Luciano pulled a chair for Eloise to sit, the gesture smooth, utterly natural, and deeply unsettling given the context of her forced captivity. Once she was seated, he sat in his own chair, taking his place at the head of the long, gleaming oak table. The polished surface reflected the warm, flickering candlelight and the gleam of the silver cutlery, illuminating the intimate, dangerous setting.
The fox hopped gracefully onto a velvet cushion positioned at Luciano's right side—apparently its designated dining seat. A small, delicate gold dish was placed instantly in front of the creature by a silent server.
Eloise blinked when the server then placed something within the dish: perfectly sliced, raw, crimson meat. A predator's elegant, tailored feast. The fox lowered its head and began eating with eerily precise, polite movements, like a tiny monarch taking its supper.
Luciano reached for the serving dishes placed in the center of the table. Without asking, he fixed her plate—lemon herb chicken, roasted root vegetables, a spoonful of creamy risotto—then meticulously plated his own meal with the same focused, practiced attention.
The gesture was so smooth and ingrained she didn't fully register what he'd done until a fragrant, balanced dish was placed directly in front of her. She murmured a stiff, thank you.
The dinner proceeded in heavy, silent strokes. Eloise focused on the food, her appetite warring between caution and the deep exhaustion left by her earlier breakdown.
Halfway through the meal, she couldn't stand the silence anymore. She set her fork down with a careful clink.
"Can I ask a question?" she asked quietly, her heart pounding a quick rhythm against her ribs.
Luciano looked up instantly, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth with a slight hum. His gaze was alert, interested. "Of course you can, Paloma. Speak freely."
She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling slightly around the slender stem of her wine glass.
"Earlier… in the foyer. You said I freed you. And that I gave you the perfect excuse to break a contract you had no desire to keep. What was that about? What contract?"
Luciano paused mid-motion, the piece of chicken skewered on his fork forgotten. The air around him chilled a fraction, a faint crackle of restrained fury threading through the room, suddenly colder than the marble foyer.
"Oh. That," he said at last, setting his cutlery down with precise care.
He leaned back, his jaw tightening, his beautiful, icy eyes cold enough to frost steel. The amusement that had softened him moments ago vanished, replaced by a deep, visceral resentment.
"A certain sperm donor who likes to play the role of 'father' decided it was a brilliant idea to arrange a marriage for me," he said, his voice laced with venomous disgust, the words spat out with barely controlled rage.
Eloise blinked, struggling to process the sudden, sharp shift in his demeanor. "Your father—?"
"Donor," he corrected sharply, the word a gunshot. "The man has earned nothing more." His voice deepened, dropping to a low, almost feral register. "And why should I help make his life easier? Why should I do anything that man wants?"
His expression darkened further, the muscles in his jaw visibly flexing, the only external sign of his inner storm.
"That man has no idea what's coming for him," Luciano added through tightly gritted teeth, his eyes glittering with a promise of brutal retribution.
Eloise swallowed, quietly filing away the revelation: Luciano and his father don't get along well. At all. Their relationship was defined by power and hatred, not kinship.
She gently pushed her roasted vegetables around her plate, the food suddenly seeming irrelevant. She hesitated, but her curiosity, now a powerful, self-destructive force, tugged harder.
"When I burned the estate you gave William… was that when I became part of your plan? And why was William staying in your estate in the first place?"
Luciano's eyes snapped to hers, dark, interested, and undeniably hungry, like a predator who had just spotted the perfect weakness.
He smirked, a devastating, slow curl of his lips. "That's three questions, Paloma."
She bristled, the old defensive fire flashing. "Fine. I—"
"But," he interrupted, cutting her off effortlessly, his voice still smooth. "I'll answer them all. Since you asked so prettily."
He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward, his gaze pinning her in place, commanding her absolute attention.
"No, it wasn't when you burned the estate that you became part of my solution," he clarified. Then, he lifted his wine glass, swirling the dark crimson liquid lazily. "It was when you stormed into that restaurant, drenched William in wine, and slapped him across his face in front of everyone."
Color rushed violently to Eloise's face. She hadn't exactly been graceful. She had been a hysterical mess. Her mind reeled with humiliation.
"So you—what, picked me as your fiancée because I slapped him?" she stammered, appalled.
"No." Luciano's voice dropped, becoming pure velvet and absolute danger. "I chose you because you were fearless enough to strike him. Publicly. Without hesitation. That kind of fire is rare, Paloma."
Her cheeks heated again, the compliment—if it could be called that—landing like a branding iron.
"And," he added lazily, cutting into his chicken with unnerving focus, "as for granting William that estate… well…"
A low, dark chuckle rolled from his chest, cold and satisfied.
"Someone stupider than William thought he could use William to spy on me, specifically to gather information." Luciano shrugged, tearing a tender piece of chicken. "So I gave William a beautiful, ostentatious place to stay, to make him believe I trusted him. All the better to observe his idiot handler."
Eloise's breath stilled completely.
The man she had loved for two years wasn't only a cheating bastard; he was also a lying, treacherous spy, attempting to undermine a figure far beyond his comprehension.
Her stomach twisted with a fresh wave of humiliation. Rage. Disgust. She had trusted him, believed his elaborate lies, and loved him like a fool.
Luciano watched her expression tighten, the storm of realization crossing her face. He softened—just barely.
"Don't blame yourself," he murmured, his voice the dark, calm anchor of the room. "People like him just know how to pick good hearts to ruin. It is their only talent."
She hated how those two words—good hearts—steadied her, pulling her out of the spiraling vortex of self-pity. How his voice—dark, calm, and utterly unbothered by the human wreckage around him—made her crushing pain feel… smaller. Manageable.
Trying to ground herself in the in the strange reality, Eloise watched as the fox finished its meat, meticulously licking its muzzle delicately clean before curling up beside Luciano's chair, its snowy tail coiled like a pristine halo.
Luciano moved from his main course to dessert: a small, dark platter of chocolate macarons arranged like little, edible jewels. He picked one up, took a slow, savoring bite, then closed his eyes briefly as he registered the sweetness, a moment of sensual appreciation that starkly contrasted with his cruelty.
Then, as if suddenly remembering a very important, terrifying piece of administrative detail, he opened his eyes and leveled them at her.
"You said you wanted William to feel the same pain he gave you," he said casually, picking up the thread of their conversation without missing a beat. "That's why you burned down the estate."
Eloise flinched at the painful, impulsive memory.
Luciano chuckled, low and dark.
"But here's the thing, Paloma. William doesn't care about anyone's feelings, or his career. He cares about one thing and one thing only. His dick."
Eloise choked on her water, trying desperately to process the terrifying implication.
Luciano took another bite of his macaron, completely unfazed by her near-death experience.
"You should have bitten off his dick. That way he would have lost something very valuable to him." He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin, perfectly clean. "Now that I think about it, it's good you didn't do that. I wouldn't want my wife's mouth near him."
Eloise froze mid-chew. She had swallowed wrong. She coughed violently, clutching at her chest as her eyes watered.
"D–did you just say wife?" she sputtered, her voice high and desperate.
Luciano stared at her like she had asked whether the sun rose in the east, his expression one of bored patience.
"Why, yes I did. Did you genuinely think you are going to be just my fiancée? At some point, we will, naturally, get married. The debt is too large to resolve with a mere engagement."
Her mind spun so violently she felt instantly lightheaded, the refined terror of the evening reaching a new, impossible peak.
He waved a hand dismissively, returning to the macaron. "Now, back to what we were saying."
She could only gape, a silent, trapped goldfish.
Luciano continued as though he hadn't just detonated a nuclear bomb in her brain and future.
"Luckily for you, I am the best fiancé in the world, so I did the honor of administering true pain myself. I took something that truly matters to him. Aren't I great?"
Eloise muttered under her breath, "Narcissist… sociopath…"
His eyes gleamed with cold amusement, but he let the comment slide.
Then something clicked in her brain, pulling together the disparate, terrifying elements of his confession, overriding the shock of marriage.
Wait.
"What did you say you did?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes fixed on him in absolute horror.
Luciano's smile sharpened, dangerous, bright, and utterly predatory. The kind of smile that promised irreparable devastation.
"Didn't I promise you a nice present?"
Her stomach dropped completely out of her body.
He reached beside him and brought a dark velvet box—small, heavy, and ornate—onto the gleaming table. Eloise's blood ran cold.
He slid it toward her across the polished oak with agonizingly slow, elegant fingers.
"William will slowly lose his libido, his sexual function, and his ability to perform over the next few weeks unless he takes specialized, very expensive medication," Luciano said casually, like discussing the unpredictable weather. "And he will never have children of his own, regardless of the medication."
Her hands shook violently, refusing to obey her command to move.
He pushed the velvet box closer, stopping it just inches from her wine glass.
"Inside it," he added softly, his voice a low, wicked purr, "are the testicles of William Baker. The very things he cherished most."
Eloise gasped, a sound of absolute, visceral horror. Her entire body jolted backward, shoving her chair away from the table.
The fox even paused in its rhythmic yawning, its ears flicking up slightly in what looked unmistakably like amusement or silent approval.
Luciano smiled sweetly, beautifully, utterly unhinged.
"Welcome to your new life, Paloma."