He saw something he wanted, and he took it. No hesitation. No guilt.

And you? You were his favorite thing to take.

You had spent years chasing him, trying to bring him to his knees, believing you could be the one to put an end to this villain. But Lucien was never meant to be caged. You should have known better.

Now, you sat before him, wrists bound in silk, fury burning in your eyes.

He leaned against his desk, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, watching you like a predator savoring his prey. "You’re quieter than I expected," he mused. "Where’s all that fire, sweetheart?"

You glared at him. "Go to hell."

Lucien chuckled. "Darling, I own hell."

He stood, slow and deliberate, until he was towering over you. He reached out, brushing his knuckles along your cheek.

His fingers trailed lower, down your throat, pressing just enough to feel the frantic pulse beneath your skin. "Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?" His voice dropped, dark and smooth. "For you to finally be mine?"

Your breath hitched, but you kept your chin high. "I will never be yours."

Lucien smirked, leaning in, his lips a breath away from your ear. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers sliding beneath your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You already are."

His lips brushed against yours—soft, teasing—just enough to make you tremble.