Page 190 of The Owner's Temptation

They can get toher.

My pulse ticks up. I rub the back of my neck and glance back at the woman still sleeping in my bed—still safe. Still soft. Still mine for a few more minutes.

But not for long.

Because this is where the line is drawn.

Between the life she deserves and the war I’m about to wage.

She’s still curled into the sheets that smell like me, like us—and I know better than to let myself look too long. But of course I do. Just for a second.

Her features are relaxed, lips parted slightly, her breath steady in the way only sleep can bring. There’s a softness there. A safety.

And I’m about to destroy it.

I finish buttoning my shirt, each movement mechanical, deliberate. My fingers find the drawer, searching for the familiar weight of my cufflinks—matte black, the same pair I wore the night we met.

I close the drawer a little too hard. The sound cuts through the stillness like a warning shot.

She stirs, shifting in the sheets. My name follows, quiet and unsure. “Lucian?”

I don’t turn. I can’t. If I look at her now, I won’t do what needs to be done.

I crouch to tie my shoes, slowly. Carefully. Like dressing for war.

With each motion, I retreat further behind the mask she worked so hard to peel away—the man she first met. Cold. Controlled. Untouchable.

Still, I don’t turn around. I secure the second cufflink with precision, then finally speak—flat, clipped.

“Take a few days. Report to Eve when you're ready. She’ll walk you through your first contract selection.”

“What–” There’s a pause, and I can hear her sitting up. Sheets shifting. Confusion thick in her tone. “I thought?—”

“That was a mistake,” I say, cutting her off with surgical precision. My tone leaves no room for questions. Only damage.

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. I can feel it pressing against my back like her grief is already reaching for me. But I don’t flinch. I don't move.

“You don’t mean that,” she says. Quieter now, but firmer. A soft defiance laced with disbelief.

I grit my teeth. My hand curls around the edge of the dresser until my knuckles burn.

“When have I ever said something I didn’t mean?”

The words fall out like a blade, and I know they land the way I need them to. I hear the breath leave her lungs, feel the shift in the air as her world cracks down the middle.

“You bastard,” she whispers. “You don’t even care, do you?”

Still, I stay silent.

“After everything… after last night… you won’t even admit that this meant something?”

Her voice breaks, and for a second, so does something in me. But I can’t let her see it.

“Look at me.”

It’s a command now—low, trembling, laced with a fury that wasn’t there before.

I don’t move.

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