His eyes lifted the moment I walked inside. They didn't wander around. They were locked in on me. "You came," he said as I approached. "I had questions," I replied, my voice struggled to be steadier than I felt. He gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit." I did. He studied me for a long moment, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing details he planned to recall later. "The dress suits you," he said. "You sent it," I replied. "I did." Silence took over the conversation between us. After a moment that seemed like forever, he finally spoke. "You don't belong where you are." I frowned. "You don't know me." "I know hunger when I see it," he said calmly. "And fear." My fingers curled into my lap, I immediately regretted showing up. Lucien leaned back slightly. "I don't waste time, Ophelia. So I'll be direct." My heart pounded. "I need a wife." The words hit harder than I expected. "A contract," he continued. "Clear terms. Mutual benefit." I shook my head. "You don't even know me." "I know enough." He slid a folder across the table. "Three years," he said. "You'll have wealth, class, protection, and a share in my empire If you choose to stand beside me. In return, I require an heir." My chest tightened. "And if I refuse?" I asked. Lucien met my gaze. "Then you leave untouched. No consequences." This man is definitely older, he looks double my age beneath that perfect body. The city lights blurred behind him. I thought of the rent due. The empty fridge. The way my body still flinched every time I remembered the life I ran from. Survival stared back at me. "I want to read it," I said quietly. Lucien nodded. I opened the folder with trembling hands. The terms were clean. Cold. Precise. I picked up the pen, it felt heavier than it should be. Fear screamed in my head,but survival screamed louder. I signed. "I'll take it." Lucien watched silently. When I finished, he stood, offering his hand. His soft smile drifted into a smirk that looked cruel, I convinced myself that it was just my feelings. "Welcome, Mrs. Sinclair," he said softly. Lucien released my hand and stepped back, already detached, like the decision had never weighed anything at all. "You can order whatever you like," he added calmly. "Charge it to my name." I blinked. "I...," "And pack," he continued, already turning away. "My driver will pick you up tomorrow morning." Just like that, he walked off. No lingering glance. No reassurance. No warmth. I sat there for a long moment, staring at the signed contract in front of me, my heartbeat pounded in my ears. Around me, the lounge continued humming,soft laughter, clinking glasses. I felt like I had stepped into another world and left my body behind. My phone felt heavy in my hand as I dialed Tessa. "Ophie?" she answered immediately. "I think I just sold my life," I said breathlessly. There was silence. "Did you sign?" "Yes." She screamed. "But listen...order food. Real food. If you're stepping into fine dining, you had better start practicing." By the time I got home, Tessa was already pacing the room, her face flushed, eyes shining like she had won the lottery herself. "You did it," she said, grabbing my hands. "You actually did it." "I don't know if I should be scared or relieved," I admitted. "Both," she laughed. We ate cross-legged on the bed, laughing between bites, planning outfits that didn't exist yet. I packed my best clothes, the few dresses that weren't faded, shoes with worn soles, memories folded between them. The next morning, a horn blared outside our apartment, deep, polished, expensive. My phone buzzed. "A ride is waiting when you're ready." Tessa rushed to the window and gasped. "Ophie... that car is bigger than our future." I laughed, but my chest felt tight. The mansion was nothing like I imagined. It was worse. Bigger. Colder. Controlled. Lucien looked at my suitcase once and smirked. "There will be no need for those," he said flatly. "They won't fit the image." I felt small. Exposed. Stylists arrived. Boxes followed. Dresses. Shoes. Bags. Jewelry. Everything was brand new and untouched. Tessa stood frozen, her hands pressed to her chest. "Do you know how lucky you are?" she whispered. I didn't answer. I watched Tessa move around the room, touching things she didn't own like they might disappear if she blinked too hard. Her fingers brushed over silk, over a diamond clasp, over a pair of heels that probably cost more than our rent for a year. "You're so lucky," she repeated, softer this time. I still didn't answer. Because luck had never felt this heavy before. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands resting on my knees, staring at my reflection in the tall mirror across the room. The woman staring back at me looked polished. Expensive. Almost untouchable. But I knew better. I could still feel the old fear sitting under my ribs, tight and familiar. Luck doesn't come with contracts, I wanted to say. Luck doesn't smell like control. But Tessa's eyes were shining, and I didn't want to dim that light with my doubts. So I smiled. Just a little. She came closer and sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. "This is your turning point, Ophie. Everything changes from here." I nodded, even though my stomach twisted. Because she was right. Everything was changing. I just wasn't sure yet if it was for the better... or if I had just walked into something I wouldn't be able to escape. When she finally had to leave, the room felt emptier than it ever had. She hugged me tight, longer than usual. "Don't disappear," she said softly. "Promise me." "I won't," I whispered. As the door closed behind her, silence settled around me, thick and heavy. And somewhere deep inside me, I knew... this wasn't the first time I had seen Lucien Sinclair.   

I was still standing in the middle of the room when the door opened. I didn't hear footsteps. I didn't hear a knock. I only felt the air change. Lucien walked in like he owned not just the room, but the silence inside it. His suit jacket was gone now, his sleeves rolled up slightly, exposing his wristwatch that gleamed under the soft lighting. His eyes moved slowly, taking in the space, the bed, the mirror... and then me. His gaze lingered. Too long. His lips curved, just barely, as if a private thought had crossed his mind. "So," he said quietly, closing the door behind him, "this is where you'll be staying." My shoulders stiffened. "You didn't even care to knock." "I don't need to," he replied. He stepped closer. Not rushed. Not aggressive. Controlled. Every step felt measured, like he was giving me time to react... or freeze. His eyes softened in a way that made my stomach turn. It wasn't kindness. It was recognition. A sound escaped him. Low. Almost a breath. "I can finally have you again." The words hit me like cold water. "Again?" I echoed, my voice thin. He didn't answer. He reached out instead. I flinched before his fingers even touched me. His hand brushed my arm, slow and deliberate, as if he was confirming something he already knew. My skin prickled under the contact. My heart began to race. "Relax," he murmured. "You're my wife now." "I...." My voice caught. "This isn't part of the agreement." Lucien's fingers stilled. He tilted his head slightly, studying my face. "If you expect an heir," he said calmly, "do you expect it to fall from the sky?" My breath hitched. As he stepped closer, his presence swallowed the space between us. His hand moved again, this time resting at my waist, possessive without being rough. Fear crept up my spine. "So this is how it starts?" I whispered. "Just like that?" He smiled faintly. "There's no point pretending otherwise." His touch lingered, and suddenly... My body remembered. The room tilted. The mansion faded. And the past came rushing back. ⭐️Flashback⭐️ The night smelled like alcohol and regret. I had walked into the club wearing a dress I shouldn't have bought, my engagement ring heavy on my finger like an accusation. Music thumped through my chest as I pushed my way to the bar and ordered tequila. One shot. Then another. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel. All I could see was Chase's wheelchair. His forced smile. The way guilt wrapped around my chest every time I imagined a future that felt more like a sentence than a promise. I loved him. But love didn't stop the fear. That was when I noticed him. Silver hair. Broad shoulders. Sitting alone at the table across from mine, untouched drink in front of him. He didn't smile. Didn't flirt. Didn't even look like he belonged there. He looked... broken. Our eyes met once. Then again. I shouldn't have stared. He stood. Then walked towards me. "Drink with me," he said, his voice low, tired. "Tonight is... difficult." I should have said no. Instead, I nodded. We drank in silence. Tequila burned. The music blurred. And the more I looked at him, the more my mind betrayed me. He looked like Chase. Not exactly....but close enough. Stronger. Richer. Whole. A version of the man I loved without the weight of sacrifice. When his hand brushed mine, I didn't pull away. When he leaned closer, I followed. When he whispered something I couldn't hear over the music, I let him lead me. The room after that was quiet. Dim. Private. His touch was familiar, confident, and overwhelming. And then.... Nothing. I woke up alone. My body ached. My head pounded. The bed beside me was empty. No face. No name. No goodbye. Just pain between my thighs... and shame in my chest. That was the night I decided to run. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ "Ophelia." The present snapped back into place. Lucien stood in front of me, his hand still at my waist, his eyes watching my face closely. I pushed him back. Hard. "You," I breathed. "It was you." He didn't stumble. Didn't look surprised. Understanding crossed his face slowly... then satisfaction. "So you remember." "You took my virginity," I said, my voice shaking. "And you left before I woke up. You didn't even apologize." Lucien stepped forward again, unfazed. "You walked into me," he replied calmly. "And you walked away just fine." "I was drunk." "So was I." "That doesn't make it right." "It makes it mutual." I shook my head, backing away until the bed hit the back of my knees. "You trapped me," I said. "You knew exactly who I was, the moment you saw me again." "Yes," he admitted. "And now we're legally bound." My chest tightened. "You can't just touch me whenever you want." Lucien leaned in, his voice dropping. "You signed a contract," he said. "For three years." "And after that?" His lips brushed my ear. My cheeks burned red. "If you give me an heir," he whispered, "you're mine forever." I pulled away sharply. "That wasn't what I agreed to." "You agreed to bear my child." "And if I don't?" His eyes hardened. "Then you breach the contract." The words settled heavily between us. "You can't push me away," he continued. "Not anymore. This arrangement protects you. Feeds you. Elevates you, that's quite fair you know." I felt sick. "You don't own me." Lucien straightened, adjusting his cuffs. "Not yet," he said coolly. "But you will understand your position soon enough." He turned toward the door, pausing once more. "Rest," he added. "Your new life begins tomorrow." The door closed behind him. I sank onto the bed, my hands shaking. The room felt too big. Too quiet. The past had found me. And it was wearing my husband's name. The room felt colder after he left, like the walls had shifted closer without moving an inch. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how large the bed was, how unfamiliar everything smelled of polished wood, expensive cologne, and control. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror across the room. The woman in silk and diamonds looked untouched, composed. But inside, I was spiraling. This was not how I imagined survival. I had signed for safety, for stability, not to be claimed like a prize already won. Not to have my past circle back and trap me in its teeth. My phone buzzed softly on the bedside table. A message from Tessa lit up the screen. You okay? I stared at it for a long moment, then turned the phone face down. Because I didn't know how to explain that I had just realized something terrifying... I hadn't escaped my past. I had married it.

"Mrs Sinclair, breakfast is served," a maid's gentle voice said from outside. I groaned and buried my face in the pillow, my body still stiff from the previous night's emotional exhaustion. Breakfast? Already? I was barely even awake, "Come on, miss," she urged softly. "Sir Lucien expects you." I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, careful not to trip over the designer slippers the maids had left neatly at the side. I descended the marble staircase carefully, heart hammering against my ribcage. Lucien sat at the long dining table, a sleek black tie and crisp white shirt emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. He looked calm. Too calm. But that calm had an edge, it always did. "You're late," he said, not even looking up as I approached. "I... I just woke up," I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady. "Eat. We leave in an hour. Dress properly afterward." I sat, picking at the toast he had ordered for me. Lucien watched silently, his hands clasped, fingers tapping softly against the table. "After breakfast, I want you dressed for tonight," he said finally, voice low and deliberate. "We are attending a gala. You will behave. You will smile. You will charm. And you will show affection where necessary." I froze mid-bite. "Affection?" He leaned back, one eyebrow raised. "Yes, Ophelia. Kisses, laughter, smiles. You must make them believe this... whatever this is between us, is real. Do not refuse my gestures. Not in front of anyone. Understand?" I swallowed. Nodded. "I... understand." Breakfast ended in silence. The maids arrived immediately afterward, bringing a flurry of dresses, heels, and accessories. They helped me into a flowing black gown, the silk cool against my skin. The bodice clung to my curves, the skirt fell like liquid shadow. A necklace of diamonds shimmered at my throat, earrings dangling lightly. Even as I admired myself in the mirror, a small, uneasy knot settled in my stomach. Lucien appeared at the door, his eyes immediately finding me. The moment he saw me, his expression faltered, just for a second, and then hardened into something far more possessive. His chest seemed to expand, his jaw tightened. Nobody should look at her twice, he seemed to think. And I could feel it, the weight of that claim, pressing on my shoulders. "You look... so beautiful," he said beneath his breath. I swallowed, unsure how to respond. Every word I had rehearsed dissolved. I felt naked, not from the dress, but from the intensity in his gaze. The drive to the gala was tense. Lucien didn't speak, didn't allow silence to become comfort. His hand occasionally brushed mine, a calculated reminder of the contract we had signed. At the event, we walked into a room dripping in chandeliers. The elite of New York society surrounded us, men in tailored tuxedos, women in gowns that gleamed like stars. I adjusted my posture, straightened my shoulders, and gave Lucien a small smile, playing my role. Several men tried to approach me, flirting and laughing lightly, their eyes wandering far too long. Lucien, who had been talking to a business partner, stiffened. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. Within moments, he had excused himself, excusing his partner politely, and walked towards me. The two men froze when he reached us. Lucien's presence alone was enough to command attention. With a cool, almost sarcastic air, he stood in front of them and said, "She's with me. Enjoy the rest of your evening elsewhere." The men mumbled, stepping aside. Lucien's eyes flicked to mine, a dangerous glint in them. My heart raced, torn between awe, fear, and the weird thrill of being claimed so completely. The rest of the gala passed in a blur of smiles, nods, and careful laughter. I played my part, allowing myself the facade of affection, leaning into his side, letting him touch my arm or brush a lock of hair from my cheek when the crowd looked. Every gesture was an act, yet every act felt like it ignited something uncontrollable inside me. By the time we arrived home, my legs ached, my lips felt dry from smiles, my skin burned from the constant awareness of eyes on us. Lucien didn't allow me a moment to rest. As soon as the door closed behind us, he pushed me onto the couch. "Too many men look at you as if they own you," he growled, hands on my arms. "Not tonight. Not ever." My chest heaved as he leaned down, kissing me with an intensity that made me struggle to breathe. I tried to resist, pushed him gently, whispered, "Lucien..." "Shh," he hushed, his lips finding mine again. The possessiveness in his movements left no room for argument. And then.. A scream. Sharp. Piercing. Enough to make me jolt back, knocking myself off the couch in panic. My heart froze. "You?" I whispered, staring at the shadow by the doorway. Lucien froze mid-motion, wiping his lips as if the sight of the figure had thrown him as well. My legs trembled as the man stepped forward. I could feel the air thicken, reality bending. My breath hitched. "This must be a dream," I thought. The man's presence was unmistakable, too familiar. And then, words cut through me like glass. "Why did you suddenly come back? Did you not run from heir duties? And crippled?" Lucien's eyes narrowed, scanning the figure. His hand moved instinctively to me. "Chase?" he barked. "Yes, it's me," Chase said, stepping closer, disappointment and fury mingling in his tone. "First, to return after six years of avoiding your control, and now... to come back crippled, and I find my ex with you?" My knees wobbled. I could barely speak. Chase's eyes locked on me. "Ophelia... What are you doing with my father?" I froze. "Father? Wait...what?" Lucien's hands gripped my arms possessively. "She is mine now," he spat. Chase's chest rose and fell, hot tears forming in his eyes. "What? She is my stepmother?. She's my ex-girlfriend. Ophelia, what are you doing?" "I... I had no idea, Chase," I said, my voice shaking. "I... I'm so sorry." "You took everything from me! My life, my stability, and now my home!" he yelled. I sank to my knees, hoping the ground would swallow me. Lucien's hands tightened on my shoulders, dragging me up. "Come with me," he said, voice cold and commanding. I obeyed, dazed and terrified. Chase stood frozen, the weight of betrayal and heartbreak written across his face. As Lucien led me to his room, I could hear the faint echo of my own sobs. The night had turned into chaos, a collision of past and present, love and obsession, and I was trapped at the center. What if I run away again...