Chapter 8 Miss Elena, This Is Lucien

Elena had barely been seated for five minutes when the first man approached. Then another.

Zoe intercepted every single one like a bodyguard. Elena didn't smoke. She didn't drink. And she definitely didn't entertain men. The last guy who ignored a rejection and tried to touch her? Zoe liked to joke that the grass over his grave was already waist-high.

Zoe knew Elena was only here to distract her from the breakup, so she decided to at least try to dance. She hadn't even stood up when a warm hand dropped onto her shoulder.

"Zoe."

She looked up and saw a sharply defined, grinning face. "Evan! What a coincidence."

"Very," Evan Cole said smoothly. But his gaze had already slid past her, landing heavily on Elena.

Snow-pale skin. The black backless dress. The crimson spider lily blooming across her spine. Her figure was undeniably sensual, but her aura was absolute ice. She looked entirely bored, utterly out of place in a room built for indulgence.

Up close, she was even more unreal.

"Who's this, Zoe?" Evan asked, his voice dropping slightly. "Your friend?"

Noticing the predatory interest in his eyes, Zoe shifted half a step in front of Elena. "This is my best friend, Elena." She turned slightly. "El, this is Evan. We grew up together in the compound."

Evan extended a hand. "Miss Elena."

"Hello," Elena replied calmly. She didn't lift her eyes. And she did not shake his hand.

Evan paused. That almost never happened. But he covered the rejection easily with a lazy smile. "Ryan's back in town. We're throwing him a welcome party upstairs. You two should come."

"Ryan's back?" Zoe's eyes went wide. She nearly stepped forward before hesitating. "El hates socializing. Maybe next time."

"Why next time? He's rarely here. Next time might be next year."

Zoe wavered. She turned to Elena with wide, pleading eyes. "El?"

It was impossible to refuse. Elena knew who Ryan Vaughn was—an internationally respected doctor, and Zoe's childhood friend. She had come tonight to make Zoe happy.

She gave a single, reluctant nod.

They followed Evan up to the second floor.

The private VIP room was dim, thick with smoke and the smell of expensive liquor. Five or six young men lounged across the leather sofas, carrying that quiet, unshakable arrogance unique to men who had never had to struggle for power.

Conversation stopped the second the door opened.

The man seated at the center of the room stood first. White casual wear. Gold-rimmed glasses. Refined and meticulously composed. Dr. Ryan Vaughn.

"Ryan." Zoe smiled. "Long time no see."

He studied her for a long, heavy second before replying. "It has." Something entirely unreadable flickered behind his glasses.

The other men were already staring openly at Elena. They stood one by one, polite but intensely curious. Most women would feel intimidated by this concentration of wealth and power. Elena didn't even blink. Status meant nothing to someone who could dismantle their portfolios before breakfast.

Just as they were about to sit, Evan gestured toward the darkest corner of the massive room.

"Oh right, Miss Elena. This is my third brother. Lucien Vale."

Elena paused, a tiny flicker of irritation crossing her features. There were more? Annoying.

Without bothering to look up, she murmured, "Hello."

Beside her, Zoe suddenly went rigid.

In the shadowed corner, a man sat alone on a single leather sofa. Long legs crossed. A cigarette burning slowly between his elegant fingers. His face was hidden, but his presence was suffocating. Heavy. Controlled. Dominant.

The entire gravity of the room subtly revolved around him.

"Lu—Lucien," Zoe practically choked. She straightened up instinctively, like a terrified junior employee caught by the CEO. She tugged frantically at Elena's dress. "El. Say hi to Mr. Vale."

Elena finally lifted her chin.

"Mr. Vale."

Lucien Vale exhaled a slow, thick stream of smoke. Then, he finally looked at her.

The background track in the club shifted. The heavy, intoxicating opening notes of "Drowning" bled into the private room.

In the dim light, the man in the corner finally moved.

Lucien Vale stubbed his cigarette out in the crystal ashtray and stood. His tall, imposing frame stepped forward, briefly blocking out the flashing club lights.

"Miss Elena," his voice was low, magnetic, and unexpectedly warm. "Lucien Vale. My pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine," she replied with polite, absolute neutrality.

She hadn't intended to pay him any attention, but his voice snagged her focus. It was resonant. Clear. Like spring water breaking through thawing ice.

Someone flipped on the overhead ambient lights, and brightness flooded the room.

Lucien's face came into sharp focus. Elegance carved directly into bone. Deep-set brows. A black dress shirt of unmistakably expensive fabric, fastened with a silver collar pin. A matching tie clip caught the light. Wrapped around his wrist was a rare strand of wild kyara agarwood beads.

There was something quietly dangerous about him. Cold features, but tempered by an absolute, terrifying inner calm. Like snow resting over warm stone.

While Elena studied him, Lucien studied her.

Her eyes were long, dark, and luminous. The eye contact hit suddenly, holding for a beat too long. A few seconds later, Lucien deliberately looked away first. He sat back down, his expression perfectly calm.

Only the faint, creeping redness at the very tip of his ear betrayed him.

Elena noticed. She took a seat nearby.

No one else seemed to notice the shift in gravity. Except Evan.

Evan caught the faint color on Lucien's ear and nearly laughed out loud. Oh? So much for the untouchable monk.

He shifted closer to Elena, flashing a fox-like grin. "Miss Elena, my brother's name is Lucien. Vale as in valor."

Elena blinked. Why was he explaining this?

Then, the name finally clicked. Lucien Vale.

Three years ago, Elena had dismantled a massive segment of Wall Street and walked away with obscene profits. A year later, someone else did the exact same thing. Only they did it more efficiently. More ruthlessly. And walked away with double the cash.

That man was Lucien Vale.

"If the two of you ever worked together," her secretary had once joked, "Wall Street would need therapy."

And just days ago, Julian Kade had given her one explicit warning: Cause trouble anywhere in Crestmont if you must. But do not provoke Lucien Vale.

Here he was. In the flesh.

Elena lifted her eyes again. This time, it wasn't courtesy. It was pure recognition of an apex predator.

They called him the Third Master of Crestmont. Allegedly indifferent to women. Untouchable.

"Oh," she murmured softly.

Then she lowered her gaze, unlocked her phone, and opened a corporate project proposal.

Evan stared at her, completely baffled. Lucien Vale is sitting right there, and she just says 'Oh' and checks her emails? This violated several laws of physics.

He waved a hand in front of her screen.

Elena frowned, her dark eyes flicking up. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Evan muttered, suddenly feeling very small.

Across the sofa, Zoe was already three drinks deep and emotionally unloading every disastrous relationship onto Ryan Vaughn. She cried with theatrical intensity. Ryan just listened, silently, his expression growing colder by the minute.

Elena reached over and pinched Zoe's arm. "Drink less."

"El..." Zoe pouted drunkenly.

Elena sighed. If Zoe blacked out, she'd have to carry her to the Ferrari herself.

As if summoned, a crystal glass of amber liquid suddenly slid across the table, stopping in front of Elena. The well-dressed man beside her smiled smoothly. "Miss Elena. Won't you have one?"

"I'm driving," she replied evenly, not looking away from her phone.

Across the room, Evan shot the man a sharp, warning glare. Back off.

Lucien hadn't moved a muscle. But he hadn't missed a single thing.

Evan grabbed a glass, poured a heavy pour of whiskey, and shoved it directly into Lucien's hand. His eyes practically screamed at his brother: Go.

Lucien glanced down at the glass. Then across the room. At Elena.