Chapter 4 The Clash between heart and throne

"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...