The cold glow of Lucian's office illuminated the sleek glass walls of the Velmore tower. His suit jacket was draped carelessly over his chair, the top two buttons of his shirt undone as he leaned back, scrolling through news alerts and social media buzz.
His jaw clenched.
A photo had just been sent to him by his assistant, promptly flagged under "Urgent – PR Sensitive."
There she was.
Caliste.
In a dimly lit bar. Smiling. Laughing. With Leina by her side and…a guy in the background handing her another glass of wine.
Lucian zoomed in.
Not Jace.
Worse—someone new.
His eyes narrowed at the stranger, the casual closeness. He didn't recognize him. Didn't care to. It was the look on Caliste's face that got under his skin.
She looked free.
Unburdened. Untouched by his rules or walls.
And he hated that someone else could bring that out of her.
He tossed his phone on the desk and leaned forward, elbows on the glass, palms pressed together in frustration. She said the marriage was only on paper… So why the hell does it bother me?
But before he could overthink it, another buzz. This time from his private number.
It was from Gregory Winslow.
He declined the call.
For once, he didn't want to talk about heirs or obligations. He just wanted to understand what was happening to him every time Caliste smiled at someone else.
---
Back at the Bar
Laughter echoed from the karaoke stage nearby. Leina was up there, belting out an '80s power ballad, having the time of her life. Caliste clapped for her, wine glass in hand, when a deep voice caught her attention.
"Well, well… if it isn't Caliste Winslow."
She turned around and froze. Tristan Vale.
An old acquaintance from boarding school—charming, arrogant, and a notorious heartbreaker. His smile was still the same: dangerous and too knowing.
"Tristan?" she blinked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Just in town for a few meetings. And now, very glad I stopped by this place." He took a seat beside her without waiting. "You look… different."
"Different good or different bad?" she raised a brow, amused but guarded.
"Good. Confident. Married, I hear."
Her smile dimmed. "Something like that."
"You don't look very married," Tristan said, his eyes scanning her face. "You look… lonely."
Before she could answer, her phone lit up again with a message. From an unknown number.
> "If you want to play games, Caliste, remember who started the fire."
—L
She locked her phone quickly, her heart skipping.
"Trouble?" Tristan asked, sipping his drink.
She forced a smile. "Nothing I can't handle."
But the moment felt shifted. The air heavier.
Across the street, behind tinted windows, a black SUV sat quietly. A figure inside watched the bar entrance like a hawk.
Lucian didn't believe in coincidences.
And he sure as hell wasn't going to sit still while someone else stole the attention of his wife—even if she didn't believe she was his in the way that mattered most.
---
At the bar.
Caliste sat back on the velvet bench, letting the gentle lull of wine blur the sharp edges of her emotions. Tristan had stepped away to greet some associates near the bar, and Leina was still mid-serenade on stage.
For once, Caliste thought she could finally breathe.
She turned her gaze to the window, watching raindrops begin to patter gently against the glass, when a soft voice from the next booth caught her attention.
Two women sat behind the half-wall that separated the VIP lounge, nursing cocktails and whispering with the kind of gossiping glee only the rich and entitled had.
"I still can't believe Lucian Velmore rejected Vivienne," one of them said, tone edged with disbelief. "She's stunning. His type to a T."
"I know right?" her friend replied, lowering her voice. "He told Damien last week that he hasn't touched another woman since the wedding."
Caliste's heart skipped.
"You're joking."
"Nope. Said something about his wife being off-limits emotionally, but somehow she keeps messing up his head. That she's not part of the plan but he can't stop thinking about her."
Caliste leaned back in her seat, gripping her glass tightly. Her breath caught in her throat.
They were talking about her.
Lucian. Her husband.
Hadn't touched another woman…?
She felt her stomach twist. Her mind jumped to the model in that tabloid scandal. The arm around Lucian. The perfectly timed smiles. She had assumed—
"You think he's actually in love with her?" the first woman asked.
There was a pause.
"I think he doesn't know what he feels," the other said quietly. "Lucian's not the kind of man who admits to wanting something he can't control."
Caliste blinked rapidly, her mind spinning.
Not part of the plan… but he can't stop thinking about her?
Was it true?
Suddenly, Tristan slid back into the booth with a charming grin. "Sorry for the wait. Another round?"
Caliste quickly masked her expression. "No, I'm good. I think I need some air."
She stood before he could say more, weaving through the crowd and stepping outside onto the empty balcony behind the bar. The cold air kissed her flushed skin.
Everything she heard—it tangled in her chest like vines. She had built so many walls to protect herself from Lucian, convinced he never wanted her, never chose her.
And yet…
He hadn't touched another woman?
That kiss at the gala… the way he looked at her before—
It was never fake, was it?
Suddenly, she felt vulnerable in ways she didn't expect.
Because if Lucian really did want her…
Then she would have to admit that she wanted him too.
And she wasn't sure she was ready for that.
---
The warm breeze of the evening did little to calm Caliste's nerves. She leaned over the balcony railing, staring blankly at the city lights. Her heart was racing—not from the wine, but from the words she'd overheard.
Lucian hasn't touched another woman.
Lucian can't stop thinking about her.
Was it true? Or just drunken gossip?