Chapter 11 — Unspoken Things
Aria's POV
The sun had barely risen when she entered the dining hall.
She wasn't expecting to see him there.
Lucien never showed up this early, at least not in the public spaces. Breakfast was usually delivered to his office or eaten on the go, in between threats and phone calls.
But there he was.
At the head of the long mahogany table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, black coffee in hand.
Waiting.
Aria paused in the doorway.
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them again — that quiet, simmering energy neither of them dared to touch.
"You're up early," she said as she walked in.
Lucien sipped his coffee, his voice low. "Didn't sleep much."
Because of me? she almost asked. But didn't.
Instead, she took the seat across from him — not beside him. Not too close.
Clara appeared a second later with breakfast plates. Poached eggs, toast, jam, and fresh fruit. A perfectly prepared spread. Nothing excessive. Nothing sloppy.
Aria murmured a soft thanks. Lucien gave a tight nod.
And then the silence stretched.
But it wasn't cold.
It was curious.
---
Lucien's POV
He watched her more than he ate.
She moved with that same calm grace — never rushed, never flinching. The type of woman who knew how to make herself invisible, but had long since chosen not to.
She cut into her food like she wasn't being watched.
But she knew.
She always knew.
Lucien's voice broke the silence first.
"You're not afraid of storms."
She blinked, then gave a soft smile.
"You remembered."
"I don't forget things that matter."
It slipped out before he could stop it.
Aria didn't comment. She only sipped her tea.
And something about the way she did that — like it didn't surprise her, like she'd heard men say far worse — made Lucien grip his coffee a little tighter.
He wasn't used to being read like a book.
Especially not by a woman who'd entered his life on a lie.
---
Aria's POV
She noticed it now — the way his shoulders had relaxed. Slightly.
The way his gaze didn't burn through her anymore.
Not because he'd lost his edge.
But because he was watching her differently now.
Not as a threat.
As something else.
Unpredictable.
She spread a little jam on her toast, then spoke without looking up.
"Do you always wake up early after nightmares?"
Lucien froze.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
"I don't have nightmares," he replied flatly.
"You have something."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he set his cup down and leaned back in his chair, studying her.
"I don't like games, Aria."
"I'm not playing one," she said calmly.
"You ask a lot of questions."
"I notice things. That's different."
His eyes narrowed slightly, not out of anger — but calculation. He was trying to figure her out again.
Too late.
She was already deeper than he wanted to admit.
---
Lucien's POV
He didn't know what was more dangerous — the fact that she saw too much…
Or the fact that he didn't want her to stop.
Aria broke the silence first this time.
"I used to imagine marriage would feel different than this."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"I thought it would be louder," she said. "But maybe that's the dangerous part. The quiet."
A slow breath left his lungs.
He reached for a grape from the fruit bowl, more to distract his hands than anything else.
"I don't know what kind of marriage this is yet," he said honestly.
Her gaze lifted to meet his.
"Neither do I."
For the first time, it didn't feel like they were on opposite sides of a war.
It felt like they were standing on the same battlefield — unsure which weapons to put down first.
---
Moments Later
Lucien stood.
He was done eating. He didn't say goodbye. Didn't excuse himself.
But before leaving the room, he paused.
His voice was softer now, but still restrained.
"I have a meeting this afternoon. I'll be gone a few hours."
She didn't ask where.
He didn't offer.
But then, with his back still turned, he added—
"There'll be a book on my desk. I think you'll like it."
Then he walked out.
And for the first time, Aria didn't feel like a prisoner in this house.
She felt like a woman someone was starting to see — clearly.
And that, more than anything else, made her chest ache.