Morning arrived softly, the sun spilling through the tall windows of my room. Outside, birds chirped in a delicate symphony, their melodies weaving through the air and spilling into the quiet halls. I stretched, feeling the warmth of the cotton shirt against my skin, and let out a slow, lazy yawn. No one had knocked yet, no servants calling my name, no bustle of preparations—just the serene hum of life outside. For once, the house felt entirely mine.
I stepped lightly toward the kitchen, the shirt slipping slightly on my shoulder as I moved. Nothing beneath it, I loved the feeling of the morning breeze entering every part of my body.
The quiet was almost magical, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the soft trill of birdsong, weaving an ordinary yet enchanted morning around me.
On the kitchen table, I noticed a small bowl of ripe strawberries, glistening in the sunlight. I picked one up, savoring its sweet fragrance, and nibbled slowly, letting the simple pleasure anchor me to the quiet. The juice stained my lips faintly, but I didn't mind. This little indulgence, alone, was mine. I wanted to move, then picked up another strawberry remembering its taste I picked up two more, until I just sighed and picked up the whole bowl.
Stuffing three into my mouth at once, I wandered toward the living room, stretching slightly, my shirt riding dangerously high with each movement. The sunlight poured over the polished floors, illuminating dust motes dancing lazily in the warm beams. Humming a tune while carefully adjusting my stereo phones( AkA headphones) listening to the most catchy tunes itsy bitsy by teenie weenie.
For a fleeting moment, I thought I could linger in this calm forever—until my heart nearly stopped.
Lucian. And not just him. Around him were twenty men, including Damien—twenty-one in total. They were arranged with precision, their presence formidable, each one silent yet watchful. The melody of the birds outside clashed strangely with the sudden, tense stillness in the room.
I clutched at the hem of my shirt, trying to pull it down, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks. My yawn caught in my throat. I had been alone just moments ago, the birdsong and soft sun wrapping me in gentle serenity—and now, I faced this sudden storm of men and his piercing gaze.
I swallowed, gripping the shirt tightly. "I… I wasn't expecting…" My words faltered as I scanned the twenty-one men, all still, composed, and quietly observing. The birds outside continued their cheerful chatter, oblivious to the drama inside, and somehow that contrast made the moment feel even sharper, almost surreal.
I took a careful step back, the shirt slipping again slightly with my movement, Before I could take another step, Lucian's sharp gaze swept the room.
"Everyone," he said, his tone low but commanding. "Give us some space. All of you—back."
The men straightened immediately, silent, and slowly began filing out, leaving the room still and echoing with the faint morning bird calls. I blinked, my cheeks warming as I realized just how commanding he could be.
"Lucian…" I began, hesitating, unsure what to say.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he strode forward, wrapped his strong arms around me, and lifted me off the floor effortlessly. My heart skipped a beat. "Your back… you'll see the floor," he murmured, his voice low, amused but careful. "I can't have you tripping over the tiles in that… thing."
I gasped softly, clutching his shoulders, feeling the weight of both his body and the unexpected intimacy. My shirt rode up slightly as I shifted, and I froze, suddenly shy under his strong, steady hands. He noticed my dress had risen so he used an arm over my ass, my cheeks immediately flushed.
He carried me across the kitchen, gently brushing my back with one hand to make sure I was fully covered. My little bowl of strawberries bounced slightly on the counter as he passed, and one or two tumbled over, rolling gently across the polished surface. "Oops," I whispered, more to myself than him, cheeks burning. As he tried to pass, I immediately whispered, no I want my strawberries please.
He sighed as he used his other arm to pick up the berries.
"Right now, upstairs. Your room or mine?"
"My… my room," I stammered, suddenly aware of how small and flustered I felt in his arms.
"Your room it is," he said, shifting me slightly so I was more comfortable, careful to keep my back fully covered with his arm. I could feel the warmth of him radiating through the cotton shirt, the steady strength of him holding me secure, and I couldn't help the tiny flutter rising in my chest.
The stairs creaked slightly under his careful footing, and I couldn't stop myself from whispering, "You… you don't need to carry me."
"I do," he said with mock severity, though the corners of his mouth twitched faintly. "I can't have you stumbling in my kitchen again. You'd ruin the serenity plus the men aren't going to concentrate with you walking up the stairs Anne."
I let out a small, embarrassed laugh, pressing my hands lightly against his chest—not in defense, but more as a shy acknowledgment of just how close I was.
He carried me into my room without another word and set me down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped softly beneath my weight, and I immediately gathered the hem of the shirt, surprisingly aware of how naked I was beneath this shirt.
The fabric slid again—just slightly—cool air brushing my shoulder now revealing my now erect nipples due to multiple reasons like the cold, but I hope it's just the cold and not the contact with Lucian.
but the thin fabric of his shirt clung to her skin, a tantalizing whisper against her curves. With a slight, involuntary movement, the shirt slipped once more from her shoulders, a silent, aching invitation.
Lucian's breath hitched. He realized then she was naked beneath it, his mind consumed by the memory of her full breast he'd glimpsed before on Heat rushed to my face. "That wasn't—"
"I know," he interrupted calmly. "Which makes it worse."
He straightened slightly, rubbing a hand through his hair as if grounding himself.
He loosened my hair from its messy updo, and the cascade fell to my shoulders. Then, his hand ran through it, a slow, deliberate touch.
"Lucian, you..." my voice trailed off.
He stood up, towering over me now. "You smell different," he murmured, climbing over the bed, forcing me to lay back. My shirt—no, his shirt—rose ever higher. He positioned himself above me, supporting his weight with his knees, his nose tracing the line of my neck. I restrained myself, silently begging myself to remember what he had done to my father.
I thought of pushing him away, as if reading my mind, he carried both my hands above me, locking them with just one hand. As his second hand held my hair toying with them around his fingers.
Then I felt it: his tongue on my skin. I couldn't help it; a sharp moan escaped my lips.
Suddenly, as if scorched, he recoiled, standing abruptly from the bed.
He stepped back as if the bed itself had burned him.
For a second—only a second—Lucian stood there, facing the window, his back to me, shoulders rising and falling once in a slow, controlled breath. When he turned again, whatever heat had lived in his eyes was gone. Replaced by something sharper. Colder. Managed.
"That," he said quietly, adjusting his cuffs as though nothing unusual had occurred, "will not happen again."
The words landed heavier than any accusation.
I pushed myself upright, clutching the shirt tighter around me, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt—not just in body, but in spirit. My hair lay loose over my shoulders, a reminder of what he had undone and then refused to finish.
"I didn't—" I began, then stopped. What was there to explain? That my breath had betrayed me? That my body had reacted faster than my pride?
Lucian glanced at me then, briefly. Not mockingly. Not with hunger. With something closer to restraint sharpened into steel.
"You didn't," he said. "And neither should I have lingered."
Silence followed. Thick. Awkward. Alive.
He stepped back at last, deliberately creating space. "Get dressed, Anne," he said, voice steadier now. "Before one of us does something we'll both regret."
I lay there, flushed, tangled in my loose hair, heart pounding, then suddenly the right hit me, he had broken my rule.
"Sir," Damien's voice came through the wood. "We need you. Now."
Lucian closed his eyes for a moment, the faintest crease forming between his brows—there again, that pain he never named. When he opened them, his gaze returned to me, steady this time.
"Get dressed, Anne," he said again. "Properly. Breakfast will be served in an hour. You're free to take it alone if you prefer."
Free.
The word echoed oddly in a house that felt like a chessboard.
He turned to leave, then he left the room.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood.
"Get a grip," I whispered to myself.
The house was quiet again—too quiet. As though it, too, had been holding its breath.
I dressed slowly this time. Carefully. Choosing fabric that grounded me, hair brushed and tied back with intention. By the time I left my room, I was Lady Anne again. Composed. Untouchable.
When I came downstairs, the house felt emptied.
Not asleep. Not resting. Emptied.
The long table was untouched, the chairs pushed in neatly as though no one had ever sat there. No voices. No boots. No Damien leaning against a pillar with that knowing look. No Lucian occupying the space without effort.
They were gone.
I frowned, walking farther in, until I noticed the single sheet of paper on the kitchen counter—placed deliberately on the counter.
My name was written in Lucian's hand.
Anne,
Do not leave the house.
We'll return before noon.
That was all.
No explanation. No signature. No apology.
I stared at it longer than I should have, then folded the paper carefully and set it back where it was. Something about the instruction irritated me- who the hell did he think he was.
With nothing else to do, I wandered.
The house was vast when it chose to be quiet. My footsteps echoed softly as I moved through it, eventually pushing open the doors that led to the garden. The morning air greeted me again, cooler this time, carrying the scent of clipped hedges and damp soil.
I walked without direction, just looking.
Statues. Pathways. A fountain whose water murmured steadily, unconcerned with people or power or marriages. I circled the garden once, then again, until even that lost its novelty.
That was when the thought came—uninvited, sudden.
Whiskey.
I stopped walking.
Why had I never gone back for him?
The memory rose easily. Too easily.
The stable. The sunlight on his coat. The way he had lifted his head the moment I stepped close, calm and alert, like he already knew me. I had loved him instantly—his steady eyes, his quiet strength.
And then the man.
The caretaker who had looked at me with thinly veiled contempt, who had spoken over me, corrected me, questioned my understanding as though admiration needed permission. I had walked away with my dignity intact and my heart inexplicably heavy.
I had told myself it didn't matter.
But standing there now, hands clasped loosely in front of me, I realized how ridiculous that had been.
"I should have bought you anyway," I murmured to the roses.
The thought lingered.
A horse would keep me company here. Give shape to my days. A reason to wake early, to step outside, to exist beyond these walls without actually leaving them. And Whiskey wasn't retired. He was still young. Still waiting for someone who saw him the way I had.
I exhaled slowly.
"I could ask him," I said quietly. No nooo why do I need to ask him, I'm a wife not a slave.
The idea felt strange—asking him for something that wasn't practical or strategic or tied to obligation. But it was unreasonable. A horse was hardly extravagant in a house like this.
And for the first time that morning, i felt happy...
PART THREE
Why did you send for me again?
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Calm on the surface. Tight underneath.
I had done exactly what he asked. Anne was here. Married. Bound to him in ways that made my stomach twist. That should have been enough.
"She's with you now, isn't she?" I added, quieter. Careful.
Lucian rose slowly from his chair.
The movement alone was enough to make the room feel smaller.
"Are you questioning me, Clara?" he asked.
His voice was measured, but the threat lay just beneath it, smooth and practiced. He came around the desk, eyes hard—grey like cold steel polished too many times. I'd seen that look before. It never ended well for anyone on the receiving end.
"Don't forget what I've done for you," he continued. "The respect I've given you. I can take it back just as easily."
I said nothing.
"For once," he snapped, irritation flaring now, "don't thinkyou don't owe me."
He stopped in front of me, towering, daring me to challenge him.
I hated him.
hated what he had done to Anne. I hated what he expected her to endure.
I pitied her with everything in me.
Lucian stepped back as if bored with the tension he had created.
"I want Anne to accompany me to a party," he said. "There are people I'd like her to meet."
Of course there were.
"You seem to be her only friend," he added, glancing at me. "I'd like you to follow her. Dress shopping. Preparations. The rest."
As if Anne were an object to be displayed. As if I were a convenient accessory.
"Would that be all?" I asked.
"Yes." He turned away, already dismissing me. "Call Damien on your way out."
That was it.
I left before he could say anything else that would linger in my mind and rot there. The door shut behind me with a controlled click, and only then did I allow myself to breathe.
A long, heavy sigh.
I'm Damned, I thought.
The corridor felt colder as I walked. Calling Damien meant seeing him. And seeing him always came with that uneasy awareness—like standing too close to something dangerous and knowing it.
He stood near the stairwell, exactly where he always seemed to be when Lucian wanted him. Arms folded. Posture relaxed. Eyes alert.
Damien.
Lucian had a dangerous beauty—sharp, commanding, impossible to ignore. But Damien's was Quiet. Watchful. The kind that made you feel like prey without knowing why.
I stopped a few steps away. "He wants you."
Damien's gaze lifted to mine. "I assumed."
I broke eye contact first.
I would never fall for this one, I told myself as I walked away. Never.
Why couldn't I fall for someone simpler? Someone safe. Someone whose presence didn't feel like standing too close to a blade—beautiful, balanced, and waiting for the smallest mistake..
Behind me was a world ruled by men like Lucian—and guarded by men like Damien.
PART ONE
I rushed upstairs.
Lucian's note still burned in my mind, heavy and precise in its command.
Do not leave the house.
As if he actually thought I would listen.
I moved quickly, my heart beating against my chest. I wasn't leaving—not really. I only needed to take a fresh breeze. Only needed a moment to breathe, to feel like myself again.
To actually think.
Whiskey.
The thought came uninvited, warm and insistent. The memory of the horse—his dark coat, the intelligent calm in his eyes, the way he had leaned into my touch as if he already knew me.
Why had I never gone back?
Because of one man. One careless, disrespectful voice that had made me feel small when I wasn't. Because pride had swallowed want.
I reached my room and shut the door softly behind me, as though the house itself might snitch on me. The quiet was unsettling—no maids, no footsteps, no murmured orders.
Just me and the echo of my own thoughts.
I changed quickly, choosing something simple. Practical. Something meant for walking, not impressing.
If Lucian asked later, I could say I stayed within the grounds. Even though I was afraid to lie to him, not like he would find out.
I paused by the mirror, fingers resting on the dresser.
I loved that horse, I thought. I still do.
He would have kept me company here. In this vast, beautiful prison of a house. Something living that asked nothing of me but presence.
I tied my hair back, decisively. In a neat bun.
I wasn't running away. I wasn't disobeying.
I was only going out, surely that cannot be bad.
Only reminding myself that there were things in this world I had wanted before Lucian.
I opened the door and slipped into the corridor, excitement buzzing just beneath my skin.
Whatever Lucian had warned me about, whatever rule I was bending—
Right now, I chose myself not his selfish ass.