The morning after the gunfire brought no peace.
The estate was swarming with private security and men in black tactical gear. Helicopters hovered above the cliffs. Drones buzzed like flies. The garden, once fragrant with blooming roses, now reeked of gun oil and scorched metal.
Elena sat on the edge of the grand piano bench, wearing a cream silk robe, her legs tucked under her. Her eyes tracked every movement outside the window like a hunted animal. She had barely slept.
Lucien was on the phone across the room, his voice cold, efficient, commanding.
"No, I want facial recognition matched against INTERPOL's Level-5 database. I want eyes in Paris, Geneva, and Florence. Julian doesn't get to breathe without me knowing."
He ended the call and turned to her.
"Come here," he said softly.
She walked into his arms, and he held her as if she might disappear. His lips found her temple, then her cheek, then down her neck.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
"No. Not really."
Lucien didn't say anything. Just stood there with her in his arms, steady, warm, solid.
"I got a message this morning," he murmured. "Encrypted. From an old contact inside the Syndicate."
"The people your father works with?"
He hesitated. "No. The people he tried to kill."
Her breath caught.
Lucien looked her in the eyes. "You need to know something, Elena. About who I really am. What I used to do. Why men like Julian want me dead—and why they want you now."
She sat back on the couch as he poured a glass of whiskey for himself, and one for her. She didn't take hers.
He sipped his and began.
---
**"Ten years ago, I was the best extraction agent in Europe. I wasn't just wealthy—I was a ghost. No one knew my real name, only my aliases. I was trained in psychological warfare, seduction, surveillance, and execution.
My job was to eliminate problems—quietly. I was a weapon, and my father held the leash.
He used me to destroy competitors, to seduce enemies' daughters, to dismantle companies from the inside out.
Until one mission changed everything.
There was a girl. A witness. She wasn't supposed to survive.
I let her go.
I disappeared the next day. I erased everything, took what I could, and ran. I cut ties with the Syndicate, my father, and the blood I'd spilled.
I became Lucien Vale."**
---
Elena sat in stunned silence. Her hands trembled.
"You were an assassin?" she whispered.
Lucien nodded. "Among other things."
"Have you… killed people?"
"Yes."
The honesty in his eyes cut through her like a blade.
"And now," he continued, "I'm not the only one who wants out. There are others… defectors, rebels. And there's something bigger coming. My father has rebuilt a faction. He wants power—not just in crime, but politics, business… even tech.
He wants to use you, Elena."
"Me? Why?"
Lucien knelt in front of her.
"Because of who your mother was."
Her heart stopped.
"My mother died when I was six. She was no one important."
"That's what they wanted you to believe," Lucien said gently. "But your mother wasn't just some ordinary woman. She was part of a research initiative—code name: Project Solis. A bio-sensory experimental program run by the Syndicate's science wing. Her DNA carried a rare anomaly—something your body might have inherited."
Elena stared at him. "You're telling me… I'm being hunted because of my genetics?"
He nodded once. "They want to use you as a key to activate something buried in that project. Your blood may be the trigger."
She felt the world spin under her feet.
---
Later that night, Lucien sat beside her on the rooftop garden. The stars hung like silent witnesses above.
"I should have told you earlier," he said.
"You were trying to protect me."
He looked at her with a gaze that could shatter glass. "No. I was trying to protect myself from losing you."
She touched his face, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. "You won't lose me. But if we run, we do it together. If we fight, we fight together."
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're the most dangerous woman I've ever met."
"Good. Because I'm tired of being prey."
---
They made love again that night—on the rooftop under the stars.
But this time, it wasn't frantic or desperate. It was slow, consuming.
Lucien laid her down on the padded lounge chair, untying the robe with reverence. His lips explored every inch of her like a map, his fingers writing poetry across her skin.
"Look at me," he whispered.
She did—and in his eyes, she saw not the ghost of a killer, but the soul of a man reborn.
Their bodies tangled under the moonlight, movements soft and unhurried, the heat building until it became a symphony of gasps and whispered names. Elena cried out as he pushed her past the edge, and he followed seconds later, holding her so tightly it almost hurt.
---
Afterward, they lay naked under a single blanket, his arms wrapped around her, the scent of night jasmine all around.
"Whatever happens next," she murmured, "I'm not afraid."
Lucien kissed her shoulder. "Then we'll burn the world, side by side."