Chapter 4 The Stranger's Game

Morning in Lucien Wolfe's world didn't break with birdsong or dawn.

It started with the snap of gunmetal steel and danger.

Amara woke to the soft sound of a lock disengaging. She thought at first she was dreaming. The silk sheets that wrapped around her legs still smelled of him, and her body hurt in all the right places. But then-

There was another click.

Followed by a soft creak.

She sat up, straight, heart racing. Lucien's side of the bed was empty.

"Lucien?" she rasped, voice uncertain.

Nothing.

She was halfway to reaching for her robe when she noticed movement in the darkness near the glass wall. The figure stepped into the light, slow and deliberate, and she gasped.

He was tall. Lean. Dressed in black.

And he was wearing a white Venetian mask.

"What the hell-"

"Don't scream, dove." The voice was British, accented, smooth... familiar. Too familiar.

Her mouth opened. "Elliot?"

The man chuckled softly. "Still observant. That's what I missed about you."

She made a lunge for the lamp.

He was faster.

He had her trapped on the bed before she could reach it, one gloved hand around her wrist, the other over her mouth.

"Shhh," he whispered, pressing his face close. "I'm not here to hurt you. Not yet."

Terror exploded in her chest. Elliot Sinclair. The man who shattered her trust, handed her father the weapon that nearly destroyed Lucien, and vanished without a trace... was standing in Lucien's bedroom.

"How did you-how dare you-" she hissed as he pulled back.

He tugged off the mask. And God help her, he still looked like sin.

Stunning. Merciless. Seductive in the politician's son, Ivy-League kind of way. A silk-covered devil with a pretty smile.

"I've missed you, Amara," he said. "I see Wolfe didn't waste any time sinking his claws in."

"You've got thirty seconds before I start screaming loud enough for every armed guard in this building to hear."

Elliot tipped his head. "Lucien doesn't know I'm here."

She narrowed her eyes. "How did you get in?

His smile expanded. "You still think this is a game you understand, darling. It's not."

She stood slowly up, crossing her arms. "Why now?"

"Because the game's changed." He reached into his coat and pulled out a flash drive. "I have something your lover's going to want. And you're going to deliver it to him."

She laughed bitterly. "You think I'm your pawn?

"No." He stepped closer. "You're my queen. Always were. But you're playing on the wrong board."

He set the drive on the nightstand. "Tell Lucien I'm back. And I'm not hiding anymore."

"Why don't you stay and tell him yourself?"

Elliot's eyes darkened. "Because if he sees me before I'm ready, one of us will die. And I'm not done playing yet."

He leaned in, brushed her jaw with his lips. "You still wear danger like perfume, Amara. I like that."

And then he was gone.

Quiet. Ghost-like.

Gone before the alarms ever sounded.

---

Lucien exploded into the penthouse thirty minutes later, coat flying, jaw tight.

Amara was still sitting on the bed, the flash drive clutched in her hand like a ticking time bomb.

He looked at her-really looked-and halted. "What happened?"

"He was here."

Lucien's face went still. "Who?"

She held out the drive. "Elliot."

Ice crystallized in everything inside him.

He took it without a word, searching her face for answers. "Did he hurt you?"

"No. Just... shook me up."

Lucien walked to his desk, inserted the flash drive, and tapped the keys. His face hardened as images opened.

Blueprints. Financials. Blackmail letters. Surveillance photographs of Amara from the past. Dated. Tracked.

And one photograph at the end.

Lucien. Amara. In bed. Five years ago, taken from a hotel balcony.

She breathed in sharply. "That night..."

"He was watching us," Lucien snarled. "He's been watching ever since."

Amara sat down. "What does he want?"

"Me. And now-us."

Lucien turned to her, something awful simmering in his eyes. "This changes everything."

"Lucien-"

"I'm not letting him touch you again."

Amara swallowed. "You can't control everything."

"Watch me."

That night, he took her to the private club-Sable, his fortress. No phones. No cameras. No strangers. The air hummed with low music, black leather, forbidden kinks, and eyes that knew the art of secrets.

He needed her to be seen. Needed the world to recognize that she was his.

She was wearing red this time-backless, high-cut, no bra. Lucien's orders.

He was sitting in a private booth, Amara on his lap, one hand possessively curled around her thigh, the other drawing slow, menacing designs underneath her dress.

"I have to make them look," he whispered. "Need them to understand how off-limits you are."

She shivered. "This isn't just about Elliot."

"No," he said dangerously. "It's about everyone who's ever imagined they could take something from me."

The booth curtain drew open.

Rafael entered.

Amara stiffened. "What is he doing here?"

Lucien didn't move. "He works for me now."

"Since when?"

"Since he figured out his loyalty could be purchased."

Rafael smirked. "Always was."

Amara scowled. "You betrayed me."

Rafael stepped forward. "I kept you safe. You just don't know it yet."

Lucien stood, putting Amara behind him. "Say what you came to say, Rafael."

Rafael's smile vanished. "You're being hunted, Wolfe. Elliot's not alone. He's got a partner. Someone important."

Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Name."

"I don't have it yet. But the message was clear. The woman is the key. Hurt her, control you."

Amara's blood ran cold.

Lucien's arm tightened around her waist. "Let them come. I'll burn them all."

Rafael dropped a file on the table. "Start here. This is bigger than revenge."

Then he was gone.

Lucien turned back to her. "You still trust me?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "But I'm still here."

He leaned in, lips brushing hers. "Then we fight together."

---

That night, he didn't make love to her.

He claimed her.

Hands harsh. Mouth imperious. Each thrust a vow and a menace.

When she came, it wasn't pleasure only-it was possession.

And when she whispered his name in the dark, it was surrender as much as challenge.

---

But in the shadows of the city. a new player watched.

Her figure obscured by the roof of the penthouse across from Lucien's.

She lowered her binoculars, picked up her phone, and dialed.

"They're both in."

Pause.

"Yes. Her loyalty is faltering."

Pause.

Low laugh.

"No. We don't kill Amara yet. We let her choose."

Click.

End call.