Chapter 8 — The Space She Left Behind
Lucien's POV
Fourteen days in Prague.
That was the plan.
Two weeks away from the mansion. Away from the whispers, the danger, the slow-brewing tensions between the Moretti family and their Balkan allies.
And away from her.
From Aria.
He told himself it wasn't about her.
He needed space. To think. To breathe. To stop watching her move through his home like smoke — soft, silent, and impossible to ignore.
She never begged for attention.
Never tried to seduce him or please him.
She just existed.
Calm. Focused. Beautiful in a way that unsettled him.
And now that he was halfway across the world, buried in meetings, liquor, and the company of dangerous men—
He still couldn't stop thinking about her.
---
Day 3 — Hotel, Prague
The hotel was five stars. Everything sleek and cold.
Lucien stood in front of the window overlooking the frozen skyline, tumbler of whiskey in one hand, tablet in the other.
Nico had sent the usual reports.
But one message caught his eye:
Security Update: Aria Monroe remains inside the estate. Daily routines unchanged. No breaches.
Lucien stared at the words for too long.
He tapped the side of the screen.
Then turned it off.
He didn't need to know what she was doing.
Didn't need to know that she'd started walking alone in the gardens again, that the house was quieter without her footsteps, that the staff had started calling her "Lady Moretti" even though he hadn't once used that title.
He didn't need to know any of that.
But he did.
Because he noticed.
---
Day 5 — Meeting Room
The negotiation room was loud. Heated. Men argued over weapons, routes, loyalty.
Lucien leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers.
One of the Serbian heads spoke directly to him. "You agree, Moretti?"
Lucien blinked. "Repeat that."
The man smirked. "You're distracted. That's not like you."
Lucien narrowed his eyes.
"I'm thinking," he said coldly. "You'd be wise not to mistake silence for softness."
That shut them up.
But even as the conversation resumed, his mind drifted again.
To a woman who had sat in complete silence during his storm of threats and still met his gaze without blinking.
To the way she smelled like white tea and clean skin.
To the soft click of her bedroom door closing at night, just across the hall from his.
---
Day 7 — Late Night
Lucien woke in a cold sweat.
Chest rising.
Breath ragged.
He'd dreamed of her.
Not in the way he feared — not blood or betrayal.
But skin.
Her in the library. Her laugh — low and rare.
The weight of her in his arms.
He cursed and sat up, pressing a hand to his jaw.
He hadn't even touched her.
Not once.
And yet her absence was louder than her presence had ever been.
This wasn't weakness, he told himself.
This was curiosity.
An open book on his shelf that refused to stay shut.
---
Day 10 — Voice Message
He didn't mean to open the voice message.
It was Nico, reporting from the estate.
"I think she's onto something," Nico said. "Aria's been asking Clara about your father's study. She's smart, boss. Quiet. Slips through cracks. I've reassigned the guards outside your wing."
Lucien's grip tightened.
Then softened.
She was still investigating.
Of course she was.
It should've angered him.
Instead, it made something twist in his chest — something dangerous.
If she was looking for his secrets… she'd find them.
But so far, she hadn't run.
---
Day 14 — Return Flight
The private jet cut through night clouds like a knife.
Lucien sat with a closed laptop, ignoring the reports, the numbers, the war.
His thoughts had narrowed to one point.
To her.
To Aria.
He wasn't going home because he missed her.
He was going home to remind himself who she really was.
A problem.
Not a woman.
Not… his wife.
Not the sound that had filled his silence for weeks and refused to leave his head.
No.
He was going home to reclaim control.
To reset the lines she kept blurring by simply breathing in his house.