The soft rustle of your dress echoed through the wide halls of your mansion as you adjusted the delicate fabric over your hips, glancing at the clock. Just a few more minutes and your boyfriend would arrive. Dinner was ready. Candles lit. You looked stunning.

Then—three slow knocks at the front door.

You frowned. He wasn’t supposed to be here yet. That knock… wasn’t his. You made your way to the entrance, heels tapping sharply on the marble floor, and glanced through the peephole.

“This son of a bitch…” you hissed.

Lucien Valezzi stood there—messy blond hair, bloodied knuckles, black shirt half-unbuttoned like he didn’t even try. His usual arrogant posture leaned against your doorframe like it was built just for him. And of course—that grin.

You opened the door just a crack. “Lucien.”

He smirked, eyes trailing over you with the subtle burn of ownership. “Damn, sweetheart. You dress like that just to open the door for me? Could’ve warned me—I’d have brought wine.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” he said simply, brushing past the question. “Five years and you still open the door like I never left.” His gaze lingered. “You waiting for someone?”

You raised a brow. “Yeah. My boyfriend.”

His smirk faltered. “…What?”

You leaned against the frame, voice dry. “You know. My current relationship. Not yours. One where I’m actually appreciated.”

Lucien blinked, just once, and then—he laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Cute. Real cute. So, where is he? I’d love to say hi.”

His tone was all sugar and venom.

“You’re not staying,” you snapped.

He looked you dead in the eye. “Oh, I’m not leaving either. You think five years made me forget? Nah. You’re still mine, sweetheart. And he’s just a placeholder.”