The letter sat on the nightstand like a curse.
Its words echoed in Elena's mind louder than the grand piano in the conservatory. They pulsed through her blood, stirring a storm of memories she had buried in the deepest corners of her heart.
"We are not finished, Elena."
She ran her fingers over the paper again, the edges worn soft from how many times she'd read it.
Who had written it?
She had a guess.
But she didn't want to believe it.
She showered and dressed in silence, choosing a soft beige blouse and high-waisted black trousers—armor disguised as elegance. Her long, wet hair was pulled into a loose braid. She didn't wear perfume. She didn't want to attract attention.
But Lucien was already waiting in the conservatory, his back to her as he stood at the piano, playing a haunting, unfamiliar melody.
He stopped when he sensed her presence.
Without turning, he said, "You left the bed early."
"You were gone first," she replied.
He turned to her then, eyes darker than usual. "I had work to handle. I didn't want to wake you."
She stepped forward. "But you didn't leave a note."
Lucien's jaw flexed. "Neither did you."
The room fell quiet.
Then she placed the letter gently on the piano lid.
"I received this," she said.
Lucien read it in seconds. His face darkened like a sky before the storm.
"Who sent this?" he asked.
"I don't know for certain."
But Lucien did.
"I have enemies, Elena. From a past you know little about. But this… this feels personal. It's not about me. It's about you."
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "There's something I need to tell you."
He looked at her sharply.
She sat at the piano bench, folding her hands in her lap. "Before I came here, I was in Venice. Teaching at a private music school. A man—Julian Devereaux—was the patron of the school. Wealthy. Connected. He funded my scholarship. Helped me get into competitions. Gave me a career."
Lucien's face remained unreadable.
"But?" he said.
Elena's lips trembled. "He wanted more. He was charming, older, but manipulative. When I tried to distance myself, he made threats. To my students. To my reputation. He said I'd never play again if I didn't stay close."
Lucien stepped forward. "Did he hurt you?"
Elena shook her head. "Not physically. But he made me feel owned."
Lucien's fists clenched. "And you think this letter…"
"I know his tone," she said. "That twisted poetry. That arrogance."
Lucien looked at the note again.
"He found you," he muttered. "And he thinks he still has a claim."
Elena looked up at him. "He doesn't."
Lucien knelt before her, his large hand cradling hers.
"I won't let him come near you," he said, low and firm. "Elena, I swear—if he so much as breathes in your direction, he'll regret it."
"I don't want violence," she said.
He kissed her knuckles gently. "But I do."
---
That evening, the villa changed.
Lucien added a private security team without telling her. Subtle men in dark suits blended into the shadows of the grounds. He paced like a lion, distracted and sharp, checking phone messages, whispering in languages Elena didn't understand.
Elena retreated to the music room, needing peace.
Adriana arrived an hour later, her face glowing with joy.
"Elena, can we play together tonight?" she asked.
Elena forced a smile. "Of course, sweetheart."
They played side by side—Elena leading, Adriana following. The notes were warm and soft, a gentle lullaby to quiet the noise. But halfway through the second piece, Elena's fingers froze.
Someone was watching them.
She felt it.
The air shifted.
She turned—and saw him.
A man in a long black coat stood just beyond the glass doors. Elegant. Smiling.
Julian Devereaux.
Her heart plummeted.
Adriana followed her gaze. "Who is that?"
Elena stood quickly. "Stay here."
She walked outside, her heels echoing on the stone path. Julian did not move.
"Elena," he said smoothly. "You're even more beautiful when you're afraid."
"I'm not afraid," she lied.
He stepped closer. "You left without saying goodbye. After everything I gave you."
"You gave me nothing but chains."
He tilted his head, amused. "Chains made of gold are still chains?"
"I'm not yours," she snapped. "Not anymore."
Julian smirked. "That's not what I heard. Rumors travel fast. Especially when a woman like you warms the bed of a man like Lucien Vale."
Before Elena could respond, she heard footsteps behind her.
Lucien.
He didn't say a word as he stepped between them, his presence a storm. His hand came up and landed on Julian's chest—not as a greeting, but a warning.
"You need to leave," Lucien said, deadly calm.
Julian raised both brows. "Touch me again, and you'll be opening a war."
Lucien smiled coldly. "No. That was me being polite."
Security surrounded them now.
Julian looked around and laughed softly. "She's worth all this?"
Lucien didn't flinch. "She's worth more than you'll ever understand."
Julian's gaze flicked back to Elena. "Be careful who you trust, darling. Some monsters don't show their teeth until you've already bled."
Then he was gone.
Just like that.
But the echo of his words stayed long after.
---
Later that night, Elena found Lucien on the rooftop terrace, overlooking the ocean. The breeze lifted his hair as he sipped a glass of scotch, silent.
"You didn't have to protect me like that," she said.
He didn't look at her. "I wanted to."
She stepped closer. "He won't stop."
"I know."
"I'm scared."
Lucien turned to her then, his eyes burning like fire. "So am I. Because I finally have something to lose."
She reached for him.
This time, the kiss wasn't gentle.
It was desperate.
It was war.
Lucien lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom with a hunger that came from something far deeper than lust.
This wasn't about claiming.
It was about anchoring.
About reminding each other that no matter what came knocking, this was real.
Their bodies moved together like melody and harmony—aching, gasping, searching.
And when she cried his name in the darkness, he whispered hers back like a promise.