The jet doors opened to the warm, late-night air of Florida, heavy with humidity even at this hour. The private terminal was quiet, discreet—exactly the kind Lucien used when he wanted efficiency and no witnesses.
Lucien stepped out first, composed as ever, his jacket draped neatly over his arm. Viviane followed half a step behind—tablet in hand, posture flawless, tension barely concealed beneath her professionalism.
She had been the one to cross the line.
And now she was the one struggling with it.
The drive from the airport was silent at first, palm trees blurring past the tinted windows. Lucien checked his phone once, then set it aside, uninterested.
Viviane finally broke. "You're not going to say anything?"
He glanced at her calmly. "About what?"
"About the night in Florida," she said, her voice tight.
Lucien leaned back, fingers loosely interlaced. "You offered," he replied evenly. "I didn't ask."
The words hit harder than she expected.
"I didn't think you'd treat it like it meant nothing," she said.
His gaze sharpened—not angry, just controlled. "I was clear, Viviane. You crossed a line knowing exactly what it was."
She exhaled sharply. "I thought—"
"That's where you went wrong," he interrupted quietly. "You thought it was more."
The car slowed at a light. Silence stretched.
"You're my assistant," Lucien continued, voice steady, final. "You chose to blur that line. I chose not to."
Her fingers curled in her lap. "So it was just convenience to you?"
"It was a moment," he said without hesitation. "One you initiated. And one that ends here."
The light turned green. The car moved on.
When they reached his house, Viviane's composure was back in place, but her eyes betrayed her dissatisfaction.
"I won't make the same mistake again," she said coolly.
"Good," Lucien replied, opening the door.
She stepped out without looking back.
Lucien closed the door behind him and stood in the quiet of his house, the silence pressing in now that the night had ended. He loosened his tie, then removed it entirely, tossing it aside as if it irritated him more than it should have.
Piece by piece, he stripped away the remnants of the day—jacket, shirt, cufflinks—until the cool air brushed against his skin. Yet he didn't feel cool at all. His body was warm, restless, as if something had followed him home.
He turned on the shower, the sound of water filling the space as steam slowly gathered. When he stepped beneath it, heat cascaded over him, rolling down his shoulders, his chest, his back. He braced one hand against the tile, closed his eyes—
And she surfaced in his mind without invitation.
Selena.
The way she had looked at him.
The calm confidence.
The awareness in her gaze—as if she already knew exactly how to unravel him.
His jaw tightened. He hadn't touched her. Had barely spoken to her. And yet the thought of her under the same rushing water made his pulse quicken, heat pooling low in his body.
If she were here…
He imagined her standing close, the steam blurring the space between them. The way the water would trace the curve of her shoulders, cling to her skin. How she would tilt her head, unafraid, challenging—waiting for him to decide what to do.
His hand slid higher against the tile, muscles tightening. Control was his language. He imagined using it—pinning her there with nothing but presence, forcing her to look up at him, to feel the heat, the pressure, the unspoken promise of what could happen without a single word being said.
The thought sent a sharp wave through him.
Lucien exhaled slowly, opening his eyes. The water continued to fall, relentless, grounding. This was dangerous. He didn't indulge fantasies about women he barely knew. He especially didn't think about women who looked like they were already planning ten steps ahead of him.
Yet his body hadn't listened.
He shut off the water harder than necessary, stepping back into the cooling air. The image faded, but the awareness lingered—unsettling, unwanted, and undeniably alive.
By the time he dried off, his expression was once again controlled, unreadable. Whatever that was, he would deal with it later
Tomorrow, he would go to the golf yard.
It was where he reset.
Where control returned.
Where no one crossed lines unless he allowed it.
And he had no idea that Selena had already accounted for every one of his habits—including that one.
************
Viviane rode alone now, the car carrying her away from Lucien's house and toward her own. The city lights blurred past the window, but her mind was fixed on one place only—Florida.
The warmth.
The closeness.
The moment she had decided to stop being invisible.
Lucien might have called it a moment. He might have ended it with a sentence and a closed door. But she knew better.
That night wasn't finished.
She rested her head lightly against the glass, lips pressing into a thin smile. She replayed every detail—the way his control had slipped just enough, the way silence had stretched between them before he gave in, the way his composure afterward had felt… forced.
He hadn't been unaffected. He just refused to admit it.
At her house, Viviane stepped inside and kicked off her heels, moving through the dim space without turning on the lights. She poured herself a drink she didn't really want, barely tasting it as she leaned against the counter.
You chose to blur the line, he had said.
No.
She had revealed a weakness.
Lucien believed he held all the power because he walked away first. Men like him always thought distance meant victory. But distance could be corrected. Carefully. Patiently.
She stared at her reflection in the dark window. "You don't erase something like that," she murmured. "Not when it started with want."
Her mind began to work—cool, precise, strategic. She knew his routines, his preferences, his pressure points. She knew when to be indispensable and when to disappear just enough to be missed.
Florida had proven something important.
He could be reached.
Viviane's fingers tightened around the glass. She didn't need to rush. Desire ripened best when fed slowly—when it was disguised as necessity, loyalty, timing.
She would be professional.
She would be patient.
And when the moment came again, she wouldn't offer.
She would make him realize he wanted her.
Viviane took one last sip, then set the glass down untouched.
This wasn't over.
It was only waiting
Viviane's apartment was dimly lit, city noise muffled behind thick glass. The bottle of wine sat open on the counter by the time Liza arrived, her coat still on when she accepted the first glass.
"You called like it was urgent," Liza said, studying her. "Work?"
Viviane gave a short laugh. "Always work."
They settled on the couch, legs crossed toward each other. Viviane stared into her glass longer than necessary, swirling the dark liquid.
"Florida," she said suddenly.
Liza's brow lifted. "Florida?"
"The trip," Viviane continued, her voice low. "With Lucien."
That got Liza's full attention. "Your Lucien?"
Viviane finally looked up. "Yes."
Silence stretched—expectant.
"You don't look satisfied," Liza said carefully.
Viviane smiled, but it wasn't soft. "Because I'm not."
She took a slow sip, then added, "I crossed a line."
Liza didn't interrupt.
"I wanted to stop being the woman who anticipates his needs before he speaks," Viviane went on. "The one who stands behind him while everyone else looks at him like he's untouchable."
"And?" Liza asked.
"And for one night, he wasn't untouchable."
The words hung between them, charged.
Liza leaned back. "So why are you angry?"
Viviane's fingers tightened around the glass. "Because he called it a moment. Because he thinks that because I offered, he gets to decide it meant nothing."
Liza tilted her head. "Did it?"
Viviane's eyes darkened. "No."
She set the glass down slowly. "I saw it in him. The restraint. The way he fights himself. Men like him don't forget the women who make them lose control—even briefly."
Liza studied her. "You sound obsessed."
Viviane didn't deny it. "I sound aware."
She stood, pacing slowly. "That night in Florida didn't finish anything. It started something. He just doesn't realize it yet."
"And what do you plan to do?" Liza asked.
Viviane stopped by the window, the city reflected faintly over her face. "Nothing obvious. I'll be indispensable. I'll be calm. I'll let other women distract him."
She turned back, eyes sharp, intent burning beneath composure.
"And when he finally feels the absence," she continued, "when he starts remembering what it felt like to let go—he'll come looking."
Liza exhaled. "Careful. Lust like that can ruin people."
Viviane smiled—slow, certain. "Only if you don't control it."
She picked up her glass again, untouched wine catching the light.
"I don't want him because he's powerful," she said quietly. "I want him because I know exactly where he breaks."