The sun had long dipped below the skyline, yet Sera Moretti's mind refused to settle. She sat on the edge of her penthouse desk, legs crossed, her silk blouse undone at the collar, revealing the silver chain that dipped below. Her red hair, usually kept in a tight, calculated wave, now spilled in loose defiance over her shoulders. She wasn't tired.
She was thinking.
Lucien Cain.
That man had crossed into her thoughts like an uninvited storm, forcing her to relive every calculated word, every subtle glance. He wasn't like the power-hungry CEOs she manipulated for sport. He didn't chase. He hunted. And tonight, over a table dressed with the best Bordeaux and the city's most exclusive cuisine, he had made his move.
But Sera didn't bend. She never had. And no man—no matter how ruthless—would see her surrender.
Still…
She hated how the echo of his voice lingered in her chest. She hated how she had to fight herself not to kiss him. And above all, she hated that she was considering seeing him again.
Her phone buzzed.
A message. No name.
"Tell your security to stand down tomorrow morning. You'll want to see what I have planned. – L"
Sera stared at the text.
No emojis. No flattery. Just authority. A message, not a suggestion.
Her fingers hovered above the screen, but she didn't reply.
Instead, she deleted it and tossed the phone aside.
Control. That was what she was fighting for. She would not let Lucien Cain create cracks in her armor.
And yet, deep down, the crack had already begun.
⸻
Across the city, Lucien stood barefoot in his living room, the floor-to-ceiling windows casting moonlight across his sculpted form. He poured himself a drink, then stood still, glass untouched in his hand.
He was thinking of her.
The way she met his gaze like a loaded weapon. The way her voice didn't tremble, even when he pushed.
He liked power.
But he craved resistance.
Sera Moretti wasn't a woman to be broken. She was a woman to be challenged, to be unraveled.
He needed more time with her. Not to flirt. Not even to seduce. But to understand why she was getting under his skin.
He didn't believe in love. He never had. But this—this obsession—wasn't lust. It was war.
And Lucien Cain never lost a war.
⸻
The next morning, a matte-black SUV pulled into the underground garage of Moretti Holdings. The building's head of security, Collins, blinked twice when he saw the passenger that stepped out.
"Is that…?" he asked the guard beside him.
"It's him," the guard muttered. "Lucien Cain."
Lucien walked in without a word, wearing a steel-gray three-piece suit that clung to him like custom-made sin. He didn't speak. Didn't acknowledge the stares. He simply moved—like silence incarnate—toward the private elevator.
Collins raised a hand, about to block him, when his earpiece crackled.
"Let him in," came Sera's voice.
The guard hesitated. "Ma'am, are you sure?"
"I said let him in."
Lucien stepped inside the private elevator, alone, and pressed the top button.
⸻
Sera didn't look up when the doors opened.
She was seated at her desk, her crimson nails tapping against the glass surface, as if she hadn't expected him to show up—or didn't care.
Lucien stepped inside and said nothing. He closed the door behind him, slow and deliberate.
"You don't believe in invitations, I see," she said without looking up.
"You already invited me, Sera. When you didn't tell me to stop."
She raised her eyes, and the office seemed colder for it.
"What do you want, Lucien?"
He walked over, slow, confident, and placed a leather file folder in front of her. Inside were photos. Documents. Bank accounts. Names.
She opened it. Her brows furrowed.
"This… this is Delgado's shell companies."
Lucien nodded. "Your competitor's been laundering through three holding accounts in Macau. You'll want to move fast before he cleans the trail."
Sera leaned back. "Why give me this?"
He shrugged. "Consider it a gift."
"I don't trust gifts."
"I don't give them freely."
They were close now. Too close. She could smell his cologne—earth, musk, danger. She stood, walking toward the window to breathe.
Lucien followed, but not too close.
"You're used to people offering deals with strings," he said quietly. "This one comes with a promise."
She turned. "Which is?"
"That I protect what's mine."
She laughed, dark and low. "I'm not yours, Lucien."
He didn't flinch. "Not yet."
⸻
Later that day, in the basement of Cain Enterprises, two men were tied to chairs, blood dripping from split lips and broken fingers. Lucien stood in the shadows, silent.
"They were the ones Delgado hired to tail Miss Moretti last week," Jax said.
Lucien's jaw clenched. His voice, when he finally spoke, was pure frost.
"Make sure Delgado knows I saw his move. And that I'm returning the favor."
Jax nodded and left the room. The screams started shortly after.
⸻
That night, Sera sat in her penthouse, staring at her ceiling.
Lucien Cain was dangerous.
Not just to his enemies.
But to her control.
He was the first man to stand beside her, not behind her. The first who didn't flinch when she bared her teeth. The first who made her heart race without touching her.
And damn it, he was starting to feel… safe.
Which made him deadly.
She walked to her private safe, punched in the code, and pulled out a worn envelope. Inside were the only photographs she had left of her mother—a woman torn apart by loving a man with too much darkness in his chest.
Sera had sworn she'd never repeat that mistake.
But then again, Lucien wasn't asking for love.
He was asking for war.
And maybe… maybe she was ready for it.