Page 95 of Scarred in Silence

Lucien

I feel the gunshot before I hear it—a thud that rattles the chandelier in the foyer and yanks every demon in the house to attention.

My heart lunges. One heartbeat later, I’m sprinting. I kick in the master-suite door like it’s drywall, the door splinters, and pain erupts up my leg, but that doesn’t stop me.

Astra stands at the far edge of the bed, bare feet on the hardwood, hair a dark storm around her shoulders. The glock’s barrel still kisses her lips, smoke curling from the muzzle like a whispered dare. She doesn’t flinch when the door explodes; she doesn’t even blink. Her ocean eyes turned to midnight, locking in on mine with a challenge so violent.

Click. She pulls the trigger again.

The blank snaps again.

I swallow the roar hammering my ribs and raise both hands, palms forward. “Baby,” I say, voice raw gravel. “It’s a blank.”

She lowers the gun a fraction, eyes flicking to the slide, then to me. “You gave me a toy,” she whispers. Contempt drips from every syllable. “Figures.”

“Safety measure,” I say, stepping into the room, shutting the mangled door behind me. “I never handed you a weapon I hadn’t disarmed.”

“Hilarious.” She laughs—shards of glass over concrete. Like the mirrors that are destroyed all over my fucking house.

“Manipulation even in mercy.”

She throws the pistol. It arcs, lands on the duvet with a dull thud. My gaze tracks it until I’m sure she’s unarmed. Then her hand whips across my face. The crack bounces off the tall ceiling. Blood blooms warm on my lip; I taste iron. I swallow it. I welcome it.

“Again,” I offer.

She balls her fist but lets it drop. “Talk.”

A tear rolls down her cheek. She wants to end it all, but I’ll never let her. She should know better.

I exhale through torn skin. “A month ago—New Mexico.” My voice catches. “You remember being taken from the trailer, waking up in a stranger’s house?”

Her stare is ice. “Of course I remember… well… I remember waking up…”

“That stranger was my friend. Ex-medic, no record, owed me favors. I paid him to save you after I got you out of that filthy trailer. He never touched you, Astra. He lied to scare you, lied because I told him to keep you afraid and safe.”

Her shoulders flinch. Pain, memory, maybe betrayal. “Safe?” she spits. “I woke up in a room, half-naked, with a man bragging about how badly I wanted him.”

“I salvaged you from worse,” I say, throat tightening.

“Not redemption, but reality.”

“Reality?” Her laugh cracks.

“Reality is that I was prey, and you tracked me like it was your job.”

“I tracked you until you ran to California. Then I needed help.” My words tumble, unable to stop now.

“I followed every bus ticket, every motel. Not to cage you—yes, partly to cage you—but mostly to keep you from hurting yourself. You are beautiful. You are strong. You are heard…”

She crosses her arms, nails digging skin. “No… I’ve been continuously silenced, Lucien. Can’t you see that? I am a puppet in everyone else’s game. When do I get to decide what I want to do with my life?”

She breaks down in front of me. Sobbing recklessly.

I breathe it. “I orchestrated the kidnapping, yes. Victor and Nicolette were never in the plan. Miles was never supposed to get close. Varek was set to intercept after the auction floor. Fuck. The auction was supposed to be staged, not even fucking real. It was all supposed to be done at Varek’s house. Victor jumped the timeline after he fucked up; Nicolette drugged you after you were actually kidnapped. Everything went to ash in the span of twenty-four hours.” I rub temple-pulse. “I’ve replayed those hours every night since.”

She steps forward, pupils blown. “Then why the blank? Why fake a bullet tonight?”

“Because a live round in that moment would have painted these walls with regret.” I point at the discarded glock.