(Julien's POV)
I hadn't planned on staying long. Thompson events were always the same; branded lies, expensive wine, and men congratulating themselves for surviving another year of being rich and bored. I'd come out of obligation, not interest. Then I saw Clara. I knew she was Lucas' wife because I had seen the press release.
She didn't belong in that room. Not because she lacked elegance, she had plenty of that, but because she wore tension like her second skin. Her shoulders were too tight, her smile too quantified. She moved like someone who had learned that attention was a risk. That kind of awareness didn't come from privilege. It came from survival.
I watched her for several minutes before approaching. Not out of hesitation but out of respect. People like her needed space before they needed conversation.
When she smiled at my first remark, something inside me hardened. That smile wasn't practiced. It was relief and that was when I knew Lucas had already failed her.
I knew Lucas Thompson better than most. Better than he wanted anyone to. We were young when we first crossed paths, both groomed for empires, both raised on expectation and pressure. The difference was that Lucas had learned early that affection was conditional. Power was his armor. Control was his language. I had seen it the day his father collapsed in that boardroom, seen the way Damien didn't flinch, didn't grieve, didn't even pause before taking the seat at the head of the table.
Cold. Brilliant. Untouchable.
Or so he'd thought.
When I'd refused the merger, it hadn't been personal.
It acted on instinct. Men who needed control that badly always broke something eventually. Tonight, watching his hand tighten at her back, watching her body react before her face did.....
I knew exactly what he was breaking now. I left the event when tension reached a point of no return not because I was intimidated but because pressure reveals more when given time. I ran into her again three days later. It was pure coincidence, at least, that's what she thought. She was at a quiet café near the river, seated by the window with a cup she hadn't touched. She looked different without the mansion, without the audience. She looked lighter, though still guarded but breathing.
I approached slowly. "Do you always choose places with exits behind you?" I started. She looked up, startled and then recognition dawned on her.
"You," she said.
"Julien," I corrected gently. "May I?"
She hesitated, then nodded. We didn't speak for a moment. I let silence do what it always did, it invited honesty. "You shouldn't be seen with me," she said finally. "I know," I replied. "That's why I'm here."
Her fingers tightened around the cup. "He won't like it." "No," I agreed. "He won't."
She studied me carefully. " Then why do you keep provoking him?" I met her gaze. "Because he only reveals himself when challenged."
"That sounds dangerous."
I smiled faintly. "It is."
She looked away, out at the water. "You act like you know him."
"I do," I said. "But not the version he shows you."
Her voice dropped. "Then tell me."
I considered it then chose truth.
"Lucas believes control is the same as safety," I said. "He learned that young. When people fail him, he tightens his grip instead of letting go."
She swallowed.
"He isn't cruel for pleasure," I continued. "He's cruel because he's afraid of chaos."
She laughed softly. "That doesn't make it better."
"No," I agreed. "But it makes it predictable."
She turned back to me, eyes sharp now. "And what do you want?"
The question was fair.
"I want him to see you," I said simply. "Before it's too late."
Her breath caught. "For him," she asked, "or for you?" I held her gaze. "For you."
When she stood to leave, I didn't stop her. I didn't touch her. I didn't promise anything. Because the most dangerous thing I could do was to let her realize she had choices. Across the street, a familiar black car idled.
Lucas had followed her. I smiled to myself.
The war had already begun.
And this time, Lucas Thompson was fighting on a ground he didn't control.
I didn't approach her again after that. Not immediately. People like Lucas mistook patience for weakness. They rushed to tighten control when they felt threatened, which meant the best move was often to step back and let them reveal themselves.
Still, I watched from across streets, boardrooms, and the quiet reports that filtered through the industry like gossip disguised as data. Lucas Thompson was revealing himself. He didn't do that publicly or in ways that mattered to shareholders. He did in the small, telling details.
He canceled meetings without explanation, pulled out of negotiations he would normally dominate, reassigned security and increased surveillance around his estate.
He was closing ranks which meant she was becoming important.
That realization sat heavy in my chest.I didn't want her. I just felt that no one deserved to become the center of Lucas Thompson's fear.
I saw her again a week later, this time, intentionally. The art gallery opening was invitation only, it was curated to attract donors and discreet power brokers. Damien was listed as a sponsor. I knew he wouldn't attend but she would in place of him. She stood before a large abstract piece, arms folded loosely, head tilted in thought. There was no tension in her posture tonight. She didn't flinch when someone moved behind her.
She was learning.
"Do you like it?" I asked, stopping beside her. She smiled faintly. "I don't think it wants to be liked." I laughed quietly. "That might be the most accurate critique here."
She didn't step away this time.
Progress.
"He knows you're here," she said softly.
"Of course he does," I replied. "He knows everything." "Then why stay?"
I turned to look at her fully. "Why did you come?"
She considered that. "Because I didn't want to disappear."
Something sharp passed through me.
Lucas had always underestimated how dangerous awareness could be.
"He won't confront me here," I said. "He prefers battles he can control."
Her lips pressed together. "And if he can't?"
"Then he'll try to break what he can," I answered honestly.
She met my gaze. "That sounds like experience."
"It is."
We stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by art no one was truly looking at.
"You said before that you wanted him to see me," she said. "Why?"
Because, if he doesn't, he'll destroy you trying to hold on. But, I didn't say that.
"Because invisibility is a kind of erasure," I replied instead. "And you deserve to exist loudly."
Her breath caught. I stepped back before the moment became something Lucas could twist into evidence.
Boundaries mattered.
Especially when you were trying not to become the villain in someone else's story.
He confronted me two days later. Of course he did.
My office received his request, formal, precise, unmistakably furious. I agreed to meet him at neutral ground. A private dining room overlooking the river.
Lucas arrived exactly on time.
He always did.
"You're overstepping," he said without preamble.
I smiled. "Still skipping pleasantries. Some habits never change."
"This ends now," he continued. "You don't speak to my wife again."
"She isn't your territory," I replied calmly.
His jaw tightened. "You don't know what you're involving yourself in."
"I know exactly what I'm involving myself in," I said. "I walked away from your empire once. I can do it again."
"You didn't walk away," he snapped. "You ran." I leaned forward slightly. "No, Lucas . I refused to become you."
Silence stretched between us.
"She isn't like the women you're used to," I said quietly. "She won't bend just because you apply pressure."
His eyes darkened. "You think you understand her?"
"I think," I said carefully, "that she's stronger than you expect and kinder than you deserve."
That did it. It did the job.
Lucas stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.
"If you push this," he warned, "there will be consequences."
I met his gaze evenly. "There already are."
He left without another word.
I watched his reflection fade into the glass.
Lucas Thompson was losing control.
And the most dangerous part was that he didn't know whether to tighten his grip or let go.
That night, I sent a single message to her.
You are not wrong for wanting more than survival.
She didn't reply. She didn't need to.
Across the city, Lucas would be watching his wife sleep, wondering when she'd started slipping beyond his reach.
And I would be waiting.
Not to take what was his.
But to make sure she remembered she was never owned in the first place.