THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW
"Hnngh… ahh… s-stop that… there…"
"Here?"
"Y-yes—just let me do the other side—ah!"
Lucian swore under his breath, curses rolling through his mind in Russian and English alike. For fuck's sake. His body was rigid, every nerve ending alive to the soft gasps and whimpers slipping from Sera's lips.
He hadn't seen this coming. Washing her had seemed like a simple task—required by the terms he'd laid out—but he'd never imagined how sensitive she'd be to his touch. Even when she tried to hold back, his ears caught every tiny sound she made, sharp as a blade through silence.
His hand glided down her waist, a damp washcloth moving over skin that felt like silk under thin cotton underwear. The heat radiating from her body seared through the fabric, through his palm, straight to his core.
Earlier, she'd tried to wrest the body wash from his grasp, her fingers fumbling but determined. He'd stood firm, hiding behind the contract to keep his hands on her. Every word he'd spoken about not being attracted to her was a lie—pure, smooth fiction.
He bit his lip as she shivered under his touch, muscles tensing when he scrubbed gently at her ribs. She was ticklish, and the thought sent a jolt through him so sharp he had to steady himself against the tub edge.
"I said I'll do it myself! You're just teasing me now!" Her voice was sharp with irritation, and he couldn't help the smirk that pulled at his lips.
"Quiet, Seraphina. This is part of our agreement—you have nothing to fear. I'd never take advantage of you." The lie rolled off his tongue so easily he almost believed it.
Never take advantage? He scoffed internally. He was already doing exactly that—his hands on her skin, desire burning hotter with every pass of the cloth. He'd been hard just watching her undress earlier, leaning against the doorframe like a man starved. Now that he was touching her, every inch of him strained for release.
He was damned, and every dirty thought only added to it. It took every ounce of control he had to keep his hands steady, to not pull her close and claim what he wanted.
It was only their first day together—the sun hadn't even set—and he was already fighting the strongest pull of his life. No woman had ever affected him like this. Not the socialites who threw themselves at him, not the heiresses who'd offered fortunes to bear his children. He'd built his empire on being cold, calculated—trained to lock away weakness so no one could ever bring him down.
But here he was, undone by a blind woman he'd planned to set aside once she'd given him an heir. A woman who couldn't see the danger he represented—and somehow, that made her all the more captivating.
"Hello? Are you even moving? I told you I'd handle it—just give me the soap, or at least the shampoo so we can finish!"
Her voice snapped him back to the moment. Even without seeing him, she showed no fear—unlike everyone else who shrank away at the sight of him: his dark wolf-cut hair, the brown contacts hiding the emerald green that marked his bloodline, the tattoos winding up his forearms—symbols that warned the world he was not to be crossed.
"I said I'd take care of you—"
"Take care of me? You're just standing there frozen!" She cut him off, frustration thick in her words. He didn't mind—if anything, it drew him in more.
"Fine. How about the shampoo? I'll let you do your hair."
"Finally! That's more like it—see, you're not so hard to talk to, sir—"
"Lucian."
"Huh?" She tilted her head, even though she'd heard him clearly.
He laughed—a sound that felt foreign on his lips. He hated repeating himself, yet here he was. "Call me Lucian."
Sera wasted no time, taking the bottle and working suds through her hair while he finished washing her body. She tried to hide it, but he could feel her shiver each time his hands brushed her skin. Ticklish, yes—but he suspected there was more to it than that.
When he was done, nearly thirty minutes had passed. Steam hung thick in the air, and tension hummed between them like a live wire.
"Stay here and sit still. I'll go get your clothes."
Good grief—his accent is perfect. Of course it is—he's loaded. Sera thought, frowning slightly as she ran her fingers through her soapy hair.
"Where would you get clothes? I didn't bring anything with me."
Lucian headed for the door, hand on the handle. "They're already here. I'll be right back—no need to worry."
Relief washed over her as he left, the bathroom going quiet enough for her thoughts to race unchecked.
Lucian made his way down the grand staircase to retrieve the clothes his secretary had prepared, only to hear raised voices echoing from the foyer below.
"What the hell is wrong with him!"
"Shein, calm down! This isn't just Lucian's choice—it's Madam's too. So stop shouting!"
"What about me? He promised! He said he'd marry me—but this? A contract marriage? Is that what a billionaire does?"
Lucian's jaw tightened. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. Shein Dela Vega—his childhood friend, and the last person he wanted to deal with right now. He stepped into the foyer, his voice cold as ice.
"What's all this noise?"
The two women turned—Shein, her eyes wild with anger, and his secretary, who bowed his head and slipped away without a word.
Shein rushed toward him, stilettos clicking sharp against marble. She reached for his lips, but he dodged and held her firmly by the shoulders, keeping her at arm's length.
"What are you doing here?" His gaze was flat, no warmth left in it.
"Lucian! What happened to us? I thought we had an understanding—you said you'd consider it!" She clung to his arms, voice thick with pleading.
He tilted his head, his expression bored and distant. "Enough, Shein. I told you before—I'm not interested. No matter how long we've known each other, you're like a sister to me. Nothing more."
"No! I won't accept this! Let me see her—what did she do to you? Did she bewitch you? Just tell me—fuck—tell me!"
"Look who's here. Shein Dela Vega, as I live and breathe."
Both turned to see Lucian's grandmother, Cathy Vitale, entering the foyer with her bodyguard in tow. Shopping bags from top Filipino designers hung from her arm, and she carried herself like the matriarch she was.
"Ma'am Cathy!" Shein pulled away from Lucian and threw her arms around the older woman, stumbling slightly in her heels.
They kissed cheeks before Cathy settled onto a sofa, Shein following close behind. "What are you doing here, dear? I thought you were in Singapore."
"Oh, Ma'am—I took the first flight back when I heard about the marriage!" Her voice was dramatic, but undercut with real hurt.
Cathy laughed softly, though her tone held steel. "It's true—Lucian is married now, and I chose his wife myself. Do you have a problem with that?"
Shein fell silent, jaw clenched tight. Lucian smirked and walked over to his grandmother's bodyguard, August—around his age, with eyes as sharp as his own. "August, why did you let her do the shopping?"
"Madam insisted, sir. She wanted to pick everything out herself."
Lucian nodded and took the bags of clothes for Sera. Behind him, Shein spoke up again.
"But Ma'am—he promised me! He said when he turned twenty-five and hadn't found anyone—"
"Enough, Shein." Lucian cut her off, voice hard. "I'll arrange a flight back to Singapore for you tomorrow morning."
Cathy waved a hand dismissively. "Don't be so harsh—she's still family. You can stay the night, dear. This house isn't as big as our one in Russia, but we have plenty of rooms. I'll have a maid prepare one for you."
"Oh my gosh—thank you, Ma'am!" Shein hugged her tightly, but her eyes were fixed on Lucian's retreating back as he headed up the stairs.
She glared after him, nails digging into her palms until they stung. She'd known Lucian her whole life—they'd made a deal, and she'd waited for him to keep his word. Now he'd cast her aside for some blind woman she'd never even met.
I'll find out who she is, she thought, her jaw set. And I'll do whatever it takes to get Lucian back.