The SUV smelled like new leather and quiet money, the kind that doesn't need to shout. I sank into the back seat, dripping rainwater onto seats that probably cost more than my entire existence. Lucien slid in beside me without a word, long legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other like he owned the night itself. The driver didn't glance back. The partition rose with a soft hiss, sealing us in together.
I clutched the black card so hard the edges bit into my palm. My pulse hadn't slowed since the alley. Every breath felt borrowed. I kept waiting for the punchline, for the moment he'd laugh and toss me out onto the curb with a broken nose and a warning. But he just stared ahead, profile sharp against the passing city lights, fingers drumming once, twice, on his thigh.
"You're thinking too loud," he said suddenly, voice low and amused. "I can hear the panic from here."
I swallowed. "Most people would've called the cops. Or shot me."
"Most people aren't me." He turned his head just enough to meet my eyes. Those ice-blue irises pinned me like a butterfly to cork. "And you're not most thieves. You hesitated. Right before the lunge. You didn't want to do it."
Heat crawled up my neck. "I was hungry."
"Hunger makes people reckless. Not careful." His mouth curved, not quite a smile. "You're careful. That's interesting."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I looked out the window instead. Rain streaked the glass in silver ribbons. Buildings blurred past—expensive condos, then warehouses, then the glittering edge of downtown. We weren't heading to a police station. We weren't heading anywhere I recognized.
"Where are we going?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
"Home." Simple. Final. Like the word belonged to him alone.
I laughed, short and bitter. "I don't have a home anymore."
"You do now." He said it so casually, like he was offering me a cup of coffee instead of rewriting my entire life.
The car slowed. Gates slid open without anyone touching them—automatic, silent, expensive. We rolled up a private drive lined with black iron lamps that flickered like they were watching us. The house—no, the building—rose ahead: sleek modern lines, floor-to-ceiling glass, dark stone that drank the light instead of reflecting it. It looked more like a fortress than a home.
We stopped under a covered portico. The driver opened Lucien's door first. He stepped out, coat swirling, then turned and held out a hand to me. Not an offer. An expectation.
I stared at it for two heartbeats too long.
He arched one perfect brow. "I'm not going to carry you, puppy. But I will drag you if I have to."
The word puppy landed like a slap wrapped in silk. I bristled, but my body moved anyway. I took his hand. His grip was warm, firm, unyielding. He pulled me out into the sudden quiet, rain drumming on the roof above us like distant applause.
Inside, the foyer swallowed sound. Marble floors, high ceilings, a single massive chandelier that looked like frozen lightning. Two men in dark suits stood at attention near the curved staircase, eyes forward, pretending I didn't exist. They probably saw a lot of strays come through these doors.
Lucien didn't stop. He kept my hand in his, leading me past rooms I only glimpsed—bookshelves that climbed to the ceiling, a fireplace big enough to roast a man, a bar lined with bottles whose labels I couldn't read. We climbed the stairs. My wet shoes squeaked. I felt like a trespasser in someone else's dream.
At the end of a long hallway he pushed open double doors. The bedroom—because of course it was a bedroom—was bigger than my old apartment. Black walls, charcoal linens, a bed that looked like it could sleep five without trying. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city glittering far below, indifferent to the soaked wreck standing in its shadow.
He let go of my hand. I immediately missed the contact and hated myself for it.
"Shower," he said, nodding toward a door on the far wall. "You smell like wet alley and bad choices. There are clothes in the closet. They'll fit."
I crossed my arms. "I'm not staying."
"You already are." He shrugged out of his coat, draped it over the back of a chair like it weighed nothing. "You took the card. You got in the car. That's consent in my world."
"Your world sounds like kidnapping with extra steps."
He laughed then, low and genuine, and the sound did something dangerous to my stomach. "Call it what you want. You're here. You're dry. You're about to eat. And tomorrow we'll talk about what you really want."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. The hunger was winning. The cold was winning. And something else—something stupid and reckless—was stirring under my ribs, curious about the man who could pin me in an alley and then offer me silk sheets without blinking.
I turned toward the bathroom. Paused. Looked back.
"What's your name?" I asked, because I still didn't know. Because knowing felt like taking back a tiny piece of control.
He was already loosening his tie, fingers slow and deliberate. "Lucien Varkis."
The name hit like a warning shot. I'd heard it before. Whispers in bars. Headlines that disappeared fast. The kind of name that made people lower their voices.
I should have run then. Should have bolted for the door, taken my chances with the rain and the streets.
Instead I stepped into the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and let the steam swallow me whole.
When I came out twenty minutes later—clean, wearing soft black sweatpants and a T-shirt that smelled faintly of cedar and him—Lucien was waiting.
He'd changed into a loose black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar open just enough to show the edge of a scar that disappeared under fabric. He looked relaxed. Dangerous. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.
A cart waited by the bed. Silver domes. Steam curling from beneath them. The smell of steak, garlic, fresh bread, hit me like a punch.
"Sit," he said.
I sat.
He poured wine into two glasses. Red. Deep. The color of spilled secrets.
"Eat," he told me. "Then sleep. Tomorrow we discuss payment."
I picked up the fork. My hand shook. "What kind of payment?"
Lucien leaned back in the armchair across from me, legs crossed, watching me with those predator eyes.
"The kind that keeps you breathing," he said softly. "And the kind that lets you ruin the people who ruined you."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
He smiled, slow and wicked.
"Welcome to my world, puppy."
And just like that, the leash tightened around my throat.
I didn't fight it.
Not tonight.
Not yet.