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Chapter Twelve

ISADORA

The Crimson Veil loomed ahead, opulent and ostentatious. A monument to his ego, draped in glamour and lit by floating lanterns. Were this any other night, I might’ve found myself impressed by it all. But tonight, it soured my mood all the more.

Why?

Because Lucien the Bastard—yes, I was calling him that now—had everything. Power, prestige, an entire town’s worth of sycophants wrapped around his perfectly manicured finger. Everything I’d once had. Except, he refused to share so much as a sliver of success with anyone else.

Well, it was time to see how his kingdom held up when someone dared to push back.

I didn’t slow as I reached The Veil’s front steps.

A pair of supernaturals lounged near the entrance, one of them smoking something that hissed green smoke. They both turned to glance at me—and promptly stepped aside. Good.

The doorman, however, did not move.

He was massive—a freaking giant made of pure muscle and strength. His suit was immaculately tailored and looked like one quick flex would split all the seams.

“I’m here to see Lucien,” I announced.

He didn’t blink. “Name?”

“Isadora Laurent.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Your name is not on our pre-approved list.”

“You didn’t even look,” I growled, my hands curling into fists.

“I know the list by heart. It’s my job. And we don’t allow anyone in without an invitation. House policy.”

“Oh, how convenient,” I said sweetly, lacing my fingers in front of me like I was on the verge of asking about his extended warranty. “And here I thought Lucien was fond of surprise visits. He certainly didn’t need an invitation when he waltzed uninvited into my bar. Twice.”

The doorman didn’t move. “Mr. St. Germain is not receiving visitors tonight.”

“He’ll receive me,” I said. “Or you’ll receive a broken jaw.”

His brows lifted just slightly. “Threatening the doorman won’t get you inside.”

“Maybe not. But ask yourself this. Do I look like I’m in a charitable mood?

I’m pissed and have absolutely nothing to lose.

” I stepped closer until I could smell traces of his cologne beneath his suit jacket.

“So, how about you go fetch Mr. St. Germain before I burn this building down to the studs? Trust me when I say he will speak with me.”

With a long, exaggerated sigh, the wanna-be gargoyle doorman stepped back and tapped his earpiece.

“We have a situation at the front door,” he muttered. “One that requires the boss’s attention.”

The boss’s attention . I rolled my eyes. Twenty bucks said he paid all his employees to call him that. Just to inflate his already overly inflated ego.

The bouncer turned away to speak in low tones and the earpiece crackled faintly as someone responded. I couldn’t hear the conversation, not over the music. But I didn’t need to. I could imagine exactly how it was going down.

Yes, she’s here.

No, she won’t leave.

Yes, she’s making a scene.

No, I can’t remove her unless I want to lose a limb.

I crossed my arms and let one hip cock lazily to the side. I’d learned the pose from my mother, who had a penchant for dramatic silences and half-raised eyebrows.

After a beat, the doorman turned back to me, face stony.

“He’ll be down shortly.”

“Excellent,” I said. “I do so love punctuality in a tyrant.”

That earned me a very slight twitch of the mouth—gone as quickly as it arrived.

Whispers rose around me, and someone even dared to raise their phone, until I turned my enraged gaze on them. They lowered their arm quickly. Good. Now I had no reason to kill them.

A few more moments passed before finally, the man of the hour himself appeared before us, granting me an audience.

“Miss Laurent,” he said, stopping just at the threshold.

“Lucien,” I replied, voice clipped.

His eyes flicked to the bystanders behind me, then back to me. “Let’s take this inside, shall we?”

“By all means,” I retorted.

Lucien turned without another word, and together we walked inside, though we avoided the main lounge and instead veered to a nearby staircase.

I followed him up to a dark-paneled hallway with a terrace on one side and an office on the other.

Lucien held the door open for me and gestured for me to enter with the barest tilt of his head.

The office was exactly what I would have pictured for a man like him.

It was dark, moody, and insufferably elegant.

On one side sat an enormous desk, backed by a set of bookshelves filled to the brim.

Next to the desk was a bar cart topped with glass decanters and a bottle of what I guessed was bloodwine.

On the other side of the room was a wall of tall windows.

No balcony, but the glass panes were large enough to oversee what looked like the heart of Eternity Falls.

Lucien’s office door clicked behind me, so I turned to face him.

He didn’t say anything, just strode to his desk and leaned against the edge. “So, what can I do for you, Miss Laurent? My doorman said you were incensed.”

“Incensed,” I said, laughing. I bit my lip to keep myself from calling him every name in the book. “Yeah, I suppose that’s one word for it. Look, no more games. You damn well know why I’m here. And I’d appreciate it if we can just get to the issue, no grandstanding.”

He frowned. “I’m afraid I actually don’t know why you’re here. Unless you’ve here to tell me you’d like to reconsider my earlier offer?”

I gave another haughty laugh. Fine. If he didn’t want to own up to his actions, then I would lay it out for him.

“You broke into my bar,” I snapped. “Or sent someone to do it for you—because let’s be honest, you’d never sully your manicure with something so menial.

You destroyed everything I own, Lucien! Are you so vindictive that you’d stoop to petty sabotage?

I didn’t think highly of you to start with, but even this is low. ”

Lucien didn’t so much as move. He just stared at me. Then, after a long pause, he said, “Are you telling me someone broke into your bar?”

“Seriously?” I scoffed. “I just said that, did I not? And I know it was you, because who else would it have been?”

Lucien pushed off the edge of his desk and walked toward me. I instinctively edged backward, eyeing the distance between us. His eyes darkened, as though my retreating steps upset him.

“You think I’d do that to you?” he asked, his tone dark. “Violate your home? Destroy your things?”

He dragged his gaze over me, and when his eyes met mine, I swear the temperature in the room rose.

“I—I,” I stuttered, not sure what to say anymore. I’d stormed in here, so sure he was responsible. But looking at him now, seeing his reaction, I…wasn’t so sure anymore.

“You’re certain someone broke in?” he asked, voice like steel.

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I didn’t vandalize my own place!”

“Vandalize?” he repeated, his eyes still boring into mine. “You said they destroyed your things. Not vandalize. What, exactly, did they do?”

“Lucien, what are you doing? Why are you pretending you had nothing to do with this?”

“Because I didn’t,” he said. “Now, I’m only going to ask once more. What all did they do?”

I froze. He wasn’t responsible? Then…who?

My gaze dropped and I stared at his floor as I tried to puzzle out this riddle.

I wasn’t a trusting person—at least not anymore, thanks to Trystan.

Could Lucien be lying? But why would he lie?

What would he gain from that? If he broke into my bar, he would have done so to scare me. Was lying part of his game?

“Isadora,” he said.

I jumped. That was the first time he’d used my first name, and the sound of it on his lips startled me. My eyes locked with his and he held my stare, as though trying to pull the answers out of my head.

“What did they do to your bar?”

“They broke my barstools, all my bottles—though, to be fair, the ghosts might have done that in retaliation for them breaking in. Up in my loft, they ruined all my clothes, broke my mirror, slashed my bed, destroyed the…” My throat clogged with emotion. “Destroyed the watch my mother had given me.”

Lucien’s jaw flexed once. Just once. The kind of movement most people wouldn’t even register—but I did. Because it was the only break in his otherwise perfect stillness.

“Did they steal anything?”

“No.” I knew that because I had nothing valuable worth stealing, other than the watch.

“You said they ruined your clothes. How?”

I blinked. “How? Are you serious right now?”

Lucien took another step forward. Enough to crowd me and remind me that while he wasn’t the largest man I’d ever met, he didn’t need to be. He radiated danger like other people radiated body heat.

“Answer the question, Isadora,” he said, his voice deceptively calm.

I sighed. “They slashed it all.”

His expression didn’t change, but I felt a coldness spread through him.

“Did they do anything else? Mark the bar at all?”

I shook my head.

“Did you pick up any scents?”

“No. But Thorne has been going a little wild with lavender and herb satchels. I can’t smell anything in my bar right now.”

Why was he even asking these questions? He should know the damage the bar sustained—or didn’t sustain—seeing as he was responsible, right?

“How did they get in?” he demanded.

“The front door, I presume. It was unlocked when Thorne and I returned. But…” I paused.

“But what?”

I sighed. “I’m positive I locked it before we went out.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. I don’t make a habit of leaving my doors unlocked.”

“Do you have magical wards?”

I frowned. “No. Of course not.” I’d only been here for two days. Who could put up wards in that time?

“So, easily opened then.” He stared at me silently, his eyes watching like he was calculating things I could never understand. “Who else knew you’d be out today?”

“No one, Lucien! I don’t know anyone here, remember? The only people I have met are you, your sisters, and Thorne. It’s a rather small pool of suspects. You’re the only one with the motive, the gall, and the resources to pull something like this.”

Tension spiked in the room. It was small, but I caught the twitch of muscle at his temple and the way his fingers flexed against his thigh.

“I don’t play those types of games,” he finally said.

“Right.” I folded my arms.

He finally closed the full distance between us. Suddenly, he was close enough that I could smell what remained of his cologne—rich and dry. Something expensive that made my throat tighten for reasons I couldn’t name.

“I would never touch your things,” he said. “And I certainly wouldn’t send someone else to do it for me.”

I laughed. “What, too insecure to outsource your tantrums?”

“Because I don’t dirty my hands with cowardice.”

That stopped me. Just for a breath.

Lucien’s eyes burned now—not with fury, but focus. “I don’t break into people’s homes. I don’t slash their clothing or shatter keepsakes like some jealous child looking to prove a point.”

I stared at him, trying to gauge whether this was some elaborate deflection or psychological misdirection. But there was no smugness in his voice. And that was the moment a cold weight settled in my chest.

“Wait,” I said slowly. “You’re serious.”

Lucien held my gaze as he said, “I am many things, Isadora. But petty is not one of them.”

His denial should have made me bristle. But instead, I found myself thinking back to every question he’d asked, every detail he’d picked apart.

He hadn’t been trying to deny it.

He’d been trying to understand it.

I replayed his fixation on what they had and hadn’t touched. His clipped tone, the way he’d asked about scent markers, how they’d entered, what they’d done. He was trying to recreate the crime in his mind.

Because this wasn’t about the bar.

It had never been about the bar.

My breath caught.

The intruder had walked through the bar, untouched. The ghosts had tried to stop them, had flung what they could, but the intruder hadn’t cared. They’d gone upstairs. Into my space. And destroyed my personal possessions.

All the little hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end. The break in hadn’t been random. The intruder hadn’t destroyed anything downstairs. That damage had come from the ghosts in an attempt to defend the place.

No. The intruder had crept up the stairs into my living space. They’d gone after me .

And I had no idea why.