The evening gala was a sea of power and prestige. Business titans and elite socialites from across the globe filled the room, but Elara felt like a ghost at the edges. She stood in a corner, sipping a non-alcoholic beverage, watching Riven and Lucas navigate a circle of investors.
Suddenly, an older man approached Lucas, introducing a woman who seemed to radiate elegance. She was stunning—sexy, confident, and wearing a smile that was far too sweet for a casual introduction. Elara’s heart tightened. As a woman, she didn't need to hear them speak to know: this girl wanted Lucas.
A sudden wave of possessiveness and jealousy flared in her chest. She quickly shook her head, scolding herself. You have no right, Elara. Calm down. He isn't your boyfriend. You aren't even friends. You’re just a... She couldn't even finish the thought. What were they to each other?
Unable to watch any longer, she turned her back on the scene. She found a high stool at a bar-style table and sat facing away from the crowd, desperate to block out whatever happened next. Lord, I already realized this morning that he can’t return my feelings, she thought bitterly, draining her drink in one gulp. Why do you have to rub it in?
Frustrated and feeling bold because Lucas was "busy," she signaled the bartender. She ordered a ladies' drink—something light, but alcoholic. Just as she was about to take a sip of her second glass, a large hand clamped over hers, stopping her.
"Why are you drinking?"
She looked up, startled. "Oh... why are you here? Are you done talking?" She couldn't help glancing back toward the crowd. The beautiful woman was already making her way toward them, and the men Lucas had been talking to were watching from a distance.
"Why did you leave them?"
Lucas’s expression was unreadable, as usual. "I asked why you’re drinking."
Without hesitation, he leaned his face close to hers, his scent filling her senses. Instinctively, she tried to pull back, but Lucas anticipated it. He reached out, his hand steadying her, preventing her from retreating.
Caught in the heat of the moment and letting her imagination run wild, Elara squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart hammered against her ribs, ready to explode. She waited for a touch, a kiss—anything.
Instead, she heard a faint sniff. He was smelling her breath.
Because her eyes were squeezed so tightly, she missed the look of sheer amusement that flickered across Lucas’s face at the sight of her waiting for a kiss that wasn't coming. He let go of her, but his gaze remained fixed on hers, turning serious.
"You're drinking alcohol," he said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding more like a warning than a question.
"I told you not to drink tonight, didn't I?"
She slowly opened her eyes, her face burning from both the alcohol and the embarrassment of her own expectations. She felt like a teenager caught sneaking out by a strict parent, which only made her heart ache more.
"I just wanted to taste it," she explained, her voice small.
"I tried the non-alcoholic ones first... this is only my second glass."
"Excuse me."
A melodic voice interrupted them. It was the woman from before.
"Mr. Draeven, I followed you to remind you that Mr. Takahashi has arrived. He’s looking for you." The lady looked Elara up and down, her gaze judgmental and sharp.
Elara looked at Lucas. "Go back. I'm fine here."
Lucas acted as if he hadn't heard the woman at all. He didn't even turn his head. Instead, he raised a hand, signaling someone across the room.
"No,"
he said simply. He looked back at Elara. "I'll have Riven escort you back to our room."
Elara’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. Why did he have to say it like that? In our room. It sounded so intimate, as if they shared a bed. She wanted to hide her face in her hands.
"I don’t accept 'no' from you right now," Lucas added firmly.
The woman standing nearby finally spoke up, her voice tinged with annoyance.
"Who is she?"
Elara held her breath, waiting for his answer, but Riven arrived at that exact moment.
"Yes, boss?"
Again, Lucas ignored the woman’s question. He looked at Riven.
"Escort Elara back to the room." T
he two men exchanged a silent, knowing look. Riven nodded.
"Got it. Let’s go, Ms. Elara."
Lucas reached out, his touch gentle as he assisted her down from the high stool. As Riven led her away, Elara couldn't resist one last glance back. She saw the beautiful woman lean in close to Lucas, and he placed a steadying hand on the woman’s back.
The beautiful woman’s voice was like silk, but her eyes were predatory as she watched Riven lead Elara away. "You're very attentive to her, Mr. Draeven," she murmured, stepping into Lucas’s space.
"Is she a relative?”
Lucas didn't look at the woman. He kept his eyes on Elara’s retreating until she disappeared through the doors. He knew this woman—the daughter of a massive investor—had been hunting him all night. He needed a clean break. A shield she couldn't argue with.
"She’s the reason I’m not interested in this conversation, or any other tonight," Lucas said, his voice cold and final. He purposefully let the implication hang in the air—that Elara was the woman in his life.
The woman’s smile faltered. "I see. I didn't realize you were... occupied."
"I am," Lucas replied shortly.
The woman’s pride was clearly wounded as she pressed for a label, her voice dropping to a challenging whisper.
"And what exactly is she to you? Your fiancée? Your lover?"
Lucas didn't even blink. He didn't let out a sigh or show frustration; he looked through her as if she were a glass wall standing in the way of his next objective. He needed to define Elara in an absolute way, leaving no room for her to crawl back in.
"She is an important piece of myself right now," Lucas said, his tone clinical and final. "And I don’t intend to let that piece out of my sight. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Without waiting for her reaction or offering a single word of further explanation, he turned on his heel and walked away, his stride purposeful as he headed toward the VIP lounge.
Elara stood frozen behind the floral pillar, her fingers tightening around her clutch bag until her knuckles turned white. An important piece. The words felt cold, like a heavy weight settling in her stomach.
Why does the Lord keep reminding me that I am nothing more than a responsibility to him? she wondered, a bitter ache rising in her throat. She looked down at the floor, shaking her head slowly as she tried to swallow the tears that hadn't even fallen yet.
"I get it, Lord," she whispered to the empty air, her voice trembling with a forced sort of resolve.
"You don’t need to rub the salt in the wound."