TERESA'S P.O.V.
I leaned against one of the tall, arched windows in the library, pretending to study a book I hadn't even bothered to open. My mind? It was entirely elsewhere, drifting hopelessly toward thoughts of Lucian. For months, I'd been unable to sleep properly, my nights filled with restless tossing and turning, and it was all because of him. It was as if he'd set up a permanent residence in my head, occupying every empty space with his face, his voice and his presence. During my first month here and getting to see him everyday, things changed in the way I looked at him and it quickly ushered in an unsettling pattern. I started having dreams—vivid, intense dreams about him.
They started innocently enough. In those initial dreams, Lucian would simply look at , his gaze lingering a fraction longer than it did in real life, his words soft and kind, reaching so part of I hadn't realized was so desperately craving his attention. But as the nights went on, my dreams grew bolder, more intense, and far more intimate.
I'd find myself imagining him shirtless, his lean, toned body glistening with sweat, his dark hair tousled and damp. His forest-green eyes would lure mine, holding them captive and drawing in as he walked towards slowly, every step deliberate, his eyes never breaking from mine. I'd catch a glimpse of a mouth watering bulge pressing against his pants, begging to be released. His presence was overwhelming, and each ti in the dream, he got closer, the tension between us beca almost unbearable. His body was strong with desire, and the sight of him like that sent heat rushing through . His hands would find their way to my skin, his touch electric, lingering, and making my body hot. Every caress, every look made my pussy pool and ache in very sinful ways.
Then, I would wake up. Each ti, I'd find myself drenched in sweat, heart racing, a blend of desire and sha flooding as reality ca crashing back. How could I let myself fall so deeply, so foolishly, for a man who barely even looked my way? Lucian Blackwood's indifference was practically carved in stone. His polite gestures, his fleeting smiles—they were nothing more than casual kindnesses to him, while to , they were everything. He only saw as soone to help, nothing more. And that truth left hollow each ti I forced myself to face it.
Speak of the devil and he will appear. Lucian entered the library. I could feel the sudden shift in the air around , thickening with his presence as he strode across the room with that effortlessly commanding aura. There was sothing in the way he walked that always fueled my fantasies—confident, powerful, as if he owned the very sky above us.
"Daydreaming again, Teresa?" Lucian's voice was a low rumble, the kind that never failed to send an involuntary shiver down my spine. He had this sarcastic tilt to his words, like everything around him was amusing, and, just maybe, a little bit beneath him.
My heart did an uncomfortable leap, and I quickly snapped the book shut, clutching it a bit too tightly. "No! I was just...um, reading," I managed, trying my hardest to sound casual, which I'm sure failed miserably.
Lucian arched a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that way of his. It was unfair, really. No man should look that good smirking. "Ah, yes, reading. How captivating it must be, considering the book is upside down."
My cheeks burned, and I quickly flipped the book the right way up, trying to laugh it off. "Well, you know, I just like challenging myself."
"Clearly." His eyes sparkled with sothing, a hidden amusent, though his expression remained perfectly composed. He always liked to looked at , like he could see right through , like he knew things about I hadn't even figured out yet. It was unnerving, and thrilling, and...well, arousing.
He moved over to one of the shelves, his fingers brushing along the book spines with a kind of casual detachnt. The scent of his cologne drifted over, making my heart race—both thrilling and maddening at the sa ti. He stood there in a quiet way, like he was waiting for sothing, though I couldn't tell what.
I decided to break the silence with a question I'd been wanting to ask him, but I always chickened out at the last second.
"So, Lucian," I began, swallowing my nerves, "I've been here for four and a half months, and I haven't seen or heard from my father." My voice ca out soft, like I was trying to convince myself it was normal to talk to him like a friend. He had a way of spoiling , but I knew well enough that friendship wasn't what we had. And part of suspected Lucian was behind this strange silence from my family. I just wasn't sure whether to be grateful or wary.
He gave a noncommittal shrug, his eyes darkening just a fraction. "Isn't that what you wanted?" His gaze t mine, intense and unreadable, and I felt a fluttering in my stomach, the sort that made feel ridiculous and exhilarated all at once.
"Well, yes, but..." I bit my lip, not quite sure how to phrase what I was feeling. Was he protecting ? Keeping ? Or just amused by my presence in his grand, busy estate?
He tilted his head, an elegant gesture that made him look all the more like he belonged in so ancient portrait. "Teresa, your father and stepmother haven't exactly been attentive parents, have they?" There was an edge to his tone, a quiet anger that, sohow, made my heart ache.
I shrugged, trying to dismiss it. "I suppose not."
He stepped closer, his stare intense, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Then perhaps you should simply enjoy the peace you have here. It's a rare gift."
A small thrill ran down my spine, despite the iciness of his words. He was close now, close enough that I could feel his warmth, sll that intoxicating scent of his. Just like in my dreams. I had to tilt my head up to look at him, and his eyes were like twin storms, unreadable and srizing.
"Right," I mumbled, my heart hamring against my ribcage, my throat dry. "Peace." But how was I supposed to feel at peace when he was so near, so frustratingly close yet distant at the sa ti?
There it was again, that flicker of sothing in his gaze—a brief softening, almost like a crack in the cool, unshakeable armor he wore. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual guarded look.
He straightened, the warmth between us dissipating as he took a deliberate step back. "Good," he said, his voice back to its usual, detached tone. "You can take a walk in the gardens if you need fresh air. Juliette or Rylan—will die to accompany you."
"Oh. Sure." Why couldn't he accompany like how he did on my first day here? Did I do sothing that day to make him suddenly want to keep his distance from ? I didn't dare ask, though my curiosity prickled. There was a tension in his voice when he ntioned Rylan, as though he were holding sothing back.
"Lucian?" I dared, surprising myself with the boldness. "Why do you keep everyone at arm's length?" I regretted the question the mont it left my lips. But there it was, hanging in the air like a challenge.
For a mont, he didn't answer, and a look crossed his face—a combination of surprise, irritation, and maybe a touch of sadness. But then his smirk returned, colder this ti. "Because it's safer that way."
"For you, or for everyone else?"
His eyes t mine, intense, almost a warning. "Both."
A shiver passed through , but I held his gaze, even as my heart pounded. There was an unspoken tension between us, thick enough to cut with a knife, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to escape it or dive deeper. I wanted to know him, truly know him, despite his carefully constructed walls.
"Well, then," I managed, trying to sound light, "I guess I'll go et Juliette and Rylan to see if any of them would like fresh air.'"
He chuckled, a dark, rich sound that made my insides twist pleasantly. "Good luck with that, Teresa."
As I left the room, I could feel his gaze on , heavy, searing, even as he tried to hide it behind his cool, indifferent mask. And I couldn't help but wonder if, maybe, he felt this strange pull between us too—this magnetic, maddening attraction that I didn't dare to na.
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