Ana returned from that dinner with her soul in tatters. Every step down the icy marble corridors echoed in her chest like a sentence. She felt dirty, used, broken in places she couldn't put her finger on but that hurt more than any blow.
Lucian was in his study when she entered. Sitting in his leather armchair, staring at the fireplace with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He didn't turn his head when he heard her, but his eyes, those gray eyes like steel under a storm, searched for her in the reflection of the glass.
-Did you have fun? -he asked in a soft, almost affectionate voice.
Ana pursed her lips. -You know perfectly well where I was.
Lucian rose slowly, approaching her with slow, calculated steps. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. Anne stood still, rigid, not knowing whether to tremble or give up.
-I shouldn't have let you go with Viktoria," he whispered. I shouldn't have let them use you like that.
Ana swallowed. -Then why didn't you stop them?
Lucian barely pulled away to look at her. His expression was contradictory: tenderness and guilt, desire and control. -Because I needed to see if you were strong. If you could survive without me. But I promise it won't happen again.
He kissed her on the forehead as if his gesture was a blessing. But Ana did not feel protected. She felt possessed.
From that night on, Lucian changed.
He would not allow anyone else to speak to her without her permission. He forbade her to attend any event where Viktoria was present. He had security doubled in her room. He even gave her a key... not to her freedom, but to her confinement.
-You are safe," he told her whenever she expressed the slightest desire to go for a walk, to see the world beyond the invisible bars of the mansion. Here, with me, no one can hurt you.
But Anna began to understand that there was something even more dangerous than Viktoria, than the political threats, than the ghosts of the past.
It was Lucian.
Because he didn't curse her, or hit her, or raise his voice.
He loved her.
He loved her in a twisted, obsessive, absolute way.
Like a wolf embracing the lamb it doesn't want to devour... but won't let go.
And although a part of her still sought comfort in that love, another part of her was beginning to cry out inside.
Because the wolf's embrace was warm. It was sweet.
And it was a prison that smelled of tenderness and tasted of poison.