Lucian’s Reign: A Billionaire Romance

“My very first art teacher used to say that every event happening in our life was predicted for us.

As our destiny is written in the stars before we are even born.

So fighting against it has no point. If something is supposed to happen, it will happen, even if you scream your lungs out at the injustice of it all.

Oddly, I found her words poetic, even though they were coated in tragedy.

However, she was wrong.

Destiny might be wise, but it can be exceptionally cruel too.

And as such, I do not have to accept her decision.

Like a monster who took a liking to me.”

Esmeralda

From Evangeline’s Diary…

April

They say loving someone can never be a sin, because it’s one of the most beautiful emotions this life has to offer.

How can it evoke so much hatred, then?

Hatred that slowly eats at me, making me question all the stories my parents spoke so highly of, because they seem like a pile of lies stacked on top of each other.

My fingers are trembling writing this entry as tears drip down on the paper, smearing the ink and making the words a jumbled mess, but I don’t care.

If I do not express my feelings here, where can I do it?

My first date several months ago with my prince was magical.

When he brought me back home, I was so nervous, glancing at him every other second, wondering if he would kiss me while he kept his gaze on the road, his muscled hand gliding smoothly over the steering wheel, which only added to the heat spreading in my veins.

He stopped the vehicle abruptly to my shocked gasp and then shifted to me, wrapping his hand around my neck and dragging me closer to him, connecting our mouths in a kiss.

The kiss solidified the beginning of something new.

“You are mine now, Evangeline, right?” he asked me between the kisses, his hands sliding from my shoulders to my waist. “Say it.”

“Yes,” I whispered, giggling softly when his lips traveled to my neck and he nipped on my flesh.

Finally, we arrived at my house. He parked the car on the side, because I didn’t want my mom seeing us arriving so late. By my estimation, she was already in bed, and with one last kiss and a promise to meet the next day, I snuck inside through the back door, only to come to a halt when Mom turned on the lights, blinding me for a second as she greeted me in the kitchen.

“Mom!” I exclaimed, placing my hand on my chest. “You scared me.”

Instead of answering me, she sipped her coffee, and then said, “I do not like this boy.” A look I recognized well settled on her face, announcing to me my prince and our new relationship were in danger.

Disapproval.

“You haven’t even given him a chance, Mom.”

“Some men don’t need chances to see their true nature. Stay away from this boy.” She hissed out the order, put her mug in the sink, and pointed a finger at me. “I forbid it.” And she walked away before I could even object or remind her about being nineteen and not needing her permission for anything.

But then, should I be surprised?

After Dad’s death, Mom made it abundantly clear my wishes and desires matter very little… ever since money became tight, and she refuses to ask my rich grandmother for help. She says we have to choose our priorities.

And somehow, Esmeralda always ends up on top while I sit firmly at the bottom.

Just once, I crave to know what it’s like to be someone’s priority.

Someone’s number one, above all others.

And my prince is giving me that every single day, whispering loving words into my ears and taking me to do all the things I wanted but never dared before.

We continue our relationship despite my mom’s disapproval or the arguments because I refuse to pitch in as much as I used to.

I have a life too now.

And this life includes tickets to Hawaii my prince bought us and a few of my friends to celebrate my twentieth birthday. To Mom’s dismay, he is rich.

I deserve to be happy.

I deserve to be out on the town and enjoy this life to the fullest.

And if my mom cannot accept it, then so be it. Because it all comes down to the fact that she disapproves of my prince, who she hasn’t even bothered to get to know. My friends warned me parents start acting crazy once you get a man, but I always thought my mom, who faced so much shit from our grandmother, would never be so harsh on my choice.

What happened to my loving parent? What happened to me?

Sometimes, I don’t even recognize myself in my diary.

I used to be happy. Why do I sound so bitter now despite having my love with me?

May

Writing this entry on the plane is hardly comfortable, adding to the tears streaming down my cheeks, but that’s what I do anyway.

I’m flying to Hawaii in a few minutes, celebrating my birthday with my friends and their excited squeals as they sip the champagne my prince ordered for them.

Yet nothing but devastation fills my body, because I left the house after a huge argument and words that were more like arrows aimed to hurt my mom.

Our conversation didn’t go as I expected. She waited for me in the living room as I dragged my suitcase down and marched to the door. Despite it all, I felt like shit for being so rude to Mom and having all these arguments in the last months. They were so not like us. “Mom—”

Her warm arms wrapped around me, hugging me so close to her before I could even finish my sentence, her familiar scent enveloping me and calming some nerves inside me.

Returning her hug, I scrunched my eyes and exhaled in relief. “I love you, baby,” she whispered into my ear, patting my back.

“I love you too, Mom.” Leaning back, I grinned at her while Esme smiled from the couch, momentarily taking her gaze away from her sketches. “I’m sorry about everything.”

She palmed my head, rubbed my cheeks with her thumbs, and replied, “Me too.” A beat, and then she added, “I might disapprove of this young man, but it doesn’t mean you stopped being my little girl.”

Her statement felt like cold water sprayed over me, drenching me in ice and fury.

Stepping away from her, I uttered, “I love him, Mom.” She jerked at my words. “You will have to accept him.”

“I do not have to accept him. That man is dangerous!” She screamed the last part and then covered her mouth with her palm, regret filling her eyes as if she didn’t mean to say it.

Hysterical laughter spilled past my lips. “By all means, Mom, don’t hold yourself back. He is not trouble. You just can’t accept it, can you?” Her brows furrowed in confusion, so I elaborated. “I have a life that doesn’t involve you or Esme. I’m in love with an amazing man. And it scares you, doesn’t it?”

“Is this what you think of me?” Hurt laced her voice as she swallowed harshly. “That I object to this man because I don’t want to see you happy?” My silence must have spoken volumes, because she shook her head, tears forming in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. “The reason I object is because he is bad news.”

My prince who bestowed me with love, attention, and understanding didn’t deserve these insults, and after all the goodness he had shown me, I had to finally choose his side once and for all.

Maybe that’s how Dad felt all those years ago when he escaped the arranged marriage Grandma planned for him and chose Mom, essentially accepting being cut off emotionally and financially from his family.

Pain slashed my insides and, gripping the suitcase, I decided to dish out another punishment so maybe she would hurt as much as I did in that moment. “He asked me to move in with him, and I will say yes. Clearly, we no longer can exist in the same place.”

Esme jumped up from her seat, rushed to Mom, and hugged her hips, watching me accusingly, which only intensified the annoyance inside me. “You will still have your perfect child with you.”

And with those words, spinning around, I dashed toward the door and reached for the knob but paused with my back facing my mom, when she said, “Evangeline.” My heart beat rapidly in my chest as I refused to turn around and apologize for the outburst. “Don’t leave like this. We love you.”

I closed my eyes. “I love you too, but I love him as well. If you can’t accept him, then I’m afraid you pushed me into this choice, Mom.” With this, I walked out of my house and ran to my prince, who already waited for me by his car.

Which brings me to now.

My friends laugh happily, my prince rests his head on my shoulder, inhaling my scent, while Hawaii awaits me in mere hours.

Happiness should swallow me whole.

But instead, something else haunts my body, something unfamiliar.

A feeling of doom destined to come true no matter where I go.

But maybe that’s just guilt.

My prince’s hand rests on my knee, rubbing it gently, silently giving me his support, and it calms me a bit.

Because whatever the future holds for me… he’ll stay by my side.

And that’s all that should matter, right?

Esmeralda

Dipping my brush into the blue paint, I’m ready to splash it on the canvas, when my doorbell rings and disrupts my plan, my brush grazing the canvas and smearing in the wrong place.

Huffing in exasperation, I drop it on the nearby table, grab a towel to wipe my hands, and walk out of my dark studio, scrunching my eyes at the blinding sun brightening up the entire living room of my house.

Studying my home for the hundredth time, I sweep my gaze lovingly over the spacious oval-shaped room with a fluffy white couch, three chairs, and a round table in the middle opposite the wall where one of my favorite paintings hangs, always reminding me why I bother to find new talents.

Simply put, art gives me life, and anyone who feels the same should have a chance to make a living at it.

The heavy bookshelf beginning in the left corner spreads across the wall and holds various limited-edition books from ancient myths and fairy tales to artistic style.

Purple, lilac, and white dominate the color scheme around me, and even the rug I found on one of the auction sites has traces of purple in it.

Don’t you dare color your hair, Esme. Do you hear me? I forbid it.

A smile curves my lips, and I touch a bit of my hair, imagining Grandmother’s face when she saw my pictures. Even if I didn’t love the color, I would have changed my hair just to spite her.

She might act like she doesn’t care about losing the connection with me, but in her warped way, she loves me—probably because compared to all her kids and grandchildren, I’ve actually done something she could be proud of… by her standards. She continues to invite me to all the family functions, and all her invitations stay unanswered. Which results in her threatening to write me out of her will and leave everything to charity, as if it would sadden me.

Maybe someone would finally be happy with the family money.

I might have forgotten the cane, the harsh words, even the coldness and demands to give our relationship a second chance.

But her treatment of people and the constant jabs at my parents, whose only sin was to love each other, was something I couldn’t pass by.

An arched door leads to the kitchen filled with the latest equipment that always shines under the light and showcases my reflection. This room brings peace to my heart since I love cooking, and that’s why I objected when a designer offered to remove the door between the living room and the kitchen.

My living room should smell only like the orchids always filling my vases and not like food; otherwise, the smells would slip under the door to my studio, and I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything.

My studio where all my work equipment is stored, and the only place I create, consists of several tables, some shelves, and lots of canvases lying all over the floor—either used or to be used—that mostly stay out of people’s reach. The designer tried to convince me to build a detached studio to the house rather than disrupt such a pretty room, as she said, but I found the idea idiotic.

I spend hours there, sometimes even all day and night. The last thing I want is to stroll through the garden to my house in the middle of the night.

The bedroom was the only place I didn’t object to her ideas, and she went all in, ordering a wide bed and even a vanity table, which only amused me.

If it wasn’t for showering, I would hardly spend any time in my room anyway. I can fall asleep anywhere, even on the floor.

Although my house is considered relatively small, according to some of my acquaintances, I love how it stands in the middle of the wide property, and that was the deciding factor in purchasing it.

The small garden with several types of rare flowers already planted brought a sense of peace to my soul and created an illusion of a protective balloon shielding me from the dangers lurking in the night.

The doorbell rings again, the annoying sound bouncing around the walls, and I mutter, “Clearly, it doesn’t stop people from coming here anyway.” Wrapping my hand around the doorknob, I raise on my tiptoes and glance into the peephole to see Lila standing on the other side. Surprised, I open the door. “Weren’t you here just yesterday?”

She grins at my question. “Hello to you too, darling.” She steps around me and comes inside, shaking a paper bag in the air as she passes me by, and heads straight to the kitchen. “I brought donuts.”

“Well, in that case, welcome,” I say, shutting the door and following her as we step inside the squarish space where the curtains billow with the breeze coming from the open window.

A slight shiver runs down my spine, and I rub my feet against each other before going to the kettle and turning it on as Lila drops onto the chair by the large, round table and puts the bag on it. “How are you?” she asks, resting her chin on her hand, scanning me from head to toe. “No lies.”

Taking out two mugs from the upper shelves, I place them on the small tray along with two plates before pouring tea in them. “Good.” A beat passes, and I look over my shoulder at her. “You dragged your ass all the way here to ask me this? You could have called.”

She chuckles. “Right, because you have such a good reputation for hearing the phone.”

The kettle whistles loudly, so I quickly snap it up to add the hot water into the cups.

Picking up the tray, I saunter toward her and settle it between us as I sit on the chair opposite. She takes out the donuts and drops them on the plates. “Lila.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you here?”

She might be more insistent than any other person in my life when it comes to conversations and meetups, but even she doesn’t stop by every day. Besides, the slight fidgeting of her fingers and her drumming on the table are a sign she finds something stressful, and this makes me suspicious. “Are you cancelling the wedding?” She blushes under my stare, and I groan into my hand.

My God, the stupid statue is going to stay in my warehouse forever. Why can’t these people stick to one wedding date? How hard is it to marry a man?

You go to the church, say yes, and voila, you’re married!

“No!” My brows furrow in confusion. “Okay, if you want me to be honest….”

“Please. I have a painting waiting for me in the studio, so spill the beans, woman.”

I grab the chocolate donut, ready to sink my teeth into the delicious pastry, when her words still my movements and speed up my heartbeat.

“Lucian. I came here to ask about your meeting and how it went.”

And just with his name alone uttered from her lips, she brings back last night so vividly in my head a hot flush spreads through me, reminding me of every touch, breath, kiss the man bestowed on me that set my blood on fire.

I squeeze the donut so hard the chocolate spills a little on my fingers, which once again flashes a memory of him licking his clean after he gave me my first real orgasm, because all the self-induced ones couldn’t even compare to that one.

Last night, after I ran away from him like a coward, I quickly hopped into a cab, and it drove me home in record time. Then I took a very long shower, hoping to calm the sensations filling me with some kind of unexplained frustration, but it didn’t help me much.

I spent the night tossing and turning, sweat covering my skin, while my thoughts were filled with the erotic images of Lucian doing things to me.

It seems once you open the flood gate of physical satisfaction and desire, it’s impossible to shut it down.

Giving up on sleep all together, I had some tea and decided to paint, which ironically ended up a great idea, because creativity just poured from me in streams.

However, I couldn’t reach that special place in my head where I store my art, because Lucian always managed to slip into my thoughts, making me question my actions and why I ran away from him.

Maybe instead of being a coward, I should have stuck around and finished whatever else he had in store to feed the hunger within me, and then we would have gone our separate ways.

Based on his reputation, he has women falling all over him everywhere he goes, so he probably samples different flavors every other week.

Rage fills me, tasting bitter on my tongue, because the idea of another woman getting what belonged only to me yesterday brings out the worst in me, a need to claw her face, and his too while I’m at it.

How ridiculous is that?

He didn’t even mean that indirect offer of marriage that also occupied my mind, wondering if he was being truthful in that moment.

Men say all sorts of things during sexy times, right?

Lila sighs heavily, pulling me back into the present, and I blink at her. “Forgot I was here?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer and continues talking, “He called Eugene last night and said he would sponsor three scholarships.”

“That’s great.” I munch on my donut, too lost to say anything else, although warmth blankets my heart at hearing this. Does it mean he trusts my judgment?

She huffs, wrapping her hands around the mug and lifting it to her mouth. “Generosity is not one of his virtues. In fact, he has none of those.” She takes a sip while annoyance zaps through me at her criticism of him. “Everything he does has a purpose.” Sip. “If I had to compare him to a wild animal, it would be a lion. He sets his eyes on his prey, stalks it, until he kills it. Predator.”

“You have something against lions?” The beastly creatures have always had their special charms, although I wouldn’t wish to cross paths with any of them.

“No.” Sip. Sip. Sip. “What happened last night, Esme?”

I straighten at her ordering tone and lift my brow, because I no longer answer to anyone or feel the need to justify my actions.

She exhales heavily. “I’m sorry if it sounded harsh, but… ugh… Lucian is not a good guy, and I just want to make sure he didn’t hurt you.”

Laughter threatens to spill from my lips at how serious she sounds. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m not a child. He was fine, and we had a business dinner.” Which is true, but no way I’m admitting to what happened after. I don’t need her judgment added to the little self-loathing party going on inside me. “Did you sleep with him?” The words spill from my mouth before I can stop them, and I regret it right away.

If that’s the case, I don’t want to hear that she knows what it’s like to experience his touch and body under her while, I just had a taste and not the full-course meal.

However, what else can explain her hostility and worry over me possibly getting hurt in the process?

She spits her tea back in her mug, coughing harshly, and grabs a napkin to wipe her mouth, her eyes widening in shock. “What? No!”

The relief slamming into me is so strong I lean on my elbow while internally screaming at myself, because why should it even matter? I decided not to hook up with him anyway, right?

I don’t even sound convincing to my own ears.

She elaborates, “He just loves to speak in riddles, has this whole dangerous personality, and you are…”

“Naïve?” It wouldn’t be the first time people assumed this about me, but such an assessment of my character by her hurts me.

No one truly knows who hides behind the mask people wear for the world, so all these assumptions get on my nerves.

I thought Lila got to know me better through the years, but maybe I was wrong.

“Different. And men like Lucian love to indulge in different.” She shakes her head and places her hand over my own while I finish my donut. “I’m sorry if I’m acting crazy.”

I relax under her guilty expression, because maybe that’s what friendship is all about, protecting your friends from possible heartbreak, and I wink at her. “Don’t worry. My virtue is intact.”

Her jaw drops open at this, and she starts to say something, when the doorbell rings again, freezing us both.

Since Lila is here, who could possibly be there?

“Is Eugene supposed to pick you up?” I get up, throwing my hair over my shoulder as I dash toward the door with Lila hot on my heels.

“No, I came with our driver who’s waiting for me in the car. I have an appointment with a wedding planner in an hour.”

“Maybe he needs something.” Without checking the peephole, I open the door while grinning, only for the smile to slip from my lips when I see who is here.

“Hola, gatita.” The deep and husky voice greeting me belongs to the handsome man resting his hand on the doorjamb as his brown orbs drill into me. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, blue jeans stretching over his legs, black boots, and a leather jacket that shows his muscled body in the most glorious light—which results in familiar desire starting in the pit of my stomach, because those muscles felt divine against my curves. “Te ves preciosa.”

You look gorgeous.

“What are you doing here?”

How does he even know where I live? An odd thrill that I choose not to examine travels through me at his presence, though that puts a comma on our relationship rather than the period I intended to put last night.

He grins at my question, and even the man’s teeth are perfect, which doesn’t help the artist in me, craving to depict him in either a painting or a sculpture. “Because I missed you. Why else?” He shifts his attention to Lila, who just gapes at us, her gaze moving from mine to his as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing right now. “Hello, Lila. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Lucian.”

The words between them are so cold I can physically feel the degrees drop around us.

He settles his gaze back on me, amusement sparking in his eyes, and he announces, “You ran away after our kiss, before I could ask you out on a date.”

He shocks me with his statement so much for several reasons.

First, do men like Lucian Cortez even date?

Second, why did he have to say this in front of my friend, who has already driven me crazy about him?

And third, why, oh why, does the prospect of going on a date inspire such deep joy within me?

Before he can say anything else, Lila shuts the door in his face and turns to me. “Charming asshole. What was unclear about that statement?”

“Well, he is charming indeed,” I mutter, which makes her groan and run her fingers through her hair. “And a good kisser.”

“The man is a whore!” She opens the door again, glaring at him. “You cannot treat my friend like you do all the other women.”

“Lila, are you out of your mind?” I hiss, dreading to hear any details about his past, and besides, who says this kind of stuff to a guy? “Please, stop before you regret it.”

I take back my earlier words. Having friends who feel the need to meddle in your business is fucking exhausting and should be strictly prohibited.

“I don’t have other women, and calling me a whore is a big exaggeration, don’t you think? Women flocking to me hardly makes it my fault.” Although he speaks to her, his entire attention belongs to me. “Do not concern yourself with this bullshit.” Truth rings in his statement, and although his reputation makes me cautious, I don’t really care as long as he stays faithful to me.

Faithful to me?

Oh my God.

His insanity is rubbing off on me, since I’m already thinking about a future here.

She slams the door again, drumming her fingers on the wood, while I’m so exasperated by the entire exchange I have no words whatsoever. “Do you like him?” My cheeks heat up, and I avoid her gaze, and my behavior is an answer in itself.

No matter how much the rational voice within me screams at me to sever any ties with him now before it’s too late, I don’t think I can listen to it.

You can’t play it safe forever.

Lucian was right, of course; however, exploring each other’s body is one thing, and engaging in a whole relationship is another.

“All right, then. I clearly wouldn’t be able to stop him now.” At the way she says these words, as if I signed my death warrant, my hackles rise and an alarm goes off in my head. She softens them with a loud chuckle though. “Good luck, babe. You’ll need it.” She wraps her arms around me, squeezing me so hard I groan a little but return her hug. “Don’t tell me later I didn’t warn you.” With this, she opens the door once again, salutes Lucian, and exits the house, leaving only her lavender scent behind.

“Finalmente,” he exclaims and then leans on the doorjamb. His masculine scent fills the air between us while the breath in my throat hitches from our faces being only inches apart.

He lifts his hand to my cheek, his fingers slowly grazing my skin, and a sigh escapes me when he cups me there, sliding his thumb up and down. “How are you today, my darling?” His voice creates twisted webs around me, wrapping me in his hold where his command might be the only thing I follow, no matter how hard I fight the pull.

Or the desire to fist his shirt, drag him inside my house, and finish what he started yesterday.

“I want you.”

His eyes darken at my admission; the energy swirling between us changes and charges with so much heat it’s hard to breathe. This man is trouble to my mind and body, yet nothing can stop me from exploring it now.

“Will you marry me, gatita?” he restates the proposal, and butterflies erupt in my stomach at the thought of having this man all to myself—who might inspire me even more in my art, since the things I drew today are some of the best I’ve done lately.

What would it be like to be married to Lucian Cortez?

Would the nightmares from the past still chase me at night, or would his soothing arms scare them off while giving me solace?

Run, Esme, run!

The scream in my head reminds me that all this musing must stay a fantasy, because indulging in them would be devastating.

“No.” Why does my heart pang painfully at this? “I don’t want a relationship. Just sex. My body craves your touch.” His hand slides up my nape, pulling me forward, and our chests bump against each other as my splayed palm settles on his six-pack. “Sex and desire are what I want to explore. That’s it.”

I expect his anger to come at my reply, but a half smile pulls at his mouth as he leans closer to me. “I will not ask many times, gatita.” Fisting my hair, he tilts my head back and nips my chin, sending shivers through me, while anticipation fills my blood. “Five times. No more than that.” His lips skim upward, connecting with my mouth, and we share a breath.

A raspy exhale slips from me.

“My answer will be ‘no’ every single time,” I whisper, widening my mouth for his tongue to enter. He pushes in just the tip, flicking it against mine, coaxing it out. I’m ready to dive into the kiss, my fingers gripping his shirt while my hips rock into his, gasping at his hard-on digging into my core.

He finally sinks his tongue inside, stabbing it deep while tangling with mine, delivering a heated kiss that awakens the hunger inside me that demands to be sated right here and now.

His kiss though is a statement in itself; each lick and roam of his tongue promises me an addiction that would last forever as he continues his possession of my mouth.

Wicked. Forbidden.

Yet so desirable.

My moan echoes through the space when he separates us, making me gasp in surprise. My hold on him tightens; I want to pull him back and finish what he started.

Instead, he tells me, “Then prepare for war, gatita, for there will only be one winner among us.”

He removes his hands from me, steps back, and then spins around to disappear, allowing the emptiness and coldness to wrap around me without him by my side.

Rubbing my arms, I stare at the shut door while his words play in my head.

Prepare for war.

What does it mean?

But more importantly…

Will I be able to withstand it?

Lucian

The rock music reverberates around the room. I nod to the beat while flipping the remote through my fingers and letting the perfection of each note wash over me.

A man whimpers in the distance, and rolling my eyes, I look in his direction, not appreciating the maestro being interrupted by him.

Heavy metal chains wrap around his chest, securing him to the pole standing in the middle of my dungeon. Tiny, sharp shards of glass are scattered on the floor surrounding him.

Blood oozes from his head wounds, sliding down the bridge of his nose and bypassing the tears sliding down his cheeks rapidly. It should be embarrassing.

His torture hasn’t even begun yet, and he seems broken already. What will happen when I stab him or chop his limbs off?

Ah, finding out won’t be difficult.

“You know, for once, I’d love for all the pleading to be original, but my ears keep hearing the same bullshit,” I say, picking up my whiskey glass and shaking it a little as my boots thump loudly on the floor. He whimpers again through the tape stuck to his mouth. “Even with your whimpers, I hear the word please so clearly.” He mumbles something through the tape, and I wiggle my glove-covered finger. “Nah-ah. Not interested.” Coming closer, I purposely step on the glass, crushing in into tiny little pieces, and kick at his legs, making him jolt to the side, which results in him stepping hard on it. He groans, pushing his head back and hitting the pole with it.

Sipping my whiskey, I wonder how stupidity and lack of self-preservation still allow my victims to live and breathe long enough for me to catch them and deliver my torture.

“Jeremy. Francis’s future son-in-law.” I address him by name for the first time, which earns me more sobs while he tries to evade the glass. “He recently introduced you to his business, right? The one that was supposed to bring so much money.” Grabbing the edge of the chain dangling at his waist, I tug at it harshly, making the metal squeeze tighter around him, and the veins in his neck bulge as he screams—or at least does a good imitation of it with all the tape. “So many new opportunities opened up. Especially with your connections.” My other hand rips the tape from his lips, his piercing shout ringing in my ears. Blood fills his mouth, because the tape ripped away pieces of his skin. “Too bad you haven’t learned how to cover your tracks.”

“I’ll fix it. I’ll destroy all the paperwork. He won’t be able to get the business going without my help. He’s too skittish.”

Ah, how generous of him once he got caught to stop his activities when, in fact, I have evidence in my hand of his various crimes that included raping women who didn’t welcome his advances.

Francis knowing all this and still pushing his own child to marry this fucker makes me want to drag him from hell and kill him all over again.

Despite my monstrous deeds, I do not go around killing innocent people or those who dipped their toes into the darkness and then ran away scared.

Laws exist for a reason, and I respect them.

Sometimes, though, certain people taste the sins so much they become addicted. And nothing can stop their hearts from becoming rotten.

And these people should be eliminated before they create more damage and children with lost childhoods.

“Too little too late,” I say and splash my whiskey on his face, chuckling at the loud scream when the alcohol settles on his open wounds, no doubt bringing searing pain to his lips. He still struggles for breath when I tighten the chains one last time before stepping back. “Why does he need Esmeralda?”

He breathes heavily, mumbling something under his breath while his tongue licks his lips, trying to soothe them, only to wince at the taste of whiskey, and he hangs his head forward. “She’s his unfinished creation.” The words are barely audible, and I have to strain to hear him. “A loose end that ties everything together. His empire is meaningless without her.”

Anger flares inside me, rapidly spreading over me, demanding I find this fucker and rip his throat out so he’ll cease to exist and no longer present a danger to my woman.

My hands fist, and the sheer willpower I’ve acquired over the years allows me to continue this conversation without destroying something.

“She’s his obsession.”

Compared to Francis, Jeremy knows how to talk to people, becoming something like soap that can squeeze into anything. The monster who is starved for human contact will easily spill his guts, thinking he’s found an ally, when in fact only greed pushes Jeremy to do anything nice.

“Does he plan to make her his queen?” Just the prospect of him claiming her drives me to madness. He better not have shared any sexual fantasies about her to him.

Jeremy spits blood and shakes his head. “Just to finish his creation. She’s a piece of a painting that represents tragedy. To accomplish that, she has to die at the age of twenty-one so her blood can put an end to it.” His face becomes red, and he spits again, gagging loudly as if what the fucker who hired him proposed makes him sick.

The more I hear about this situation, the more it feels connected to her mother and sister who disappeared after their father’s death. No one questioned Suzanne’s guardianship, since everyone knew her love always needed to be earned, so they probably assumed she decided to raise the talented granddaughter herself.

Still, no records on either woman can be found; it’s as if they never existed in the databases. All people leave traces behind, so for them essentially to vanish from this earth is the doing of someone very powerful with the right connections in law.

Esmeralda refused to answer any questions in her various interviews regarding her past, and although she might seem a bit out of this world… my woman would have never cut off her family due to someone’s orders.

Even today…

The way she whispered that she wants me, her eyes pleading for me to do something about it and hardening my body in ways that almost drove me to slam her against the wall and fuck her hard, claiming her in the process.

Yet desire is the one thing she wants to give me while refusing any permanent relationship.

Because her every breath and movement, even her art that I studied last night, possess traces of fear evident to the likes of me.

Monsters can scent fear miles away and are drawn to it in the most sadistic ways.

If marriage represents fear to her, does it mean she encountered abuse from her father, who killed her mother and sister before faking his car crash, and that’s why Suzanne covered it up?

Or someone else entered their life, someone on the edge of the madness, craving acceptance and love from the family he never knew… only to be denied entry by someone within, making him remember all the rejections from the past vividly, which triggered his own fears and lifted the lid from the brewing evilness inside him?

Either way, he will come knocking on my door.

Esmeralda’s allure will be too strong to resist, especially with the date looming over him.

Serial killers assigning dates to someone usually follow them, needing to comply with the voices whispering in their ears, because inconsistencies add to the emotional instability.

“Please let me go,” Jeremy whispers, placing his feet on top of each other, although the glass still sticks from his toes. “I will never do it again.”

Except he would.

Over and over again.

His life attests to it.

Walking toward my table and dropping the glass on it, where it spins several times before rolling to the side, I pick up a gun and flick off the safety. The click echoes in the dungeon before I face him again as he says, “Everyone is allowed to make a mistake.”

Without saying a single word, I aim the gun at his dick and shoot, grinning at his loud scream.

I repeat the action at his shoulder, stomach, and one leg, making it hard for him to stand, all while the wounds bleed, sliding down his various body parts and slowly sucking the life out of him.

Later, while washing my hands in the sink, I think how it’s exactly two weeks until Esmeralda’s birthday, which means the clock ticks with each moment.

Fourteen days to make the stubborn woman accept my marriage proposal.

I’ve always laughed at the notion of marriage, because matrimony is a concept unsuitable for monsters, killers, or the evil doers.

After all, women are doomed, and they do not deserve to pay the consequences for the decisions the men in their life make.

However, if I plan to marry, I’d like to have a willing bride, as I do not wish to bring more pain to my gatita, who brightens up my darkness in the deep purple light calling my name and filling me with something warm.

But then again, I’m not a saint.

So if she continues to deny me, I’ll drag her to the altar kicking and screaming, risking her hatred.

Fourteen days to make her realize she cannot live without me before I kidnap her and take her to a city where she has no connections, family, or even friends in her artist world.

A city that might become my true love someday, for its beauty manages to surprise and enchant me every single time I visit.

Chicago.

Fourteen days.

Tick-tock.

Esmeralda

Stretching my arms high in the air, I groan when the blood rushes to my sore muscles. I softly pad to the living room, where the breeze slips in from the open terrace door and curls my dress around my legs and billows the curtains so high they brush my cheek.

The birds chirp loudly, basking in the sunlight, although by the clouds gathering above them, their enjoyment might be cut short.

Finishing my tea and putting the cup on the small table, I saunter toward my mini library. I slide my finger over the books in the mythology section and snag the one about biblical times, searching for new inspiration for my art.

Powerful Nature and Hopeless Humans sits pretty in my gallery, ready to be displayed to the people along with ten other paintings. Price tags are attached, and according to my accountant, half of them have already sold before the presentation, which should make me happy.

Yet an unexplainable restlessness swirls around me, filling me with an onslaught of energy, demanding something from me. Whenever an emotional high hits me, I turn to my art, so working on a new project seems like the best idea.

Flipping the book open to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, I scrunch my nose, not interested in exploring this concept despite the alluring mythology behind it.

I continue to turn the pages, one after another, hoping to find a tempting concept; otherwise, I’ll have to turn to Greek myths. I still when my phone rings and breaks the comfortable silence.

Picking up the handset, I say, “Hello.”

Lila’s amused voice echoes in my ear. “Someone is hiding in their home.”

Stretching the cord, I plop on the couch and put the book on my lap, glaring at my friend despite her not being able to see me. “I’m working, not hiding. There’s a big difference.”

“Is there? Okay then, avoiding unwanted advances, although since I caught you two last time making out in the studio, you can’t even claim that.”

Groaning inwardly at her reminder, I close my eyes as the last two weeks play in my mind.

When Lucian promised me war, I hadn’t expected the sensual torture he would shower on me—the kind where my heartbeat speeds up any time he appears.

He started by ordering flowers of different kinds and colors to be delivered to my house and studio so it would turn my most beloved places into a damn botanical garden and speak to my love for plants. Some of them are impossible to find in our country, so how he managed to import them was beyond me.

Each delivery also had pastries, chocolate, or a candy box attached to it from famous bakers or confectioners, holding all my favorite flavors, and the charming devil made sure to not forget about my staff either. As a result, they all love him, singing his praises for his wooing skills, and ooh and aah at everything he does.

Each day, he leaves velvet boxes hidden inside my studio and spreads notes on the floor for me to find. Each piece of jewelry glistens in the light, making me fall in love with it. Not because of their worth, although I don’t miss the Price’s Jewelry family name engraved on it, but because each piece fits me as if designed specifically with me in mind.

A diamond necklace with different colored stones, a ruby rose-shaped ring surrounded by tiny diamonds.

I tried multiple times to give them back, but they magically appear back in my possession, so I gave up, storing them inside my house but never daring to wear them.

Because doing that would mean me succumbing to his desire, and I can’t do it.

However, the relentless wooing hasn’t stopped there; he has invited me to the theater and art showings that I couldn’t resist.

And although we barely said anything to each other, being in his dominating presence always calmed me down, seeking him among the crowd and wanting him near me always.

He even manages somehow to serve as a buffer between society and me, so they don’t harass me with countless questions that require my answers or be in the center of their attention.

Which scared me to no end, because even without any claims or labels, he’s slowly becoming a necessity in my life.

A necessity that might just kill me.

And every single day, he shows up at work or my house, giving me scorching kisses and never allowing anything else, which frustrates my body so much I’m ready to cry… seriously.

My nights are filled with dreams where Lucian is the main star, and his wicked hands and tongue do such obscene things to me I wake up turned-on more than I thought possible.

Even showering has become a chore because the hot water increases my desire; he’s cursed me but doesn’t provide the reprieve from it.

The man has clearly mastered the art of torture and seduction, because fighting the pull between us, or rather the lust polluting my brain, becomes too hard for me.

“How long do you plan to play hard to get? Until he proposes?” Lila’s question pulls me back to the present.

Oh, if only she knew he’s proposed four times already, and I dread yet anticipate his fifth time to see what he’ll do once I say no again.

Will he say fuck it and take me anyway? Or will he leave forever, remaining just the “lightning” that graced the sky that’s my life, to disappear as swiftly as he came?

His hands, presence, wooing, and possessiveness creeping into his gaze speak to everything female in me, but they can’t shut off the scream in my head.

Run, Esme, run.

And these words change into something else my mother once told me.

Love is a gift given by God. If or when you receive it, you must cherish it.

Except what I feel toward Lucian can’t be love, because no one falls in love at first sight, and besides, I might be naïve in many ways but not enough to confuse physical attraction with love.

It could lead to love though; however, knowing how tragic they usually end for my family should be enough to keep me away.

I don’t want to though. The coldness and loneliness that vanished after his arrival into my life has given me a chance to breathe freely.

Lila speaks up again, and I exhale heavily, too confused to come to a rational decision. “Anyhow, I called to wish you a happy birthday, and you will get all your gifts tomorrow.” I blink in surprise, glancing at the calendar hanging on the wall, which indeed shows it’s my birthday. The date completely escaped my mind. “We all know you hate any celebrations, so have fun tonight in solitude.” A beat, and then, “Or your Prince Charming might have a surprise for you.”

“Please don’t call him that.”

“Ah, you’re no fun. Lucian is too handsome to be called a beast, darling.”

“Thank you for the wishes, and bye,” I say, ready to hang up before she compliments Lucian more and ignites my jealousy, which has already been riding high on my radar the past week.

Wherever we go, women just stare at him or sigh in appreciation whenever he does something nice for me, which reminds me he isn’t hurting when it comes to female attention.

Yet he tries so hard to win me over and offers marriage. However, I know it’s not love on his part either.

I don’t fit in the usual box he places women in; with my little quirks and naivety, I can be very interesting and alluring to a man who has everything.

My vulnerability, as Lila likes to point out, probably speaks to the protective instinct inside him, which wants to keep me close always.

Not to mention my family name. Marriage with me will only add to his power and connect our two dynasties.

“Everything is okay, right?”

My brows furrow. “Of course.”

“Listen, if you ever get into trouble, just remember you can tell me everything, okay?”

I pull the handset back, staring at it while digesting her words that reek of weirdness and worry. I’m starting to think Eugene and Lila know more about Lucian than meets the eye, and they do their best to protect me from that reality.

That’s a useless effort on their part. Nothing in his past or present can be scarier than my memories.

“Okay. Way to go making me feel like some heroine in a thriller movie.”

Her laugher tickles my ear, although it lacks her usual humor. “Bye-bye, babe.”

Getting up and placing the handset back on the phone cradle, I’m about to go back to my reading when my gaze lands on the potted yellow orchid on the table and lean closer, skimming my fingers over the petals.

Lucian brought it two days ago with a note attached to it explaining how in Ancient Greece, the flower symbolized virility, love, beauty.

Nothing ever flourishes frozen in time; in order for something to grow, it has to go through different stages, and it needs so many things.

Sun, water, symbiosis.

Could my heart heal like a flower slowly growing and blooming from the soil, pushing through the surface and shattering the chains holding it together?

Blooming and basking in the sunlight where emotions exist and could forever banish the fear present in the cracks of my soul?

As if on cue, someone knocks on my door, and a hot flush travels through me. I know it’s Lucian waiting for me on the other side.

Throwing the book down, I walk to the door and open it, permitting the blast of wind to slap me in the face, enveloping me in his masculine-mixed-with-roses scent.

Lucian grins and extends the striking bouquet to me. “Feliz cumpleaños, gatita.”

Happiness wraps around me, bringing joy to my soul at his knowing about my birthday, and a smile curves my lips. Taking it from his hand, I inhale the roses deeply in my lungs and press them tightly to my chest. “Thank you.” I look at him expectantly and for the first time decide to be bold. “I’ve never been kissed on my birthday before.”

His nostrils flare while lust fills his gaze. He places his splayed palm on the door trim and pushes himself closer to me. Sensations cascade through me, my core clenching in anticipation of his touch. “Oh, I’ll kiss you.” Then he leans back, and I frown. “Not now though.” He must read the disbelief on my face, because he taps his finger on my nose. “First comes the surprise. Then the kiss and many things more.”

Lust spreads inside like wildfire, reading a promise in his words, while I wonder if he declared himself a loser and is ready to give us both what we want without demanding marriage.

I ignore the disappointment filling part of my heart at this, because wasn’t this what I wanted in the first place?

However, I blink in confusion when he fishes a silky cloth from his pocket, only to realize it’s a blindfold. “Do you trust me, gatita?”

Instead of answering his question, I fire my own. “Depends on what you plan to do.”

“Ah, my rose, for a moment, stop showing me your thorns and allow me to see your beauty.” He grips the blindfold with both his hands and elaborates. “The surprise waits for you in Chicago. If you dare to trust me, let me put it on.”

Chicago.

Despite traveling the world my whole life, really since Grandmother insisted on participating in all those contests, I’ve never been to Chicago, although it holds one of the best art pieces.

But something always held me back, a nagging feeling deep in my gut that almost warned me not to step foot in that city.

Focusing on the blindfold, I consider his words for just a second and decide to take a leap with this man who showed up in my life so unexpectedly and created chaos in it.

A handsome man who makes me wish for things that should be forbidden for cursed creatures like me.

However, raising my gaze and connecting with his, I cannot remember all the reasons why it’s wise to stay away.

Without a reply, I spin around and silently agree to his proposition.

In seconds, the silk touches my skin, and darkness settles over me as he puts the blindfold on me, tying it at the back of my head.

A gasp slips past my lips when his strong hands grip my hips, pulling me to him, and his hard muscles dip into me, and his breath tickles my neck. “Gracias, gatita.” He widens his mouth and places a kiss on my shoulder. Goose bumps erupt on my flesh as he slides his lips to my neck, leaving a wet trail before sucking roughly on my skin… adding to the various hickeys marring my skin already. I sometimes think if the man could, he would have tattooed his name on my body so every single male in the close vicinity would know this territory was claimed already.

He flicks his tongue over the abused flesh, fists my hair, and tilts my head back while he leans forward for his lips to trap me in a scorching, passionate, and all-consuming kiss where all my fears disappear.

His mouth dominates mine, his tongue roaming inside me with confidence and a mission, staking his possessive claim on me. He swallows my moan as his other hand settles on my stomach, where he clenches my dress.

And then his mouth is gone and we both gulp for air, my heartbeat galloping inside my chest, and I feel his thumb sliding over my lower lip. “You’re a temptation, Esmeralda.” He steps back, leaving me cold but not for long, because my yelp reverberates through the space when he lifts me up in his arms, my hands circling around his neck to better balance, and he starts walking. “Let’s celebrate your birthday, darling.”

I haven’t celebrated my birthday ever since…

No, no.

I will not think about that night right now.

However, the hope grows within me, painting a picture of a brighter future, because I’m so glad that this man managed to destroy the spell.

Even if only for a moment in time.