Chapter 13 – Comfort as a Threat
(Lucien Moretti's POV)
She did it.
In less than forty-eight hours, Aria cracked a code my top cyber team had struggled with for weeks.
I stood behind her as lines of encrypted data unraveled on the screen, one layer folding into another until the final firewall collapsed like a house of cards. The rival server blinked open before us.
Access granted.
She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms lazily as if she had just solved a crossword puzzle.
I felt something unfamiliar stir inside me.
Pride.
But I did not show it.
Instead, I clasped my hands behind my back and nodded once. "Send me the extracted files."
She swiveled in her chair to face me, her eyes dancing with triumph.
"Oh, I will," she said. "But first—"
She stood up dramatically and brushed imaginary dust off her shoulders.
"Let's appreciate the genius in the room."
I arched a brow.
She grinned. "See? If I had stolen from you, there's no way you would've figured it out. I'd be as smart and smooth as I am now."
Her tone was teasing.
But her words lodged somewhere deeper.
Then she walked past me.
Just like that.
Leaving me alone with the open server and her echoing statement.
If I had stolen from you…
I returned to my office immediately.
The extracted data revealed everything we needed—shipment routes, financial transfers, hidden alliances. I ordered the next move swiftly. Our retaliation would be precise. Calculated. Ruthless.
Business as usual.
But my mind wasn't on the enemy.
It was on her.
If she stole from me… she'd do it smartly.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
Could she have done it?
The missing funds were transferred cleanly. No obvious trail. No amateur mistakes.
Exactly like the way she cracked that server.
Clean.
Elegant.
Almost artistic.
Or…
Was that precisely why she couldn't have done it?
She had access now. Skill. Precision. If she wanted to siphon money from my accounts, she wouldn't have left a trace sloppy enough for suspicion.
Would she?
I exhaled sharply.
"Dammit."
I pressed the intercom. "Send one guard in."
Moments later, one of them entered, head slightly bowed.
"The money-moving case," I said. "Any progress?"
"No, sir. We're still investigating. No solid leads yet."
I tapped my fingers against the desk.
"Continue. Quietly."
"Yes, sir."
He turned to leave.
"Wait."
He froze.
"Have the maids arrange a proper bedroom for her. Perfect fitting. New furniture. Comfortable."
His brows lifted slightly in surprise before he masked it.
"Yes, sir."
When the door closed behind him, I was alone again.
Why was I doing this?
She had cracked my code.
She had proven useful.
That was all.
Nothing more.
And yet I found myself imagining her sleeping in that cramped study room, tossing aggressively on a bed too small for comfort.
I shook my head.
Ridiculous.
Night fell quietly over the estate.
From my office monitor, I watched her in the study.
She was not sleeping peacefully.
She was fighting the bed.
Pulling the sheets.
Flipping the pillow.
Muttering to herself.
It almost amused me.
Then came a knock on her door.
The guards informed her of the new room.
I expected—relief.
Gratitude.
At the very least, acceptance.
Instead—
She scoffed.
Closed the door.
And yelled from inside, "Tell your boss I'm not accepting it!"
I leaned forward in my chair.
Rejected?
Moments later, the guards returned to report.
"She refused, sir."
A slow chuckle escaped my lips before I could stop it.
The guards exchanged glances.
I chuckled again.
They looked terrified.
I stood up abruptly, grabbing my suit jacket.
"Come."
We walked toward the study.
I knocked once.
No answer.
Twice.
Silence.
Thrice.
Finally, the door swung open.
She stepped out with exaggerated grace.
"Thank youuuuu, your majesty," she said mockingly, bowing slightly. "For providing a real bedroom for your servant. But I kindly reject them. So just share the room with yourself. Sleep in yours today, sleep in that one tomorrow. Simple."
She turned dramatically.
"Goodnight."
As she moved to step back inside, she muttered under her breath—
"When my back is already sore and broken, then you know you'll get me a real room."
Her hand reached for the door.
I blocked it before it could close.
She looked up at me.
"And what is it again?"
I didn't answer.
I stepped forward.
Before she could react, I bent and lifted her over my shoulder.
She gasped loudly. "Put me down! Are you insane?!"
I ignored her kicking legs.
"Lucien! Put me down, psycho! What's wrong with youuu?!"
Her fists beat against my back.
The guards stood frozen, unsure whether to look or look away.
I carried her down the hallway toward the newly prepared bedroom.
She continued struggling.
"You can't just carry people like sacks of rice!"
"I just did," I replied calmly.
The door to her new room was opened.
It was spacious.
Elegant.
Soft lighting.
A king-sized bed with silk sheets.
Exactly what she deserved.
I walked inside and threw her gently—but firmly—onto the bed.
She bounced slightly, hair falling around her face.
She glared up at me.
I stood over her.
"If you step out of this room tonight," I said evenly, "you'll sleep with the dogs."
Her mouth fell open.
"You're unbelievable!"
I straightened my jacket.
"You wanted a real room. Now you have one."
"I didn't accept it!"
"I don't recall asking."
Her eyes flashed with fury.
"You're impossible!"
"And you're exhausting," I shot back.
For a brief second, we just stared at each other.
The air thick.
Charged.
She was breathing hard from struggling.
So was I.
Too close.
I took a step back.
"Goodnight, Aria."
And I left.
The door shut behind me.
As I walked back to my own room, something strange settled in my chest.
She rejected comfort out of pride.
Rejected kindness out of defiance.
Why?
Was it because she didn't want to feel indebted to me?
Or because she didn't trust me?
I paused in the hallway, glancing back once at her door.
Three days ago, she was simply a suspect.
Now she was—
A storm.
A distraction.
A complication I had not anticipated.
And as much as I told myself she was merely an asset…
The way my pulse reacted when I carried her said otherwise.
This was dangerous.
I did not lose control.
I did not get attached.
I did not allow emotions to interfere with judgment.
Yet tonight, when I threatened her with the dogs, it wasn't cruelty.
It was control.
And control meant distance.
Distance meant safety.
For both of us.
But as I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't stop replaying the way she looked when I lifted her.
Shocked.
Angry.
Alive.
And for the first time in years…
I wondered if the real threat to my empire wasn't my enemies.
It was the girl sleeping stubbornly in the room down the hall.
And I wasn't sure whether I wanted her to stop fighting me—
Or never stop at all.