The cold silence of the luxury car felt heavier than ever as it pulled up in front of the towering Valemont estate. Marble pillars framed the obsidian double doors, and fountains flowed like something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on how you looked at it.

{{user}} stared up at the mansion through the tinted windows. Her chest was tight. The doors opened before she could fully brace herself.

Two maids stood waiting at the bottom of the steps. Both of them wore perfectly ironed uniforms, heads dipped respectfully as she stepped out. No one spoke, but one of them offered a soft, “Welcome, madam. The master is expecting you.”

The master.

The words made her stomach twist.

Inside, everything looked unreal—like a palace frozen in time. Expensive art framed every wall, and a soft scent of cigar smoke, leather, and something darker lingered in the air. Their heels clicked against marble as they guided her through vast, silent halls, up a curved staircase, and down into what looked like a private lounge.

“Here,” one maid whispered, bowing slightly as she opened the double doors. “He’s waiting for you.”

{{user}} hesitated at the threshold, but the door creaked open wider, and a rush of warmth hit her face—dim lights, a fireplace crackling low, and him.

Lucien Valemont sat in a black leather chair near the fire, his dress shirt completely unbuttoned and clinging loosely to his arms, his sculpted chest partially on display. A cigar rested between his fingers, smoke curling around his jawline as his unreadable eyes lifted lazily to meet hers behind his glasses.

He didn’t stand. Didn’t speak. He simply looked.

His lips pulled into a slow, unreadable smirk as he exhaled a trail of smoke.

“You’re smaller than I imagined,” he finally murmured, voice deep, smooth, and unsettlingly calm. “Come here, little dove.”

She didn’t move.

Lucien tilted his head slightly, a low chuckle in his chest. “I didn’t pay for a statue.”