“What the hell…”

Selene staggered closer to the desk, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor. More albums lay sprawled there, open, filled with candid shots.

Pictures of her—years of them. School uniforms, blurred street corners, stolen moments when she was completely unaware she was being watched.

Some had Lucien in them. Always distant. Always watching. Never smiling.

Selene’s hands trembled as she reached for another album. She didn’t remember this. She didn’t remember him. Why didn’t she remember him?

“What the fuck is this…?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

She stretched her hand toward the next album—

And froze.

“It’s a bad habit,” Lucien’s voice drawled from behind her, low and dangerous, “snooping where you’re not permitted to enter.”

Selene spun around, her chest lurching. He leaned against the doorframe, shadows clinging to his tall frame like a cloak. His eyes were unreadable, but his presence made her knees weak.

“Why is the password my birthday, Lucien?” she demanded, her voice shaky but sharp. “Why the hell do you have pictures of me—my whole life, even things I can’t remember—like some kind of stalker?”

Lucien stepped inside, slow and deliberate. His lips curled into the faintest smirk, though his eyes were darker than sin.

“You don’t have to know the reason now,” he said, his tone silk over steel. “At the right time, you will.”

Her fists balled at her sides. “Stop speaking in riddles! What are you to me?”

He closed the distance between them in three measured strides. She tried to retreat, but the desk pressed against her hips, caging her in.

“You’re asking the wrong question,” he murmured. His hand lifted, brushing a strand of her hair away with such casual possession it burned. “It’s not what I am to you…”

He leaned down, his breath ghosting over her ear, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper.

“It’s what you’ve always been to me.”

Selene’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her skin prickled, her pulse thrummed violently, and yet her body didn’t scream danger. Against all logic, against every reason to hate him her body betrayed her.

“Don’t…” Her voice cracked. “Don’t touch me.”

Lucien smirked, his fingers sliding down her neck, resting lightly against her racing pulse. “Your mouth says no…” His thumb brushed deliberately slow over her collarbone. “But your body isn’t screaming, Selene. Not the way it should.”

Her stomach clenched painfully. She wanted to slap him. To spit in his face. To remind him that he murdered her parents, bought her like property, nearly killed her brother—

And yet… her knees weakened when his other hand ghosted over her hip.

She hated herself.

“Stop it,” she hissed, though it lacked conviction.

Lucien’s chuckle was low, dangerous, intimate. “You’re trembling, little flame. But not from fear.”

Her breath hitched. She hated him. She wanted him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to melt into him.

Her body leaned forward without permission, brushing against his chest.

Her mind screamed monster. Her body whispered safe.

Lucien tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his obsidian gaze. “I own you, Selene. Not just your obedience. Not just your loyalty. I own this—” his thumb brushed over her lower lip, making her shiver— “and this.” His palm slid down, grazing her stomach before stopping just at the edge of her thighs.

Selene gasped and grabbed his wrist, nails digging into his skin. “You think I’ll just—just let you—”

“Let me?” His smirk widened. “You already are.”

Her heart lurched. “I hate you.”

“You will,” Lucien murmured, “and you’ll still come to me.”

His hand moved lower, teasing the hem of the shirt she wore—his shirt, his scent clinging to her. He lifted the fabric just enough to slide his fingers against her bare thigh.

Her skin burned where he touched.

“No—” she gasped, but her voice sounded weak.

“Yes,” he countered smoothly, his breath warm against her ear. “Look at you. Wearing my shirt. My socks. Breathing my air. Do you know what that makes you?”

Selene squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to answer.

“Mine,” he whispered, dragging his knuckles up the inside of her thigh.

Her breath stuttered. She hated how her body arched toward him.

“You bastard,” she whispered hoarsely.

Lucien’s smirk deepened. He trailed his hand higher, hovering just shy of her core, teasing, deliberate. “You’re wet,” he murmured, his tone both mocking and possessive. “And you’re ashamed of it.”

Her cheeks flamed. “Stop saying that!”

He chuckled darkly. “So fiery.” Then, his fingers pressed more firmly, not inside, just enough to make her gasp. “So untouched. So mine.”

Selene stiffened, realization crashing over her when his finger lingered.

Lucien’s gaze sharpened, his smirk curving cruelly. “Ah,” he breathed, amused. “A virgin.”

Her face burned scarlet. She looked away, trembling violently.

Lucien leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “So pure… and yet your body is begging for me. Tell me, Selene. Do you hate yourself for it?”

Tears pricked her eyes, a mixture of rage and shame. “You killed my parents,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You bought me like cattle. You tried to kill my brother. And now—now my body—”

“Responds to me,” Lucien finished smoothly. His finger teased again, making her jolt. “Because it knows what your mind refuses to admit. With me, you’re safe. Even if you hate me, you’re safe here.”

Her breath hitched, her chest heaving. She wanted to scream at him, to claw at his face, to run—yet her body melted as his other hand cupped the back of her neck, steady, grounding, intoxicating.

She whispered, broken: “Why… why do I feel this way?”

Lucien’s smirk softened into something more dangerous, more intimate. “Because you’ve always been mine.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “And I’ll take what’s mine, Selene. Every inch of you. Every cry. Every shiver.”

His hand pressed firmer against her, fingers circling in slow, deliberate movements that made her whimper before she could bite it back.

Her shame swallowed her whole.

“Say it,” Lucien whispered against her lips. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m not—”

His finger slipped closer, teasing her entrance, making her gasp.

“Say it,” he commanded, his voice a growl now.

Her nails dug into his shoulders. She hated him. She craved him. She hated herself.

“I am never going to be yours!” she yelled, broken, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Not in this fucking lifetime!”

Lucien’s smirk returned, triumphant. He pressed a finger against her entrance but didn’t push in, merely circling, teasing mercilessly. She sobbed, her body trembling with need and fury.

Then—he pulled away.

Selene gasped at the sudden loss, collapsing against the desk.

Lucien stepped back, his smirk dark. “I’ll take you when you’re ready.”

Her head snapped up, confusion and anger flaring. “What—?”

He adjusted his cuffs as though nothing had happened. “You’ll come to me, Selene. On your knees. Begging. And when that day comes, you won’t fight it. You’ll want it more than air.”

Her cheeks burned crimson. Shame twisted inside her gut, suffocating.

“You arrogant, heartless—”

Lucien leaned down one last time, his lips ghosting over hers without touching. “You’ll beg,” he whispered. “And I’ll make sure you enjoy every second of it.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving her trembling, broken, furious, and burning with unwanted desire.

Selene sank to the floor, clutching her shirt tight around her, her shoulder aching, her thighs trembling.

Her voice cracked as she cursed herself. “I feel like a virgin slut,” she whispered bitterly. “What the hell is wrong with me?”