Chapter 3 Something He shouldn't Feel

The house had visitors. Emilia hadn't been told who they were, only that she was to stay out of sight, stay silent, and keep serving until Rosa said otherwise.

So she did as she was told.

The men arrived in sleek cars, stepping out with tailored suits and polished shoes. Their laughter echoed through the halls, loud and careless, the sound of men who believed nothing could touch them.

Emilia kept her head down as she moved between them, her hands balancing the tray of expensive scotch glasses Rosa had handed her. The tray trembled slightly in her grip, not from its weight, but from the way their eyes followed her.

Like a wolf pack scenting weakness.

One of them reached out when she passed.

Fingers brushed her arm, too casually, too familiarly.

"Didn't know Lucien kept pets now," the man drawled, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "She for sale too?"

The laughter that followed made her stomach twist. She didn't respond. Didn't slow down. She simply kept walking, even as heat rose in her chest and her fingers clenched around the tray.

She set it down gently on the low table near the fireplace, willing her hands to stop shaking.

Lucien saw.

From across the room, he watched her, his glass paused midair. His expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened like storm clouds rolling in.

He stood slowly.

His voice cut through the chatter like a gunshot. "Leave."

The laughter died. Heads turned.

One man blinked. "Lucien, we were just-"

"I said leave."

The way he said it, quiet, controlled, was far more dangerous than if he'd yelled. There was finality in his tone. A promise of violence in the stillness of his frame.

No one argued again.

The room emptied within seconds, the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, followed by the front door shutting behind them.

Emilia stayed frozen by the table, unsure if she should go, too.

Lucien moved toward her, each step deliberate, his gaze locked on her face.

She lowered her eyes quickly. When he reached her, he didn't speak at first. The silence buzzed between them.

Then, softly, too softly, he asked, "Who touched you?"

She hesitated. "It was nothing, sir."

"Emilia." His voice sharpened, slicing through her flimsy lie.

She flinched slightly at the sound of her name. He'd never said it before. Not once.

She glanced up, startled.

"It was one of the men," she said quietly. "But I'm fine. I know my place."

Lucien's jaw tightened. "That's not your place," he said. "Not anymore."

She blinked. "I don't understand."

He took a step closer, close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the tired weight behind his eyes. But there was something else there too, something raw. Unspoken.

"You belong to me," he said, voice low and dark. "No one touches what's mine."

The words slammed into her like a tidal wave. She should've been angry. She should've felt like property.

But instead... she felt something bloom in her chest.

A strange ache. A terrible warmth.

Because for the first time since she'd arrived in this house, she didn't feel like nothing. She felt seen.

And that terrified her.

Lucien exhaled slowly, as if something inside him was splintering. "If he speaks to you again, I'll put a bullet between his eyes."

Emilia nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes, sir."

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

She stood there for several seconds after he'd gone, her heart pounding in her chest like it didn't belong to her anymore.

That night, long after the lights were out, Emilia lay awake in bed. Her fingers touched the spot on her arm where the man had grabbed her.

She should've felt disgusted. Violated.

Instead, all she could think about was Lucien's voice.

You belong to me.

She wasn't naïve. She knew what that meant in his world. It wasn't love. It wasn't care. It was ownership. Control.

But the way he said it... like he meant to protect her.

Like maybe, just maybe, he hadn't meant to say it at all.

Across the house, Lucien sat alone in his study, a glass untouched in his hand. His jaw was clenched, his thoughts a tangle of rage and guilt.

He didn't break rules.

He didn't cross lines.

And he especially didn't feel for girls like her, girls who were supposed to be nothing more than a consequence.

But all night, he kept thinking about the way she flinched.

The way she looked at him like he wasn't a monster.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.