---
Jasmine didn't sleep that night.
Not because she was uncomfortable—Thornridge had rooms softer than dreams—but because of the man who hadn't come back to bed.
Lucien had disappeared again after the gala. One moment he was touching her forehead like it meant something, and the next he was gone, swallowed by the shadows of his estate.
And still… she waited.
Morning came with a rainstorm, soft and relentless. Jasmine sat by the window again, sketching in her notepad—trying to capture the shape of a storm that lived not outside, but inside her.
She was halfway through shading Lucien's jawline when the door opened.
He looked exhausted. Not physically, but soul-deep. His tie was askew, his shirt wrinkled like he hadn't changed since last night.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.
He didn't answer. Just stood there, watching her like he was trying to memorize her before she vanished.
"Why did you run last night?" she added, closing her sketchbook.
"I didn't run."
"You disappeared."
Lucien stepped inside, letting the door close behind him.
"I had to meet with my lawyer."
"At midnight?"
He walked to her. "Jasmine…"
"No," she said, standing. "I get it. You don't do emotions. You'd rather face hostile takeovers than be vulnerable. But I'm not just a performance anymore, am I?"
Lucien's jaw flexed. "It's not that simple."
She stepped closer. "It is."
"Then what do you want me to say?" His voice cracked, low and sharp. "That when you touched me last night, I didn't know how to breathe? That I've built my life on control, and now I'm losing it—because of you?"
She blinked, breath catching.
"I want you to stop hiding," she whispered.
Lucien looked like he might break.
Then he kissed her.
Not gently. Not like a fairytale.
It was raw and reckless, as if he'd been starving for the taste of her. Jasmine melted into him, her hands finding the buttons of his shirt, tugging him closer until his heat wrapped around her like thunder.
He pulled her against the wall, their mouths crashing like waves. Hands tangled in hair, breath stolen, barriers burned.
The kiss didn't ask permission.
It claimed.
And Jasmine let it.
Because for the first time, she wasn't pretending either.
---
They didn't speak for hours afterward.
Lucien had fallen asleep beside her, one arm draped over her waist like he was afraid she'd vanish. And Jasmine… she stared at the ceiling, heart thudding like a war drum.
She hadn't planned on feeling.
But now… feelings were all she had.
---
Later that evening, Jasmine received an invitation.
Not from Lucien—but from his father.
"Dinner. Tonight. No excuses."
She showed it to Lucien when he came down dressed in black slacks and a storm-gray shirt.
"My father doesn't invite. He commands," he said.
"Are you going?"
"I have to. So do you."
Jasmine straightened. "Why does it feel like I'm walking into an ambush?"
Lucien's lips twisted. "Because you are."
---
Dinner at the Thorn patriarch's estate was less like a family gathering and more like an interrogation wrapped in wine and polished silverware.
Jasper Thorn was a man carved from ambition. His voice never rose, but every word felt like a verdict.
He said nothing for the first half hour. Just watched Jasmine like she was a chess piece he hadn't approved.
Finally, he asked, "What's your endgame, Miss Lane?"
Lucien's fork clattered onto his plate.
"Father—"
"No, let her speak," Jasper said. "She's ambitious enough to trap my son in marriage. I'd like to know what she wants in return. Fame? Fortune? A gallery?"
Jasmine sat straighter. Her spine ached, but her pride held firm.
"I want to survive," she said quietly. "To protect my brother. To build a life that doesn't leave me begging for scraps."
"And my son is a means to that end?"
She met Jasper's eyes.
"Maybe he was. But he's not anymore."
Lucien blinked.
Jasper scoffed. "Emotion makes weak men, Miss Lane."
"No," she said, voice sharper now. "Emotion makes men human."
And for the first time, she saw it—Lucien's father flinch.
Not visibly. Not enough for most to notice.
But Jasmine did.
And so did Lucien.
---
On the drive back, Lucien was quiet.
Jasmine didn't speak either.
Until they reached Thornridge, and he parked the car in silence.
Then he said, "You stood up to him."
She nodded. "He needed someone to."
"I never could."
Jasmine reached over, took his hand.
"You don't have to fight him alone anymore."
Lucien didn't respond.
But his grip tightened around hers like a promise.
---