Page 29 of Until She’s Mine
Evelyn
T he scent of freshly ground coffee beans pulls me from sleep.
For one disorienting moment, I don’t recognize the silk sheets tangled around my legs or how the morning light fractures through floor-to-ceiling windows instead of my apartment’s cheap blinds.
Then I remember the penthouse, the agreement to move in, Lucian’s lips at my throat as he murmured welcome home against my pulse point.
I stretch, wincing at the pleasant ache between my thighs.
The bedroom door swings open without warning.
Lucian stands framed in the doorway, already dressed in a grey three-piece suit that costs more than my annual salary.
He carries a tray with a black porcelain coffee cup, a croissant so flaky it sheds golden crumbs onto the sterling silver, and a single peony in a crystal vase.
“You’re awake.” He sets the tray across my lap, his fingers lingering on my bare shoulder. “I have a meeting with Tobias and Father at nine.”
“Shit.” I take the coffee first, needing the caffeine to wake me up properly.
“Don’t worry. You’re not expected to join. I’ll handle them.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, catching a stray drop. “But you should come by the office to have lunch with me and sign an NDA.”
I blink up at him. “An NDA? Really?”
“Father won’t let you go off the hook so easily. He’ll want assurances that you won’t speak to the press or anyone else about the family’s private matters. It’s standard procedure. Nothing to worry about.”
I nod, though the idea of signing anything feels like another chain tightening around me. But I know better than to argue. Lucian’s world is built on contracts and control, and if I want to stay in it, I have to play by his rules.
Even if there is nothing I dread more than facing Tobias.
“Fine,” I say, taking another sip of coffee. “I’ll be there.”
His lips graze my forehead. “Good girl. Enjoy your breakfast, and don’t miss me too much.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
B y the time I’ve showered using that ridiculously expensive bergamot soap Lucian insists on and dressed in a slip of a black dress that makes my skin look like poured cream, the housekeeper has already erased all evidence of our morning.
The bed is made with military precision, the tray vanished, and even my discarded underwear was spirited away to whatever magical place Lucian’s staff launders silk and secrets.
I find the coffee machine still warm, its LED display blinkingEVELYN’S COFFEE. The absurdity makes me smile. Of course, Lucian programmed the damn espresso machine to my preferences. I bet he knows exactly how many grams of sugar I take in my tea, too.
The intercom buzzes as I’m spreading fig jam on toast.
“Ms. Laurent?” The doorman’s voice is polite. “Your car is here.”
Mycar. Not Lucian’s. Not a taxi. Mine .
The black BMW idles at the curb, the same model I’d once admired in a magazine spread. The driver, a woman in her forties with sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes, nods as I approach.
“My name is Selene. I’ll be your driver whenever you need. Mr. Blackwood asked me to familiarize you with the vehicle’s security features.” She pops the trunk, revealing a sleek black briefcase. “Your new laptop and phone are inside. Biometrically locked to your fingerprints and retinal scan.”
I run my fingers over the buttery leather. “Of course, they are.”
The driver opens the door for me, and I slide into the back seat, the interior smelling faintly of new leather and something citrusy.
As we pull away from the curb, she explains the car’s features—GPS tracking, bulletproof glass, a panic button disguised as the air conditioning controls.
It’s all so over-the-top, yet somehow perfectly in line with Lucian’s meticulousness.
When we arrive at the museum, Selene says, “I’ll be waiting here whenever you’re ready to leave.”
The conservation lab is strangely foreign after two days away.
The familiar scent of solvents and varnish greets me as I step through the door, but something about the air feels heavier, charged.
My colleagues glance up from their workstations, their eyes flicking toward me with a mix of curiosity and unease.
The whispers have already started, no doubt fueled by whatever stories Tobias has been spinning in my absence.
I ignore them, focusing instead on the task at hand. My workstation is exactly as I left it, organized and tidy. I slip on my lab coat and get to work. After all, I have just a few hours before I must step into the lion’s den at Blackwood & Associates.