my voice smooth and slow, a venomous caress. “Do you even understand who you’re talking to?”

She straightened, trying to gather the scraps of her pride, and snapped back with certainty. “Lucian Voss. CEO of Voss Global. Untouchable billionaire with more money than God and a personality to match.”

I nearly laughed. The ignorance, though not her fault, was delicious.

Oh, sweetheart. If only you knew how wrong you were.

I began to circle her like a wolf stalking its prey, watching the way she tensed with every step. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breath shallow, her hands twitching slightly at her sides like she was trying to hide the fear blossoming beneath her skin.

This one had fire. Beautiful, reckless fire.

But fire was fragile when surrounded by ice.

I kept my gaze fixed on her as I let the words bleed from my mouth, sharp and poisonous. I wanted to see exactly where her pride ended and her desperation began. When I finally tossed the check at her feet—ten thousand dollars, a mere flick of the wrist for a Voss—the way she froze was almost erotic in its intensity.

She stared at it. Then back at me.

And when she crushed it in her fist and tore it apart without blinking, I felt something inside me spark.

Lucian would’ve sighed. Maybe even respected her resistance.

I, however, felt something much darker.

A pulse.

Deep. Primitive.

A throb of interest that wasn’t physical, but far more dangerous.

She was unbreakable—at least for now.

“You think you can buy me?” she whispered, her voice hoarse with rage, her chest heaving as she tried to hold herself together.

I tilted my head and studied her. “I think I already did.”

Her reaction was instant. She snapped. Called me arrogant. Called me a bastard. Soulless. Disgusting. Her words were sharp, loud, and filled with more heat than sense.

But none of it pierced.

I’d been called worse by better.

Then came the slap.

Hard. Unapologetic. Her hand cracked against my face with all the fury of a woman who had just watched her life collapse in slow motion.

And for the first time in years, my skin tingled.

Not from pain.

From pleasure.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink. I just stood there and let her see that she hadn’t hurt me.

Because she couldn’t.

Not like that.

But in that same moment… something shifted.

A flicker.

A jolt deep in my spine, electric and strange. The echo—that strange, barely-there connection Lucian and I shared since birth—flickered to life. A phantom memory bled into me. Not mine, but his. Lust. Guilt. Confusion. Emotion buried under years of discipline.

He had felt something that night. He wasn’t supposed to, but he had.

And she—this woman standing in front of me, spitting fury like bullets—had made him feel it.

That changed everything.

Lucian didn’t feel. Not deeply. Not genuinely. Especially not for women.

So what the hell had she done to him?

When she stormed out, heels snapping like gunfire against the marble floor, I let her go. I watched the sway of her body, the set of her shoulders, the storm in her eyes.

I could’ve stopped her.

I could’ve told her the truth.

That I wasn’t the man who’d kissed her. That I wasn’t the one who had held her in that bed, whispered things against her throat, made her forget the name she carried.

But I didn’t.

Because this… was better.

Let her sharpen her hatred like a blade.

Let her plot her revenge against the wrong twin.

Let her bury herself in a vendetta that had nothing to do with me—until it did.

Because eventually, she would find out.

And by then?

It would be far too late.

She’d already be tangled in my trap.

And I’d be the one holding the chain.

I returned to the couch, the ghost of her scent still hanging in the air like a sin I didn’t regret. Something soft and floral, but beneath it, something wilder. Spiced. Untamed. Like her.

She didn’t know who I was.

But that made her the perfect target.

Lucian may have touched her body.

But I?

I planned to touch her soul.

And when I was done, she’d burn for me in ways she never expected.