Lucian's POV...
The leather seat creaked beneath me as I adjusted my position, the weight of the gun cold against my thigh.
My fingers tapped rhythmically against the polished steel, each tap echoing the pounding of my heart. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows as the car sped toward the outskirts, where the trees grew thick and the world forgot to look.
I exhaled, watching my breath fog the glass slightly before dissipating.
Fourth richest man in the world.
The thought burned. I had clawed my way to the top, buried men beneath my ambitions, and now—now I was slipping. Falling. And for what?
For her.
Camilla.
The image of her standing in that hallway, her body trembling with need, her eyes dark with hunger—for me, for my touch, for the way I ruined her—flashed behind my eyelids. The way she had whispered my name, desperate, broken. The way she had ached for me.
And I had walked away.
Because Patricia had to die first.
