“Now you’re being cruel to inflict the most damage, Lucien,” I whisper, hating how my voice breaks. “And no, I fucking don’twant to see your room or any other room in this place. I want to be gone.”
“Then get in the car,” he says, gesturing toward the sleek black Aston Martin idling at the curb. “Because those are your only two options tonight.”
I stare at him for a long moment, weighing my choices. Go back inside to that suffocating house full of people who just watched me get branded like cattle? Or get in a car with my psychotic half-brother who seems determined to own me?
“Fine,” I mutter, stalking toward the car. “But just so we’re clear, this changes nothing. I still hate you.”
“Noted,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice without having to look.
The seat molds to my body as I slide in, trying not to pay too much attention that he’s holding the door open for me. Trying not to read into the gesture, and feeling sick to my stomach that despite everything, I like it.
He leans across me, his arm brushing against my chest as he reaches for the seatbelt. I swat his hand away hard enough to make a slapping sound.
“Uh, I think the fuck not,” I snap. “I can buckle my own seatbelt. I’m not a child.”
His eyes meet mine in the dim light of the car, and a slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. He doesn’t move back, just hovers there in my space, suffocating me with his presence.
“Your stubbornness has always been the most attractive thing about you, Seraphina,” he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear. “I’m going to enjoy watching you break.”
Before I can respond, he grabs the seatbelt and clicks it into place, his knuckles deliberately grazing my hip. Then he’s sliding into the driver’s seat, closing the door with a soft thud that sounds like a prison cell locking.
“You’ll be waiting a long fucking time,” I mutter, staring straight ahead as he starts the engine. “I don’t break for anyone, especially not you.”
Lucien pulls away from the mansion, the tires crunching on the gravel driveway.
“We’ll see,” is all he says, but the certainty in his voice makes my skin prickle.
We drive in silence for several minutes, the darkness of the night broken only by the occasional streetlight washing over us. I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead, refusing to look at him, though I can feel his gaze sliding over to me every few seconds.
“Stop fucking staring at me,” I finally snap. “Watch the road before you kill us both.”
“Would that be so terrible?” he asks, his voice casual like we’re discussing the weather. “Dying together in a twisted wreck of metal? Very Romeo and Juliet of us.”
“Except they weren’t fucking siblings,” I spit out.
He laughs, the sound dark and rich in the confined space of the car. “Half-siblings. And technically, they were cousins in the original story.”
“Jesus Christ, are you seriously trying to justify this...whatever this sick obsession is?” I gesture between us, my anger building. “It’s fucked up, Lucien. Even for you.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, just takes a sharp turn that throws me against the door despite the seatbelt. When he speaks again, his voice has that dangerous edge that makes my stomach clench.
“You think I don’t know it’s fucked up? You think I wanted this?” His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “Finding out you’re my sister should have killed whatever this is between us. It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.”
I stare at him, speechless. My mind is racing, trying to process everything that’s happened tonight. The ceremony, themarking, the revelation that we’re related—it’s too much. I feel like I’m drowning in information, in implications, in the weight of what this means for both of us.
“What do you want from me?” I finally ask, my voice barely audible over the purr of the engine. “What’s your endgame here?”
“I want what I’ve always wanted,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You.”
“This is insane,” I whisper. “You know that, right? We can’t—I can’t—“ I shake my head, struggling to find words. “Look, I’ll play along with this fucked-up charade in public. I’ll be the good Society girl you’ve Chosen. No one has to know about...the other thing.”
Lucien lets out a harsh laugh that fills the car, making me flinch. “You think you can pretend? You think you can act like the perfect Chosen girl in public and then what—ignore me in private?”
“Something like that,” I mutter.
“Bullshit.” He takes another turn, faster than necessary. “We both know you can’t act that well, Seraphina. And people already know.”
“Know what?” I ask, though I’m afraid I already know the answer.
