The storm passed, but sleep never came.
By morning, Elara felt like she'd lived an entire lifetime in the dark—aware of Lucien's presence just a few feet away, aware of every breath, every shift of weight, every unspoken line they refused to cross.
When sunlight finally spilled through the windows, he was already gone.
Of course.
A team of stylists arrived by noon.
Elara sat frozen as hands brushed her hair, powdered her face, slipped her into a deep emerald gown that hugged her waist and fell elegantly to the floor.
She barely recognized the woman staring back in the mirror.
"This is ridiculous," she whispered.
"This is perfect," the stylist corrected.
By the time Lucien entered the room, conversations stopped.
He took her in slowly.
Not like a man admiring art.
Like a man realizing something had slipped out of his control.
"You'll do," he said.
But his jaw tightened.
The car ride to the charity gala was silent—until Lucien suddenly reached for her hand.
Her breath caught.
"Relax," he murmured. "Cameras."
She forced a smile as flashes exploded the moment the car door opened.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Lucien Blackwood.
And a woman no one had ever seen at his side.
"Who is she?"
"Since when is he married?"
"Did you hear—he never attends events with dates!"
Lucien's hand settled firmly at the small of her back.
Possessive. Protective.
Elara played her role perfectly—until she saw him.
Her ex-fiancé.
Standing near the champagne table.
Smiling.
Her steps faltered.
Lucien felt it instantly. "What is it?"
"That man," she whispered. "He left me."
Lucien's expression darkened.
The ex noticed them then.
His smile faded.
"Is that—?" he murmured, stepping closer.
"Elara?" he called. "You got married?"
Lucien didn't wait.
He pulled Elara closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"This is my wife," he said coldly. "Watch your tone."
The room went silent.
Her ex stared, humiliated.
Elara's heart raced—not from fear.
From the way Lucien's thumb brushed her skin.
From the heat in his voice.
From the dangerous comfort of being claimed.
When the music swelled and the crowd moved on, Lucien leaned in.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded—but her voice shook. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not pretending."
His eyes searched her face. "I wasn't pretending."
That was the moment everything changed.
Because she believed him.
And Lucien realized something far worse.
He liked how she fit against him.
Too much.