I didn't believe him for a second.
Fainted? I was a woman who had strangled men twice my size in the moonlight of Rome without breaking a sweat.I didn't have the luxury of fragile nerves.
But as I sat on the bed. I had to face the hole in my memory. One moment I was lunging with a blade, and the next... I was waking up here, healed and hollow.
"Why does your skin match my key, Lucien?" I asked. My voice was steady, a sharp contrast to the riot in my chest.
He turned slowly, his gaze dropping to the ink on his forearm. He traced the serpent with a slow, deliberate finger, almost as if he were petting a live predator.
"Because you've been carrying a piece of my soul in your pocket, Charlène. The fact that you carry it on a piece of blackened gold tells me two things: you're either my salvation, or the most beautiful curse I've ever invited into my bed."
He walked toward me, the air thickening with every step he took. This time, I didn't shrink away. I stood up, my spine a steel rod, meeting him chest-to-chest. I wanted him to see that even without my blade, I was dangerous.
"I'm no one's salvation," I hissed.
"We'll see." He reached out, his hand hovering just inches from the birthmark near my eye. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"My father is dying. He needs to see me with a woman who won't flinch at power—or what it costs. Tonight, we're having dinner with my family. You will wear the dress I've chosen. You will play the part of my fiancée."
"And if I refuse?"
He leaned down, his breath smelling of dark espresso and something ancient—like cold earth and power. "Then I keep the key. And without the key, you can't get back to your brother, can you? I know about Leo, Charlène. I know about the machines. I know Viktor has him."
The mention of Viktor's name felt like a physical slap. My hand went instinctively to my waist, where the V.M. tattoo burned under my clothes.
"If you know about Viktor," I whispered, "then you know he'll kill me if I don't give him your head."
Lucien's smile was razor-sharp, a predator's grin. "Let him try. Viktor Morozov is a man who survives by breaking people slowly. I've dealt with men like him before." Tonight, Phoenix, you aren't an assassin. You're a De Rossi. And God help anyone who tries to touch what belongs to me."
He turned to leave, but stopped at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. " I didn't just take your key, Charlène. I bought your contract. Viktor no longer owns your debt. I do."
…..
I stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring at a woman I didn't recognize.
She looked… finished.
Polished.
The gown clung to my body like it had memorized me before I ever wore it—black silk satin, heavy and liquid, hugging my waist so tightly it felt like a second skin. The fabric dipped low at my back, exposing just enough to be intentional. Black diamonds were embroidered along my hips and waist, subtle but unmistakable.
"Is the fit to your liking?"
I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. Lucien was standing in the doorway. I hadn't heard a footstep; I hadn't heard the door open. He was just there, wearing a black suit, tailored to perfection, leaning against the frame, his eyes dark as they raked over my silhouette.
"Did you measure me while I was unconscious?"
He didn't deny it. He walked toward me, pulling out a small velvet box from his pocket.
He flipped it open. Inside, a diamond ring sat nestled in the black foam.
"I measured you the moment we danced at the masquerade," he whispered, standing so close I could feel the heat of his "monster" skin again. "I knew exactly how the silk would sit on your hips, Charlène. Now, keep your head up. We're going to go downstairs and convince my brothers that I've finally found something worth keeping."
"And if I try to kill them?" I challenged.
He reached out, his thumb grazing my lower lip. "Then I'll have to show them why they should be afraid of my wife."
Wife?
My breath hitched as I looked down at my left hand. I hadn't even felt him move. I hadn't felt the cold slide of metal against my skin, yet there it was—a pear-cut diamond, sitting on my finger as if it had always been there.
"When did you—" My voice failed me.
"My family is waiting downstairs," he murmured. His hand dropped to my waist, as he guided me toward the door.
He added, "Try to look like you're in love, Charlène," he whispered against my hair, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low vibration. "Or at least, look like you've found someone you're more afraid of than Viktor."