Chapter 3: Little Fox
Lucien's private quarters were a world apart from the rest of the mansion—still opulent, but colder. The walls were dark slate, the floor black hardwood, and the massive windows overlooked the southern grounds where the shooting range sat.
A glass case displayed weapons, each labeled and gleaming like trophies. On the desk, files were spread out—Monroe family intel, hit reports, accounts, logistics. Lucien had been preparing for war.
Now he was being handed a wedding.
He dropped into the leather chair behind the desk and stared at the file marked Isla Monroe.
He didn't open it.
Instead, he leaned back, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
He didn't even know what Isla Monroe looked like, didn't care.
Later that night
Lucien stood on the mansion's rooftop balcony, shirtless, cigarette burning between his fingers. The city glittered in the distance, but his mind wasn't on the skyline.
Marriage.
"Isla Monroe"
All he knew was that she'd be the newest pawn in a game he never asked to play. And if she thought for a second she could soften him, save him, or fix him—
She was in for a brutal awakening.
He'd marry her.
But he wouldn't love her.
Not
now.
Not ever.
Aria's POV
Aria Monroe had perfected the art of being overlooked.
She wore her softness like armor—fluttering lashes, polite smiles, a slightly tilted head like she didn't quite understand the depth of what was happening around her. People assumed she was fragile. Breakable. Innocent.
They were wrong.
She watched the world with sharp eyes hidden beneath thick lashes. She listened while pretending to daydream. And while her sister Sienna was being pushed into the lion's den, Aria was already trying to find a way to burn it down.
Lucien Moretti.
The name alone carried weight. Darkness. Blood. But Aria didn't believe in fairy tales—neither the goodkind nor the bad. No man was untouchable. Not even Brooklyn's devil.
She had already pulled every newspaper clipping from the past five years. She'd bribed one of her father's soldiers for access to Moretti security footage. And last night, she'd hacked into a financial trail that linked Lucien's name to a fake shell company.
"I'm going to find out exactly what kind of monster Lucien Moretti is."
Lucien's POV
She thought she was clever.
Lucien leaned back in the leather chair inside his private surveillance room, watching her on a live feed. She sat cross-legged in her bedroom, laptop on her thighs, brows slightly furrowed in concentration.
She was the quiet one. The fragile one. The one everyone ignored.
Amateurs.
He sipped his whiskey, fingers tapping slowly on the armrest.
She had used a private VPN, masked her IP address, and bounced through three different proxies. Impressive. But not impressive enough.The moment she accessed the Prague shell company files, an alert had triggered at Moretti headquarters.
He let her snoop. Just a little. Just enough rope.
Lucien watched the live feed of her typing keywords: Lucien Moretti, Elenia Imports, unlisted contracts, disappeared rivals.
He chuckled under his breath.
"You want to know who I am, little fox?" he murmured. "Come
closer."
Aria's POV — The Next Day
She felt it.
That unsettling awareness. Like she was being watched. Hunted.
It clung to her all day like static.
In the garden. At lunch. Even in the Monroe estate's library, where she usually found peace. Her eyes kept drifting toward the windows. Toward the shadows.
She shook it off.
Paranoia was natural. She was digging into the files of a man rumored to have killed for sport.
Still, something gnawed at her stomach.
That evening, she received a black envelope on her vanity.
There was no stamp. No return address.
Just her name.
Aria.
Inside was a single photograph.
It was a still image — from her own bedroom. Taken the night before. She was hunched over her laptop, the screen reflecting off her skin. She hadn't even known the photo was taken.
She dropped it.
Her heart thundered.
Then she found the second item in the envelope.
A red velvet ribbon.
Nothing else.
No note.
No threat.
Just a silent message.
He knows.
Later That Night — Aria's Bedroom
A text pinged her burner phone.
Unknown Number
"You're better at hiding than the rest of your family. But not from me."
Another ping.
A file was attached.
She opened it.
Inside were images—dozens of them. Her online searches. Her burner accounts. Her access logs. Everything.
Lucien had watched her every move.
And let her play.
Her fingers trembled.
Then another message came.
"Be careful where you dig, little fox. Some truths will bite back."
Lucien's POV — Elsewhere
He stood in the surveillance room once more, eyes on the screen as Aria read the messages.
She didn't scream.
She didn't cry.
She just sat there, frozen.
But her eyes…
Those eyes were defiant.
He smiled.
She wasn't afraid.
And that made her dangerous.
What amuses him the most is that Aria isn't the one he's getting married to buy here sister so why the snooping.
He shrugged "Hmm, interesting, let's know what tomorrow holds if."