Chapter 5 The Bargaining Room

"Everything has a price. Even your defiance."

The library wasn't on any map of the penthouse.

Calla found it by accident, only if accidents existed in a house built by a man who controlled every inch.

Tucked behind an archway near Lucian's study, it was quiet, moody, and lined with shelves that climbed up toward a ceiling of dark glass. No staff. No guards. Just silence, the scent of old books, and the trace of expensive leather. Leather so expensive she didn't want to sit on it....but who cares.

She liked it there. The silence was gold.

She liked it because it felt like a secret Lucian hadn't meant to give her.

And that made it hers. One she didn't have to fight or beg for.

She had just curled into a velvet chair with a book of Russian poetry in her mother's language, when the door opened.

And he entered.

Lucian Wolfe never knocked. He didn't need to. It was his house after all.

His presence always preceded him-like a storm in tailored black.

His dark eyes landed on her, unreadable, then mildly surprised. Surprised she actually managed to find the place.

"I see you found my sanctuary."

"Yours?" she asked, not moving.

His gaze didn't shift. "Everything in this house belongs to me."

"Even the air I breathe?"

"If I paid for it," he said smoothly, "then yes, it belongs to me."

He moved toward the tall windows, framed by slate curtains, gazing out at the fractured skyline.

"You've been quiet today," he remarked.

"You locked me in yesterday."

"I gave you space to reflect."

"You took away my clothes."

"I left you dignity."

She shut the book slowly.

"You left me control," she whispered, rising. "And that, Lucian, was your mistake which you are going to regret."

He turned then-fully.

Not angry. Just... curious.

"What is it you want, Calla?"

There it was. The question she'd been waiting for. The question which was going to change everything.

He expected her to beg, for her phone, her brother's medical updates, her escape.

Instead, she stepped forward.

Close enough to smell him, bergamot, cedar, cold fire.

Close enough to feel that for once, he wasn't the only one with leverage.

"I want to negotiate," she said.

A pause. A beat.

Lucian's expression didn't shift, but something in his eyes sharpened.

"Negotiate?"

"Yes. You said everything has a price. Even my obedience."

He folded his arms. "And what are you offering?"

She smiled faintly. "Dinner."

Lucian blinked. "Dinner?"

"Tonight. With me. No staff. No guards. No rules. Just you and me."

His stare didn't waver. "And what do I get in return?"

"I'll follow one command tomorrow," she said, "without complaint."

His jaw ticked. Just barely.

"And if I say no?"

She stepped back, tracing her fingers along the carved edge of the bookshelf.

"Then I keep playing the sweet little prisoner. Quiet. Docile. Obedient..." Her voice dropped. "On the outside."

She walked to the door, one bare footfall after another.

"But you'll never know what I'm planning and what I'm thinking."

Dinner was at eight.

He accepted the deal.

She descended the stairs in crimson silk-one of the only dresses she'd salvaged from her ruined wardrobe.

No bra. Bare shoulders. A slit climbing high up her thigh like a dare.

Lucian stood waiting at the end of the dining room, a single candlelit table between them.

He didn't speak when he saw her.

But his knuckles flexed as he pulled her chair out.

The room was darker tonight.

No chandeliers. Just candles.

No security posted. Just silence.

Wine, not water.

"I suppose this is how you used to lure women in," she murmured, sipping.

"I never lured women in," he replied, pouring his own glass. "I took. I took whatever i wanted."

"And now you're letting me take the lead?" she asked sweetly. "Interesting."

"You're not leading. I'm simply curious."

"About what?"

"What you think you're doing."

They ate in silence for a while.

Not awkward, but charged. With electricity.

Every move he made was precise. Calculated. But she noticed it.

The subtle tightness in his jaw.

The shallow rise of his chest.

Lucian Wolfe was not untouched.

He was watching her.

Measuring her.

"You weren't always like this," she said at last.

"Like what?"

"Cold."

He looked at her now. Not cruel. Not amused. Just... still.

"Don't mistake control for coldness, Calla."

She tilted her head. "Then let me ask you something real."

"Ask."

"Why me?"

Lucian didn't answer right away.

He finished his wine.

Set the glass down slowly.

"Because I needed someone who wouldn't run. Someone with more to lose than I did."

She blinked.

"And you think I won't run?"

"I know you won't," he said quietly. "Because I own the one thing you're still fighting for."

Her little brother. Her brother was the only reason she agreed to the contract at first.

The room spun. Her hand gripped the edge of the table.

"You don't own him."

"I own his future. And you know it."

Calla's fingers curled into a fist beneath the tablecloth.

He stood.

Then Walked around the table.

"You wore red tonight," he said softly. "That was a choice."

"I'm not scared of you."

"You should be."

His hand came to rest lightly against her jaw, his thumb grazing the corner of her mouth.

Calla didn't flinch.

"You think this is a game," he murmured.

"I think you don't know how to lose."

They were too close now. Her breath hitched.

"If you kiss me," she warned, voice breaking slightly, "I might bite you."

Lucian smirked.

"If I kiss you, Calla..." His mouth brushed just above her ear.

"...you'll beg for the rules again."

And then-he stepped back.

Left her breathless. Again.

He was halfway out the door when he paused.

"Your one command tomorrow," he said without turning.

Calla exhaled slowly. "What is it?"

Lucian's voice dropped to velvet.

"You'll move into my bedroom."

Then the door closed behind him.