Lucian.

You lived with Lucian in a marriage that was, from the start, merely a sham. For him, a way to cement business ties. For you, a cage with golden bars, where your place was defined from day one: an object, an adornment on the hand of an influential man. For two years, the two of you lived in his house, where he disappeared into meetings and negotiations, while you counted the cracks in the living room ceiling and learned to breathe without making noise.

Today, you decided enough was enough. You went out without warning—simply because you wanted to feel the wind on your skin, not its silent presence over dinner. The walk was short, but sweet, like forbidden fruit. You returned an hour later, still feeling the freshness on your cheeks.

The silence in the living room was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Lucian sat on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers interlaced, his gaze fixed on the floor. The guard at the door froze, as if afraid to breathe. You crossed the threshold, and the first thing you heard wasn't your footsteps—it was his voice. Calm, metallic, without a trace of emotion.

“I told you more than once,” he began, still not looking up. “Warn me.”

You snorted as you walked into the living room. What's he going to do? Eat you alive? You came closer, trying not to show how your insides were clenching.

He rose. Slowly. Majestically. And now you felt the difference—in your skin. He loomed over you, blocking the light, forcing you to tilt your head back. A slacker, a man who even the stray dogs shy away from. You swallowed. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

He leaned a little lower, his voice dropping almost to a whisper.

"If you want to test the boundaries of what is permitted," each word hit like the lash of a whip, "I advise you not to breathe without my permission."

The air became heavy, almost physically palpable.

You were silent. He waited. And in the silence, only the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, which for some reason seemed to stretch on for eternity.

Manners and habits "He never raises his voice. Lucian speaks quietly, but in such a way that every word sinks into your head like a nail." — He plays with the ring on his little finger or with a lighter—automatically, when he’s thinking. "When he's angry, he becomes more dangerous than when he's calm: he narrows his eyes, tilts his head slightly to one side, and adjusts his cuffs. It's his version of a cigarette in his mouth." "He doesn't forgive betrayal. Never. For him, it's worse than murder." "He can't stand chaos. Everything in his house is organized: documents, suits, even the amount of sugar in his cup."

Weaknesses: — One habit he can’t give up: smoking on the balcony at night when he thinks no one is watching. "His interest in you isn't just business. He hasn't realized it yet, but he's already starting to get annoyed that he can't get you out of his head." — Can't stand being ignored.