The long, carpeted hallway of the East Wing was dead quiet, broken only by the sharp crack of thunder echoing across the valley outside.
Torrential rain slammed against the tall arched glass windows, sending long, distorted shadows dancing over the dark walls.
The air was freezing, seeping into my silk robe and raising goosebumps along my arms, but my skin burned from the residual heat of the bed I had just abandoned.
I kept my bare feet close to the baseboards where the floorboards were solid, avoiding the creaks that I had memorized over five long years of living in this house like a ghost.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped animal, loud enough that I was sure it would wake the entire mansion.
In my right hand, the small brass key felt heavy, cold, and slick with sweat.
I paused at the top of the grand staircase, looking back toward the master suite.
The heavy oak door remained shut.
Vin and Shawn had been fast asleep when I carefully slid out from beneath their arms, their breathing heavy and even in the dark.
Lucian had been still, his arm thrown over the edge of the mattress, his face relaxed in the shadows.
This was my only window.
Tomorrow night was the Blackwood Gala, and once the event concluded, Lucian’s team of corporate auditors and legal advisors would descend on Crestwood, locking down every room and sealing every record.
If I didn’t have the toxicology file in my hands tonight, it would be swallowed up in the legal wreckage of Conrad’s downfall.
I moved down the sweeping marble stairs, slipping into the main foyer.
The ground floor smelled faintly of old wood polish, damp wool, and Conrad’s stale cigars.
I glided through the darkness, keeping my shadow low against the wall until I reached the heavy double doors of Conrad’s private study.
My fingers wrapped around the brass handle.
I turned it slowly, millimeter by millimeter, pulling the door open just enough to squeeze my body through.
I shut the door behind me until the latch caught with a soft, muted click that made my stomach drop.
No lights.
I didn’t dare turn on a desk lamp.
A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the room for a fraction of a second, reflecting off the dark surface of the massive mahogany desk and casting long, jagged shapes across the floor.
I moved around the edge of the desk, my knees hitting the soft wool rug as I dropped down behind the leather armchair.
I felt for the bottom drawer in the dark, my fingertips tracing the cold, raised edges of the keyhole.
My hand shook as I guided the stolen brass key into the lock.
It slid in smoothly.
I twisted it to the right.
A sharp, mechanical click echoed in the quiet room.
My breath hitched.
I grabbed the carved handle and pulled the heavy drawer forward, guiding the wooden runners so they wouldn’t scrape.
I reached deep into the back of the drawer, past piles of old tax records and corporate debt notes, until my fingers brushed against the thick, stiff leather of the binder.
The toxicology file.
I pulled it out, clutching it tight against my chest as a sob of pure relief threatened to tear from my throat.
Five years.
Five years of taking Conrad’s cruel remarks, sweeping his floors, and letting him treat me like trash, all so I could reach this single piece of leather.
Another flash of white lightning flooded the room through the tall windows.
In the sudden white glow, I flipped the binder open to verify the contents.
There it was: the bold red stamp from the state forensic toxicology lab, the chemical breakdown of the arsenic dosages added to my mother’s IV bags, and the forged charts signed by Conrad’s private doctor.
“I have you now, you bastard,” I whispered to the empty room, tears stinging my eyes.
Before I could slide the heavy folder under my arm, a large, warm hand came out of the darkness and clamped tightly around my wrist.
The grip was instant, heavy as iron, and completely unyielding.
I gasped, my heart stopping dead in my chest as I was yanked backward off my knees.
Before I could even scream, I was lifted off the floor and slammed against the hard edge of the desk.
The rich scent of cedarwood, rain, and expensive cologne wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket.
“Sneaking around in the dark, sweet girl?” a deep, velvety voice purred against the shell of my ear.
Lucian.
He hadn’t been asleep.
He had watched me slip out of the bedroom and followed me down the stairs like a shadow.
Before I could form a sentence, Lucian stepped between my open legs, his tall, muscular body pinning me against the dark wood.
He grabbed my other wrist, pressing both of my arms flat against the desk surface while his broad chest pressed down over mine.
His grey eyes glinted in the dark, burning with a dangerous, dark intensity that made my skin flush hot beneath my robe.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t feel you leave the bed?” Lucian whispered, his face inches from mine, his breath warm and intoxicating against my lips.
“Lucian, please,” I rasped, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
“Let me explain.” “You don’t get to explain,” he growled.
His hand released my wrists, sliding down my neck to grip the lapels of my green silk robe.
With one sharp tug, he pulled the fabric open, exposing my bare breasts and stomach to the cool air of the study.
My nipples hardened instantly under his heavy stare.
Lucian let out a rough, dark sound, his mouth slamming down onto my chest, taking my hard peak into his mouth and sucking hard while his other hand slid up my bare thigh.
His fingers gathered my dress to my waist, pushing past my wet folds, his thumb finding my drenched clitoris and pressing down with a firm, punishing rhythm.
An involuntary, shameless moan tore from my throat, echoing in the quiet study.
My hips bucked off the desk, my body betraying me instantly as his touch sent a wave of liquid heat shooting straight between my thighs.
“Look at you,” Lucian rasped against my skin, his mouth trailing up my throat as his fingers worked me ruthlessly, driving me toward an explosive high.
“So quick to melt for me, even while you’re sneaking around behind our backs.” “I’m not…
I wasn’t stealing from you,” I sobbed, my hands clutching his shirt as the pleasure built up fast and violent between my legs.
“Then what is in your hand, Lyra?” Lucian demanded, his thumb rubbing hard against my peak, pushing me right to the edge of a screaming climax.
“What were you reaching for?” With his free hand, Lucian reached out and snatched the thick leather binder out of my fingers, tossing it onto the desk blotter behind us.
The impact caused the folder’s inner flap to burst open.
A stack of yellowed papers spilled across the desk under the faint moonlight.
Lucian pulled a small pocket penlight from his jacket, clicking it on to inspect what I had been holding.
The narrow white beam illuminated the red forensic stamp on the top page.
“What is this?” Lucian muttered, his tone shifting from dark arousal to sharp, cold authority.
He flipped the poison report over.
Tucked directly behind it was a second document, yellowed at the edges, bearing an official hospital seal from five years ago.
The beam of light landed on the bold black header: MASSACHUSETTS GENERAL HOSPITAL – ICU EMERGENCY AUTHORIZATION.
Lucian froze.
His hand stopped moving between my legs.
His breath hitched in his throat so sharply it sounded like a physical blow to his chest.
“Lucian…” I breathed, trying to reach for the paper, but he held me firmly in place with his forearm.
His fingers trembled as he picked up the yellowed page, bringing it right under the beam of light.
His slate-grey eyes scanned the text, reading every line of black ink.
Emergency Heart Stabilizer Release Order.
Patient Name: Lucian Blackwood.
Condition for Release: Total transfer of Vance Family Trust assets and legal rights to Conrad Vance.
Guarantor Signature: Lyra Vance.
Date: October 14th.
The paper shook violently in his grip.
The cold, dominant billionaire who had treated me like a treacherous captive for days completely shattered right in front of my eyes.
The color drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale, his mouth slightly open as he stared at my signature at the bottom of his own life-saving medical contract.
He looked up from the paper, his grey eyes wide, bloodshot, and filled with a sudden, devastating shock that shattered five years of lies in a single second.
His hand reached out, his fingers trembling as he touched my cheek, his voice breaking into a raw, agonized whisper.
“Lyra…” Lucian choked out, his voice wrecked with pure horror.
“Why is your signature on my life support release form?”