Chapter 4

I turned and found Lucian still standing in the center of the chaos like it didn’t touch him. People brushed against him—dancers, servers, strangers—but he stood there like he was from another planet, unaffected and unbothered.

I pressed my back against him and let my hips roll with the beat.

I didn’t even care what song it was. It didn’t matter.

My body moved like a loose ribbon in the wind, brushing against him shameless and tipsy and proud of it. If Precious were here, she’d be screaming in my ear. And if my father saw this—

Ha. Mr. Romania here would be six feet deep in cement.

But right now? Now was for fun.

Lucian didn’t move at all.

But his eyes were still on me. I could feel them on my skin. Or maybe… on my neck.

I twisted a little, trying to catch his gaze—but it was dim and the lights flared blue and red and gold like a fever dream. His pupils—did they just… narrow? Straight, like a reptile?

No. That had to be the lights. Or the alcohol. Or both.

I blinked and shook it off.

Was I drugged

No. I poured the drink myself. I watched him not touch his. Still, something about the way he looked at me… not lust. Not hunger. Something older, like he was trying to decide something. Like he was asking permission. From himself.

Whatever. Maybe I was crazy. But if I was, I looked good doing it.

I smiled and danced harder.

If this was a bad idea, it was at least a gorgeous one, and if my father found out... that's a tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight was for bad choices, and beautiful strangers.

“Come on, mister Romania,” I teased, tugging gently at his hand. “Don’t just stand there—some lad dancing won’t kill you. Or maybe… a little hora?”

I swayed his hand from side to side, grinning way too wide as I tried to mimic the traditional steps—badly. Embarrassingly badly. I stopped mid-move, my face scrunching. “Okay, I butchered that.”

Lucian looked at me, head slightly tilted. Confused? Maybe. His expression didn’t change, not really—but he didn’t pull away either. I was still holding his hands, It was cold. Not “oh, the AC’s on” cold. Ice-cold. Bone-deep, deathly cold. I tried to brush it off.

“That is racist,” he said flatly. No humor, no heat. Just… a statement. Like he didn’t quite understand what the words meant.

I snorted. “No, it’s not. It’s called cultural appreciation, you buzzkill,” I said, dancing around him like he was the pole in the middle of some slow, clumsy performance.

Honestly? I should be annoyed. The guy invited me for a drink and barely said a word since. He didn’t even ask for my name. (Assuming he doesn’t already know it, which—let’s be real—he probably does.) He was either trying to play it cool or was just boring.

But maybe that’s what was keeping me hooked.

“What exactly are you trying to do?” he asked, voice even and calm. “You reject going to my place. Yet now, you want to dance with me. I don’t understand your motive.”

“Oh, please,” I rolled my eyes. “You invited me for a drink—this is part of the package.”

I kept circling him, my steps matching the pulse of the music, his eyes tracking me like I was the only thing in the room. He moved only slightly—head turning, gaze following me like a conductor’s baton across a symphony.

“And what do I get for my goodwill?” he asked. “Humiliation?”

I smirked. “You get to bask in the glorious presence of a beautiful woman. That sounds like a bargain to me.”

“You’re using me,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I hate being used.”

That made me laugh. Really laugh. It was the most emotion he’d shown all night—just the word “hate,” spoken with the faintest grit. Like it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

I took another step back, still grinning—only for my heel to betray me. My ankle twisted, my balance vanished, and the world tilted—

He caught me.

Fast. Too fast. One arm wrapped firmly around my waist, the other bracing the back of my head. His body arched over me in a perfect curve, as though he'd done this a thousand times. We froze like that—dipped, breathless, too close.

His face hovered inches from mine. Eyes locked. Nose almost brushing. And there it was again—that gaze. Unchanging, unreadable, but somehow louder than anything in the club, and suddenly, I noticed—he didn’t smell like anything.

No cologne. No breath. No sweat or smoke or any trace of life. It was like he didn’t exist. Or like something wiped every trace of him away.

The moment dragged. I felt my stomach twist—not from fear. From something… else. Something I didn’t want to admit.

“Uhm… thank you,” I murmured. “But… do you mind getting me back up?”

“Yes,” he said.

My brows shot up. “What?”

“Yes,” he repeated, voice as calm as before, but something about the way he said it—something dark and silent in his eyes—made it feel like gravity itself had shifted.

He didn’t move. Neither did I.

His eyes flickered. like a shimmer passed through them—like water over obsidian. And in that flicker, I felt something. Not a thought. A command.

No words.

But I knew what was coming.

My head screamed don’t. But my eyes had already fluttered shut. My lips had already parted slightly. I knew this was a bad idea. I knew I wasn’t supposed to want this.

But I did.

His mouth met mine—and the world stopped.

His lips were cold, soft, firm, and hungry. The kiss was slow. Deliberate. Like a secret being whispered in a forgotten language. His breath tasted like iron, faint but oddly clean, like the aftermath of a thunderstorm.

He drew me in with every second—until I didn’t know who I was trying to flirt with anymore.

Then slowly, like pulling me out of a trance, he brought me back to my feet. He stepped back only an inch, enough for our lips to part—but not our stare.

His eyes didn’t smile.

But the corner of his mouth twitched. Just enough to say: Gotcha.

I blinked, dazed. Embarrassed. Angry at myself for letting it happen. For wanting more. What the hell was I thinking?

This was public. I don’t even know him.

And yet… somehow, I didn’t care.

No man—not my father, not his guards, not even Emilio—had ever gotten me to obey without a fight.

But Lucian… Lucian hadn’t even tried.

And I already craved him.

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