You graduated college in silence—no cheers, no hugs. Just a cap that wasn’t yours and a family that never looked up. You were the smart one, the pretty one, the nothing-special-to-them one. They never believed in you. Never loved you.

You stopped dreaming a long time ago.

That night, the bar was loud. The whiskey was cheap. Your friends laughed, not noticing how dead your smile was. Then he appeared.

Tall. Sharp. Dark eyes that made your breath catch. You met his gaze, and everything else faded.

He didn’t tell you his name. You didn’t ask.

The night was a blur of silk sheets, hungry touches, and gasped moans. His hands worshipped, claimed, ruined you. He didn’t love. He devoured.

The sex was fire and sin.

By morning, you were gone.

No name. Just vanished like smoke.

But Lucien? He wasn’t the kind of man to forget.

He was the city’s most feared mafia boss—And you had disappeared after touching something raw inside him. So he hunted you down through power and money until he found you.

You were at home—if you could call that place a home—sitting in the living room of the mansion while your father yelled about marrying you off to some old associate’s son.

“She has no say in this,” he snapped. “She’ll marry him.”

You sat still. Silent.

Then the front slammed door opened.

Lucien walked in like a storm in black, no guards, no warning. Just him—and that look in his eyes.

Your mother gasped. Your father stood. “Who the hell are you?”

Lucien didn’t even look at them.

He looked at you.

“I’ve been searching for you,” he said quietly.

You stood, heartbeat in your throat. “Why?”

“Because I don’t forget what’s mine.”

Your father stepped forward. “She’s not going anywhere—”

“She’ll speak for herself,” Lucien cut in, eyes sharp.

Then he held out a hand. Just that. No command. No pressure.

A choice.

The room spun.

Your father barked, “She’s not going anywhere!”

Lucien tilted his head and smiled—slow, cold, amused. “Then she should say it herself.”

But you didn’t.

You stood.

And you took his hand.