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HE STEPPED OUT OF THE SHADOWS WITH A SMOKE IN HIS HAND AND SAID: "YOUR FATHER OWES ME A LIFE, LITTLE BIRD. BUT I THINK I’LL TAKE YOURS INSTEAD." / Chapter 3 / 10

Chapter 3 - The First Stitch

Working inside the Moretti estate was an exercise in hyper-vigilance. The house was filled with silence, broken only by the quiet footsteps of guards and the low hum of dangerous men talking in code.

Elena was given a beautiful, sunlit workshop on the third floor, equipped with the finest sewing machines, silks, wools, and threads money could buy. It was everything she had ever dreamed of, hidden inside a prison.

On her fourth afternoon, Lucian walked into her workshop unannounced. He carried a heavy, midnight-blue wool coat over his arm.

"The lining tore during a meeting yesterday," he said, tossing the coat onto her worktable.

Elena stood up immediately, stepping back to maintain her distance. "I can fix that by tonight, Mr. Moretti."

"Lucian," he corrected sharply. "Call me Lucian."

"I don't think that's appropriate."

In a flash, Lucian closed the distance between them. He grabbed her waist, his strong grip pulling her flush against his solid chest. Elena gasped, her hands automatically coming up to press against his broad shoulders to keep some space between them. She could feel the steady, powerful thud of his heart.

"Nothing about your presence in this house is appropriate, Elena," he whispered, his eyes scanning her face with an intensity that felt like a physical brand. "Fix the coat. But do it while I'm wearing it. I don't like waiting."

Elena’s breath hitched. "It’s... it’s impossible to sew a lining while you're wearing it, Lucian. I could stick you with the needle."

"Then try not to stick me," he murmured, his grip tightening on her waist for a brief, agonizing second before he let go and slipped the heavy coat over his shoulders. He stood perfectly still, his eyes never leaving her face as she hesitantly picked up her needle and thread.

Elena had to step incredibly close to him to reach the interior tear near his ribcage. She could smell the rich scent of his tobacco and woodsmoke. Her hands, usually so steady, were shaking as she pulled the needle through the fine silk lining.

"You're very good with your hands," Lucian noted softly, his gaze dropping to her rough, thread-worn fingers. "They don't look like the hands of the women who usually visit this estate."

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Dr. Mercer looked down at the ultrasound monitor, her fingers moving with practiced ease over the trackball. The quiet hum of the machine filled the room, punctuated only by the rhythmic, heavy breathing of Dorian Cross standing near the door. He hadn't sat down once. His tall frame cast a long, imposing shadow across the sterile room, hand resting near the button of his suit jacket—a posture born of years of constant vigilance.

Dr. Mercer looked down at the ultrasound monitor, her fingers moving wit...

The ambulance siren wailed in the distance, a rising shriek that cut through the rainy night like a knife. I didn't wait for them. I held Arianne against my chest, feeling the terrifyingly erratic rhythm of her pulse, and bolted down the grand mahogany staircase.

The ambulance siren wailed in the distance, a rising shriek that cut thr...

The heavy cabin door hissed shut behind me, sealing in the scent of expensive cologne, manufactured corporate harmony, and betrayal. As I stepped back onto the sun-baked tarmac of the private aviation terminal, the stifling afternoon heat hit me like a physical blow. Behind the thick, tinted glass of the jet's windows, I could see Carter’s silhouette—his jaw set in that familiar, arrogant angle of a man who believed he had just successfully disciplined a disobedient pet.

The heavy cabin door hissed shut behind me, sealing in the scent of expe...

"That's because I actually work for a living," Elena muttered before she could stop herself.

Lucian let out a low laugh, a sound that sent a shiver straight down her spine. "Careful, little bird. Your beak is sharp today. I might have to clip it."

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