|_ʟᴜᴄɪᴇɴ ᴍᴏʀᴇᴛᴛɪ_|

To understand how you ended up standing in a marble-floored penthouse in the middle of the night, wrapped in nothing but a damp towel while a mafia boss stares at your unlocked phone, you have to go back to Aaron. Aaron was supposed to be your safe harbor—the charming, smooth-talking husband who always promised that his next big break was just around the corner. What you didn't know until it was far too late was that Aaron had a rot in him that no amount of love could fix: a relentless, reckless gambling addiction. He didn't just bet what he had; he borrowed from people you never cross, digging himself into a hole so deep that by the time Lucien Moretti’s men came to collect, the debt had ballooned into millions. When the deadline arrived, Aaron didn't stand his ground, and he didn't protect you. To save his own skin, he drained your personal savings, packed a bag in the dead of night, and made a coward's bargain with Lucien. He signed the divorce papers, handed you over to settle his ledger, and fled. Before he walked out the door, he held your face in his hands and swore on his life that it was only temporary—that he was going to get an honest job, work day and night, and buy you back down to the very last cent. And because you loved him, and because you wanted desperately to believe the man you married wasn't a monster, you foolishly believed him. Except Aaron never got a job. He took the money he stole from you straight back to the underground tables, convinced he could win his way out of the mess he made. Instead, he lost every dollar and sank into an even bigger debt, feeding you sweet, desperate lies through burner numbers whenever he needed more time—until recently, when his excuses finally wore thin and your patience snapped into anger. What Aaron never accounted for, however, was the kind of man Lucien Moretti actually was. Lucien was ruthless in business, feared across the city, and cold to his enemies—but he was nothing like the cruel monster you had braced yourself to live with. Raised by a fiercely independent mother who drilled into him from boyhood that women were sacred treasures to be revered, protected, and treated as equals, Lucien despised men who mistreated or exploited them. When he saw how broken you were after Aaron traded you away like a poker chip, something in Lucien softened. He didn't treat you like a piece of collateral or a possession. He gave you your own space, respected your boundaries, listened when you spoke, and quietly adored you. To Lucien, women were marvels—capable of enduring unimaginable pain and carrying the miracle of life itself—and he was determined to show you what real, unwavering respect felt like, no matter how long it took you to heal. Over the past few months, Lucien thought he was finally watching you let go of the past. He thought your quiet glances and soft smiles meant you were beginning to trust him. Then, twenty minutes ago, you stepped into the master bathroom to take a hot shower, leaving your phone on the nightstand. Lucien hadn't gone looking for betrayal. He had simply walked past the bed when the screen lit up with a string of incoming notifications. Seeing Aaron's name flash across the glass, Lucien’s jaw tightened, and for the first time since bringing you into his home, he picked up your phone. He scrolled through the thread—past your recent angry messages demanding to know why Aaron needed more time, all the way up to the weeks of secret calls, lingering affection, and intimate texts you had been exchanging behind his back. Now, the heavy oak door of the bathroom clicks open, letting a wave of warm steam spill out into the dimly lit bedroom. Rain lashes against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, casting shifting shadows across the room. Lucien is sitting in the leather armchair near the foot of the bed. His suit jacket is draped over the back of the chair, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and his tie hangs loose around his collar. He isn't angry in the loud, destructive way Aaron always was when things went wrong. He is completely, terrifyingly still. Your phone is resting flat on his open palm, the screen still glowing softly in the dim amber light of the bedside lamp. As you step out, freezing the moment your eyes land on what he’s holding, Lucien slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours. There is no rage in his dark eyes—only a deep, suffocating disappointment that feels infinitely heavier. "Aaron never got a job, tesoro," Lucien says, his voice dangerously quiet, cutting straight through the hum of the rain outside. He sets the phone down on the side table with deliberate, controlled care, refusing to break something that belongs to you, even now. "He took the money he stole from your account, walked straight back into a gambling den in Queens, and lost every cent of it. He owes twice what he did when he sold you to me." Lucien leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes searching your face as if trying to recognize the woman standing in front of him. "I knew what kind of man he was the night he signed you over to save his own neck," Lucien continues, his tone dropping lower, laced with a quiet, bitter ache. "That was why I never pushed you. That was why I treated you like something precious, because I believed a woman who had been betrayed like that deserved patience, dignity, and peace." He pauses, letting out a slow breath through his nose, his gaze flicking briefly toward your phone before locking back onto yours. "What I didn't realize," Lucien murmurs, "was that while I was busy trying to prove to you that you deserved better... you were still sneaking behind my back to give your heart to the exact man who threw you away. Tell me—what did he promise you this time that made you lie to me?"