A pause. Cold silence settled between them.
"Is that not allowed?" she asked quietly.
Lucian took a slow sip of his drink, then walked toward her with measured steps. "It's not about being allowed. It's about you remembering what you are in this house."
Her breath caught.
"I'm not your prisoner," she whispered.
"No," he replied, standing a mere foot away now. "You're something else entirely."
He placed his glass down on the marble counter and crossed his arms. "Did you enjoy the chat?"
Caliste didn't answer.
Lucian's gaze narrowed. "Did your friend remind you of how far you've fallen?"
"Yes," Caliste said, lifting her chin. "But I already knew."
Lucian's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
"Liena told me something," Caliste added, her voice steadier now. "She said the Velmores are preparing to find you a bride. That the board is pressuring you for an heir."
Lucian didn't flinch. He simply stared at her.
"That's not your concern," he said flatly.
"Not my concern?" she echoed, her voice cracking. "I sleep in your bed every night. And it's not my concern?"
He walked past her, then stopped. "You knew what the contract meant when you signed it, Caliste. I never promised anything more."
The ache in her chest bloomed wider. "Then what am I, Lucian? Just someone to warm your bed while they groom your future wife?"
His silence was answer enough.
She took a shaky breath. "If you want me to leave, say it now."
Lucian turned to her, his expression blank—stone cold.
"I don't," he said simply. "You'll stay. I decide when you leave."
His control. Always his control.
And yet… as he walked away toward his study, the sound of his footsteps fading, Caliste couldn't help but wonder if there was something deeper behind that emotionless mask.
But tonight, she was too tired to look for it.
Lucian's Study
The moment Lucian closed the heavy doors to his study, he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
She saw right through him.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his skin. The amber liquor in his glass no longer appealed to him. He set it down untouched and leaned against the desk, his jaw tight.
Caliste.
She was never meant to reappear in his life.
Not like this.
Not in a place like the Silken Rose, wrapped in silk and shame.
She used to walk with pride. She used to glow with the light of her name—her elegance, her power. She used to be his wife.
Now she called herself a worker in a boutique, living like a ghost in a penthouse that felt colder every night.
He remembered the way she looked tonight. Her face dimmed by exhaustion, her eyes heavy with questions. And when she asked about the Velmore bride rumors...
He could have told her the truth—that the board was hounding him to choose, that he hated every curated social event, every parade of shallow, title-hungry women. That none of them could ever compare to the woman curled up just rooms away.
But he didn't.
Because if he gave her that sliver of truth, she might remember the Lucian who once held her as his everything. And he couldn't afford to be that man again.
Not when he already failed her once.
Not when he bought her back like a possession.
His fists clenched at the memory of Desmund's smug face, handing over the contract that sealed Caliste's fate.
Lucian had bought her to protect her. That was what he told himself.
But the truth tasted bitter.
She didn't belong to him anymore.
Yet still… every night, he needed her near. Her scent on the pillow. Her warmth beneath the sheets. Her quiet, resigned obedience that stirred both guilt and craving inside him.
He closed his eyes, leaning back against the desk.
Was he keeping her safe?
Or just being selfish?
---
Caliste's Room
The bedroom was dark, save for the city lights that filtered through the curtains like broken glass.
Caliste sat on the edge of the bed, the silence pressing heavy against her skin.
Lucian didn't deny it. About the bride. About the heir.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at her reflection in the mirror across the room. The same face stared back at her—but different. Hollowed. Calmer on the outside, but inside, a storm brewed.
Why was she still here?
She had signed the contract, yes. Agreed to be his… companion. His mistress, though he hated that word. But what neither of them said aloud was that their hearts never fully severed.
He was still the man who once kissed her as if the world stopped spinning.
Now he barely looked her in the eye.
She stood, wrapping a shawl over her shoulders, and walked to the glass window. Below, the city buzzed. Lights flickered. Life moved on.
But inside this penthouse, time had frozen. They existed in a loop of passion and silence, of unspoken memories and simmering regret.
Lucian didn't ask her to stay out of love.
He bought her to keep her close, yes.
But not close enough to matter.
And yet… when he touched her, when he whispered her name in the dark, she could still feel the ghost of the man she once married.
Caliste blinked back tears she refused to cry. What would crying change?
She pulled the shawl tighter.
No one knew she was here.
No one knew that the once-envied heiress, the former Mrs. Velmore, now shared a penthouse with the man who broke her heart and bought her soul.
And perhaps the saddest part was that even now...
She didn't want to leave.