Page 4 of Until She’s Mine

Evelyn

T he Blackwood estate is a fortress of elegance and power, its gothic spires clawing at the evening sky as if to claim the very heavens.

It’s not a place for mere mortals like me.

Even the ivy clinging to its walls seems to coil with predatory grace, as though it might seize anyone who dares to trespass.

I smooth my hands over the emerald silk of my dress, the fabric slipping through my grasp like water. Tobias chose it, of course. He always chooses my gowns for these events, as if I’m a mannequin he can dress to fit his vision of perfection.

“Relax, Evie,” Tobias says. His hand is on my back as we ascend the grand staircase. The faint hum of string music drifts from the ballroom above. “It’s just family. Nothing to be nervous about.”

His words do little to soothe the tightness in my chest. Family, yes, but not mine.

The Blackwood family is deeply rooted in tradition and expectations.

Their every step is planned, every word weighted.

I’ve spent years learning their rhythms and unspoken rules, but I still feel like an outsider, like a piece of art brought in to complete the picture but never truly belonging.

The doors swing open, and we’re greeted by a sea of faces: polished, aristocratic, and utterly unreadable. My eyes instinctively search for Lucian, though I tell myself it’s only because his presence would be a familiar anchor in this unfamiliar sea of people. But he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Ah, Tobias!” His father’s voice booms across the room. “And Evelyn, lovely as always.”

I offer a practiced smile as Tobias steers me toward his parents. Their approval is warm but measured, their gaze lingering on me just long enough to remind me I’m being assessed.

“How are things at the museum?” Mrs. Blackwood asks.

“Busy. We’ve received a new collection of Renaissance pieces. They’re quite remarkable.”

“Wonderful,” she says, but her attention has already shifted to someone behind me.

Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood think that my work sounds pretentious enough to be respectable, even with my middle-class background.

Their questions are always just polite enough, their nods just enthusiastic enough, but there’s a distance there, a wall I’ll never breach, no matter how many museum exhibitions I mention or how many of their parties I attend.

Tobias squeezes my hand and guides me toward the champagne fountain. I accept a glass, my thoughts still tangled in knots.

“You’re overthinking.”

“Am I?”

He chuckles, but there’s no real humor in it. “You wear it on your face, darling. Just enjoy yourself. Or pretend you are.”

The evening unfolds in a blur of introductions and small talk, each interaction carefully choreographed yet somehow hollow. I smile when expected, laugh at the right moments, and try to ignore the way Tobias’s hand never leaves my waist.

And then, there he is.

Lucian stands at the edge of the room, his black suit blending seamlessly into the opulent surroundings. His gaze finds mine, and everything else fades away. The room could collapse around us; it wouldn’t matter.

Tobias stiffens beside me as Lucian approaches.

“Lucian,” Tobias says with forced cheerfulness. “Congratulations on the merger. I heard it was a bloodbath.”

“Business as usual,” Lucian replies, his eyes finding mine. “Evelyn, you look exquisite.”

My name on his lips is like a secret whispered in the dark—intimate and dangerous all at once.

“Thank you, Lucian.” My voice falters, and I curse myself for the slip-up.

His gaze sharpens, catching the tremor like a predator scenting weakness.

Tobias shifts. “Evelyn was just telling me about the new collection at the museum,” he interjects, his voice too bright, too eager. “Renaissance pieces, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” I tear my eyes away from Lucian. “They’re extraordinary.”

“I’d love to hear more about them,” Lucian says. “Perhaps you could give me a private tour sometime.”

It’s an innocent enough request, or it would be, if not for the way his words seem to carry a double meaning. Tobias laughs, but it’s strained, his fingers digging into my side just enough to make me flinch.

“I’m sure Evelyn is too busy for that. The museum keeps her occupied enough as it is. Isn’t that right, darling?”

I nod. “It’s a demanding schedule. But I’m sure I could find time—” Tobias’s hand tightens further, a silent warning.

The corner of Lucian’s lips twitches. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.” He inclines his head before turning away, disappearing into the crowd as effortlessly as he appeared.

Tobias’s grip loosens.

I glance at him, searching for some sign of what he’s thinking, but his expression is unreadable now, smoothed over with a smile.

“He’s just being friendly,” I say, though I don’t quite believe it myself.

“Friendly,” Tobias repeats. “Right.”

He downs the rest of his champagne in one swift motion before setting the glass aside. “Come on,” he says, taking my hand and leading me toward the dance floor. “Let’s not let him ruin our night.”

Tobias pulls me into a waltz, and I let myself be swept along by the music, but my thoughts are on a man who wears darkness like a second skin.

Lucian tends to keep to himself, yet his presence naturally attracts attention.

Tobias hates it—the effortless way Lucian commands a room, the quiet power that seems to radiate from him without effort.

It’s a constant thorn in Tobias’s side, a reminder of all he has yet to achieve, all the ways he falls short in comparison.

He tries to mask it with charm, but the cracks show whenever Lucian is near.

At least Tobias will be the first to marry.

I know it matters to him, being the first to settle down and prove his maturity, his readiness to take on family responsibility.

As we twirl across the dance floor, Tobias’s movements are stiff, his grip on my hand just a little too tight. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and though he keeps up the pretense of conversation, his words are clipped and distracted.

“I have to go socialize,” he says after the dance ends, letting me go.

So he needs me to stand next to him and smile prettily.

I sigh. “I’ll join you in a second.”

Tobias nods, his attention shifting to the group of important-looking men near the bar. He strides away without another word, leaving me standing at the edge of the dance floor.

I watch him go, my chest tightening with relief. The room hums with laughter and clinking glasses, but it seems distant now, as though I’m observing it all from behind a pane of glass. My fingers brush absentmindedly over the fabric of my dress, grounding myself in the cool silk.

And then, as if summoned by my thoughts alone, I feel that familiar prickling sensation at the back of my neck. My breath catches before I even turn around.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Lucian’s voice rumbles behind me.

I turn to him, my heart hammering in my chest. He’s holding two glasses of champagne, one extended toward me.

“Thank you.” I accept it. Our fingers brush for the briefest moment, and a spark of electricity jolts through me, so sharp it nearly makes me drop the glass. I steady it quickly.

Lucian’s eyes darken, tracking the tremor in my hand. “Would you like some fresh air?”

I know with certainty that this is an invitation I’m not supposed to accept. Tobias would hate it. And yet, the thought of saying no is unthinkable.

I glance over my shoulder, searching for Tobias. He’s deep in conversation, his back to me, oblivious to everything but the circle of men vying for his attention. When I turn back to Lucian, his gaze hasn’t wavered. It’s as if he already knows my answer before I do.

I nod.

Lucian doesn’t wait for further confirmation. He turns and begins weaving through the crowd, his stride unhurried but purposeful. I follow, clutching the champagne glass like a lifeline.

The cool night air hits me as soon as we step outside, a welcome relief from the oppressive warmth of the ballroom. The terrace overlooks the sprawling Blackwood gardens, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight.

Lucian closes the door behind him with a soft click. He doesn’t speak at first, instead moving to stand beside me at the railing.

We stand there in silence, the distant hum of the party muffled by the glass doors. The tension between us is palpable, a coiled spring waiting to snap.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Lucian says at last.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Pretend?”

“The act,” he clarifies. “The smiles. The pleasantries. You wear them well, Evelyn, but I see through them.”

His words cut through me like a blade, sharp and precise. I can’t speak, can’t even think, as his gaze holds me captive. There’s something dangerously intimate about the way he looks at me. His dark and fathomless eyes seem to pierce through each layer of pretense I’ve built around myself.

“What do you mean?”

Lucian sets his glass on the railing and reaches for mine, prying it from my grasp and placing it beside his. His fingers linger on mine for a heartbeat too long before he pulls away, leaving my skin tingling where he touched me. My pulse quickens.

“Don’t lie. Not to me.”

I open my mouth to protest, to deny, but the words catch in my throat. His proximity is overwhelming, a storm I can’t escape.

He sees me.

Truly sees me.

And it terrifies me.

“Why do you care?”

Lucian closes the distance between us. His hand lifts, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. My breath hitches as his fingers trail along my jawline, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Because I see what no one else does,” he murmurs. “And because I want what no one else can have.”

“What is it?”

His hand stills against my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin as if committing the feel of it to memory. “You.”

The word hangs between us like a spark in dry tinder, threatening to ignite everything I’ve tried so hard to keep contained.

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I?” His other hand rises to cradle my face.

“I’ve watched you for longer than you realize, Evelyn.

The way you tilt your head when you’re listening, the unintentional smile that appears when you’re deep in thought, and how you keep yourself composed even when everything around you is falling apart.

” His voice drops lower. “I know what it costs you to be who he wants you to be.”

Lucian’s words unravel something deep within me, a thread I didn’t even realize was holding me together. My chest tightens, and I’m dangerously close to shattering. “Lucian…”

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t feel it too.”

I can’t.

The pull between us is undeniable. I’ve been fighting it since the moment we first met. But giving in is akin to jumping into a raging river with no guarantee of making it to the other side.

“This is dangerous.” My voice is barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

“You can keep running if you want to, but we both know where this will end.”

My breath catches at the certainty in his voice, at the way he speaks, as if our fate is already written in stone. And maybe it is. Maybe it has been from the moment our paths crossed.

I’m with the wrong brother , I realized when I looked into Lucian’s eyes the day Tobias introduced me to his family.

But the choice had already been made when Tobias slipped that ostentatious ring onto my finger, sealing my fate.

The metal feels cold against my skin even now, a shackle disguised as a promise.

Lucian sees the lie I live, the gilded cage Tobias has built around me, and he offers... what? A different kind of prison? One built of obsession and a darkness that mirrors something I haven’t dared acknowledge within myself?

His hand drops from my face. I take a step back, but it’s not enough to create any real distance.

“You’re afraid,” he observes. “But not of me.”

I shake my head, though I’m not sure if I’m denying his words or trying to clear the fog that’s settled over my mind. “This… this isn’t right.”

“And what is right, Evelyn? Pretending to be someone you’re not? Smiling when you want to scream? Staying with him because you’ve made a mistake?”

I close my eyes, trying to steady myself, but it’s no use. His presence is everywhere—the warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne. When I open my eyes again, his gaze is waiting for me, dark and unyielding.

“I need to go back inside,” I choke out.

Lucian’s expression doesn’t falter. “Go, then,” he says quietly.

I nod, though my whole being rebels against the idea of walking away from him. “Yes,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. I move toward the door, my legs unsteady.

“Evelyn.” His voice stops me in my tracks, and I turn to face him.

He moves closer, and for a moment I think he might reach for me again. But he stops just short of bridging the gap between us, knowing that even a small gesture would be too much for either of us to bear.

“You dropped something.” He presses a book into my hands. His thumb lingers on my wrist, right over the frantic flutter of my pulse.

Then he is gone, leaving me with the weight of secrets and a page peeking from the book—a sketch of my profile, drawn in achingly intimate strokes.

Dated three years ago.