Lucien's POV
She wandered.
Of course she did.
The little dove didn't know how to sit still. Even after I fed her, clothed her, reminded her with every breath in that palace that she was mine now—she still wandered.
Lucien stood by the tall window in his study, one hand resting on the cold crystal decanter. He hadn't poured himself a drink. Not yet.
"She went into the East Wing," Lucien murmured, eyes on the darkened courtyard below. "Alone."
The man standing across from him shifted slightly. Lucien didn't look at him, but he felt the unease ripple in the air.
"She didn't make it past the first cell," the man answered. "Saw Number Seventeen."
A pause.
Lucien smiled.
"I see." He poured the drink now, slow and quiet. Amber liquid filled the glass like molasses.
The man—Nico, one of his inner guards—didn't speak. He knew better.
"She didn't scream?" Lucien asked.
"No, sir. She stared. Silent. Shaken, but she didn't scream."
That intrigued him.
"She's either smarter than I thought... or more broken than she lets on."
Lucien finally turned to face him. "Did she ask questions?"
"No. Not yet."
She would.
The girl had a fire in her eyes, the kind that burned quietly at first—flickering, searching, waiting for the right gust of wind to become dangerous. He'd seen it in women before. But never in one like her.
Camila Reyes wasn't born for this world. She wasn't trained. She wasn't bred in blood and cruelty like the others he kept close. But there was something... old in her. Like pain had matured early in her bones.
He liked that.
But curiosity was dangerous. Especially here.
"She thinks she's a guest," Lucien said softly, walking slowly across the room. "But guests don't open forbidden doors."
Nico didn't reply.
Lucien reached into a drawer, pulling out a black-and-white photo—grainy, old. A young man stood in the frame, smiling, unaware his life would one day end beneath this very estate. Lucien looked at it for a long second.
"She saw Number Seventeen..." His fingers tightened on the glass. "He's not ready to be seen. Not yet."
"What should we do about her, sir?"
Lucien's smile was slow.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
He looked up. "The moment she believes she's safe... is the moment she slips. I want her to keep wandering. Keep guessing. Let her think she's gaining control."
He took a slow sip. "We'll take it back when she least expects it."
Then, quieter: "Besides, it's always more fun when they come running back to you after trying to escape."
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Scene 1 – Camila's POV (Fragments of Truth)
Camila slammed the door behind her, chest heaving. Her footsteps echoed against the stone floor as she paced the hallway, breath sharp with panic and fury.
That scream…
That thing she saw in the shadows of the East Wing—mutilated, chained, half-man, half-something else. The memory made her stomach roll.
"What the hell is going on in this place?"
No one would answer her questions. The guards stared straight ahead, statues in black. The other women looked through her like she was glass. Even Rosa, the cousin she recognized from her uncle's parties, avoided her gaze now.
Except for the maid.
The quiet one with the frizzy hair and downcast eyes.
Camila found her in the linen room, folding sheets too perfectly to be natural. The girl froze when Camila stepped in, her posture stiffening like prey sensing a predator.
"You've seen it, haven't you?" Camila asked. "Whatever's behind that door."
The maid said nothing.
"You all act like he's a god. But there are things in this house. Things no one talks about."
"I can't…" the maid whispered, clutching the sheet tighter. "He'll know."
"I don't care!" Camila snapped. "Someone was screaming in there. A man. A prisoner. Is that what happens to people who disobey him?"
The girl's eyes welled with tears. "You shouldn't have gone there."
"Why?" Camila hissed. "What is he hiding?"
The maid finally looked up. "That wasn't a prisoner. That was a warning."
Before Camila could press further, a knock rang out at the door.
A man in a suit stood there—stone-faced, formal.
"Miss Reyes," he said smoothly, "Mr. Valentini requests your presence. You are to dress for the gathering tonight. He's reserved you a seat beside him."
Camila's blood went cold.
A gathering?
She turned back to the maid—but the girl was already gone.
The ballroom shimmered with opulence. Music curled through the air like silk, and the guests glided through golden light in masks and designer couture.
Lucien stood at the highest stair, sipping dark wine from a crystal glass, watching the stage below being prepared.
Soon, Camila would be escorted in.
She would see the wealth, the power, the monsters dressed as kings and queens. But more than that—she would see what disobedience cost in his world.
Tonight wasn't just for entertainment.
It was a test.
She was getting too curious. Too bold. And yet… something about her reckless pursuit of truth made him not want to crush her spirit outright. Not yet.
There was still more to learn from her.
So he chose temptation instead of punishment.
Let her watch how this world works. Let her feel the stakes.
Let her understand what he could offer—and what he could take away.
He glanced to his right. A single chair beside his throne-like seat remained empty.
But not for long.
Camila's POV
The velvet-lined hallway whispered of danger with every step. Two guards flanked me, neither speaking, but I could feel their eyes. Or maybe it was just the eyes I imagined—watching from the walls, the ceiling, the shadows.
Lucien hadn't told me where I was going. He'd simply said, "Wear something that makes you look obedient."
The dress was too tight. Too expensive. Too red.
It felt like blood poured into silk and stitched into place. The heels bit into my ankles with every step, but I didn't complain. I just walked.
The doors opened into something that looked like a ballroom, but it wasn't a place for dancing.
Chandeliers sparkled like stars, and dozens of men and women in black suits lounged around with drinks, their laughter sharp as broken glass. The room smelled of perfume, smoke, and wealth. Real wealth. Dangerous wealth.
Eyes turned when I stepped in. Appraising. Judging.
And then… dismissing. Like I was nothing new. Just another pretty thing Lucien had dragged in.
Lucien stood at the center, holding a glass of dark liquor. He looked relaxed. Powerful. Unbothered.
But when his eyes locked on mine, the silence inside me cracked.
His voice cut through the room without needing to rise. "Gentlemen, our guest has arrived."
Laughter followed. One man clapped. Another raised a toast.
I didn't know why, but I hated them all instantly.
A woman—tall, cruel-eyed—brushed past me with a smirk. "Fresh blood. Hope she lasts longer than the last one."
I didn't ask what she meant. I didn't want to know.
I just walked forward, trying not to trip over my own fear.
Lucien took my hand without asking. His grip was cold.
"Smile," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. "You're supposed to be mine, remember?"
The word mine crawled under my skin like a parasite.
He introduced me to people I didn't care to know. Politicians. Businessmen. Criminals pretending to be royalty. I nodded, I smiled, I kept my mouth shut.
And then the music stopped.
Lucien's smile widened.
"Shall we show her how we keep things… disciplined?" he said.
A hush fell over the room.
The side doors opened—and two men dragged in a boy no older than twenty. His lip was bleeding. His shirt torn. He looked terrified.
"He stole from me," Lucien said simply. "And lies have consequences."
Before I could even process what was happening, the guards forced the boy to his knees.
Lucien didn't blink. He didn't raise his voice. He just nodded.
And a third man stepped forward—with a cane of polished black wood.
What followed wasn't loud. It wasn't bloody. But it was enough.
One crack. Two. Three. The boy screamed. Then begged. Then went silent.
I didn't realize I was shaking until Lucien's hand curled protectively around my waist.
"Do you understand now, Camila?" he whispered in my ear.
"This world isn't about mercy. It's about power."
And for the first time… I didn't know if I hated him more—or feared him more.
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