I didn't sleep.
The key stayed on my nightstand, gleaming faintly in the dark like it knew secrets I didn't.
I couldn't stop staring at it—like it might suddenly start speaking. Or hissing.
I hated how it made me feel.
Excited. Scared. Possessed.
It wasn't just a gift.
It was a warning.
Or a test.
And the longer I sat in bed, wide awake and cold despite the August heat, the more I realized—Lucien was done waiting for me to come to him.
Now he was pulling me in.
---
The next morning, I walked into the office like nothing had changed.
Like I wasn't carrying a golden key shaped like a threat.
Like my boss hadn't whispered You're mine like a vow or a sentence.
I made it to my desk before any of the tension cracked my expression. Barely.
Sandra greeted me like always. The other assistants gossiped over coffee. No one noticed the tremor in my fingers as I typed.
But Lucien did.
Because two minutes after I sat down, a message popped up on my screen.
Lucien Vale: You have five minutes. Conference Room B.Bring the key.
---
I didn't even pretend to resist.
I stood, walked calmly to the elevator, and rode to the top floor like a girl heading into a storm with no umbrella.
When I opened the conference room door, he was already there.
Of course he was.
He stood with his back to me, facing the skyline, his jacket discarded on the table, sleeves rolled again, forearms tense.
"Close the door," he said without looking.
I did.
Then stepped inside and placed the key on the table between us.
"What is this?" I asked.
His eyes met mine—sharp, unreadable.
"Access."
"To what?"
He stepped forward, slowly.
"To me."
---
I froze.
The room suddenly felt too small. Too bright.
My voice came out too steady to be natural. "You already gave me that. The moment you kissed me in this exact room."
He didn't smile.
Instead, he walked around the table and stopped in front of me, gaze falling to my lips.
"That wasn't access, Alina," he said softly. "That was a distraction."
I swallowed. "From what?"
He reached up, brushed a hand over my collarbone, where the edge of my blouse dipped.
"From everything I am."
My heart kicked against my ribs.
And I did something stupid.
I grabbed the key again and curled it into my fist. "Then show me."
His eyes darkened.
"You don't know what you're asking."
"I don't care."
Something flickered behind his stare.
Then—
He moved.
Not to kiss me.
But to unlock the door to something I didn't even know existed.
---
We didn't go far.
He led me down a hallway I'd never seen. Past security doors I didn't know existed. To an elevator that required a retinal scan and that golden key.
It opened to a room I hadn't expected.
It wasn't a dungeon.
It was a penthouse.
Glass, marble, cold firelight.
But everything screamed control.
The walls were lined with photographs. Some I recognized—high-profile figures in politics, tech, finance. Others, I didn't.
There was a desk at the center of the room, black glass. A tablet lay on it, glowing faintly.
Lucien walked to it, tapped something.
A screen lit up behind him—security feeds, redacted files, maps.
I stepped forward, slowly.
"What is this?"
He turned.
"This is everything no one is supposed to see."
---
I stared at the screen.
Some part of me kept waiting for the punchline.
But Lucien didn't joke.
Not here.
Not now.
"I run Westbrooke Industries," he said. "But I also run the network behind it. The people who protect my interests. The ones who make sure I stay on top."
I blinked. "So you're admitting it."
"I'm not admitting anything," he said. "I'm showing you what you asked for."
I looked at the feeds—streets, offices, someone's apartment.
And then—
A freeze-frame on me.
My apartment door.
Taken last night.
From across the street.
A man in a black hoodie.
"You were right," he said. "Someone's watching you."
I turned to him, pulse thudding.
"And you just happen to have access to every camera in the city?"
"Only the ones that matter."
---
My head spun.
I didn't know whether to run or scream or ask for more.
"What do you want from me, Lucien?"
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until I had nowhere to go but back—until I hit the edge of the desk.
"I want you to understand that this isn't just a game anymore," he said. "You're in it now. You can either trust me… or be destroyed by someone else."
"And what if I choose neither?"
His hand came up to tilt my chin.
"Then I'll make the choice for you."
And then he kissed me.
Hard.
Desperate.
Like he hated himself for wanting me.
And I kissed him back like I hated him for being right.
---
When we pulled apart, I didn't speak.
Neither did he.
The key was still in my hand.
I looked at it one more time, then slid it into my pocket.
"You still haven't told me what it opens."
He stared at me for a long second, then said—
"Everything."
And somehow, I knew… he meant it.