musty

The musty scent of hay and aged wood clings to the air, thick with dust and something darker—something that lingers in the corners of my mind long after I wake. The echoes of jeers and rough hands pawing at me fade as I bolt upright, my pulse hammering against my ribs. My wrists ache at the memory of being tied above my head. My own scream still rings in my ears.

The sunlight spilling through the window is too warm, too bright, mocking the cold sweat clinging to my skin.

A sharp knock at the door makes me flinch.

“Aurora?” Chiara’s voice is gentle but firm. I don’t answer right away. I need a moment, a few deep breaths to steady the trembling in my hands before I can face the day.

When I finally pull myself together and mumble an acknowledgment, the door swings open, and she steps in with a breakfast tray. Before she can say anything, Giulia breezes in behind her, all effortless energy and purpose.

“There you are,” she sings, seizing my hand before I can protest. “Come, come, we have so much to do today. I hope you’re ready to work.”

I barely manage to snag a steaming cup of espresso from the tray before she’s steering me toward the sitting room, where chaos awaits.

The coffee table is buried beneath a riot of color—magazines, fabric swatches, stationary samples, and a blur of invitations, menus, and service programs. The sight is dizzying. I take a fortifying sip of my coffee, letting the first bitter burn ground me, but it does little to prepare me for what’s ahead.

Giulia, radiant and brimming with enthusiasm, claps her hands together. “Now, let’s talk colors! I’m seeing ivory and gold—classic, elegant.”

I stare at her, trying to form a coherent thought.

“Uh… well, I hadn’t really thought much—”

“Not a problem, we’ll work on that,” she cuts in smoothly, already moving on. “Flowers! Roses, of course, but maybe peonies for softness? To complement your angelic face, naturally.”

I stifle a sigh, nodding along as she barrels through a seemingly endless list of decisions. The sheer force of her energy is almost hypnotic, sweeping me into the whirlwind whether I’m ready or not.

The sound of footsteps draws my attention just as I lift my mimosa to my lips.

Lucian strides into the room, moving with the kind of quiet authority that makes people notice without him having to say a word. He drops a kiss on Giulia’s cheek in greeting before turning to me, his sharp eyes taking in the scene.

“Fucking hell, Giulia,” he mutters, his tone dry. “Did you leave anything for every other bride in the city?”

Giulia only beams, entirely unfazed. “We’re planning the wedding of the century, caro mio. You should be grateful for my enthusiasm.”

Lucian’s gaze flicks back to me. His smirk is maddening. He knows exactly how much I don’t want to be here, how much I resent the charade we’re locked in. And yet, he revels in it.

His arm slips around my shoulders, his presence unshakable. I tense before I remember that we have an audience. Pasting on an adoring smile, I lean forward and brush a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

His smirk widens. “That’s the plan,” Giulia announces, clapping her hands before returning to her endless preparations.

The moment her attention shifts, I subtly ease out of Lucian’s grip. He lets me go, but not before he leans in, his breath a whisper against my ear.

“You’re enjoying this more than you let on,” he murmurs.

A shudder runs through me before I can stop it. His low chuckle follows him as he strides for the exit, clearly pleased with himself.

I exhale slowly, gripping my coffee as if it might anchor me.

The war raging inside me never quiets. Lucian is as infuriating as he is captivating. His arrogance makes me want to slap him, but his touch—his mere presence—leaves a dangerous heat curling in my stomach.

Over the next few days, Giulia drags the entire household into a flurry of wedding preparations. She has vendors parading in and out, arranging everything from the music to the menu. The day she fills the sitting room with bridal gowns is like stepping into a dream.

Ivory silk, shimmering beadwork, delicate lace. When I finally find the dress—the one that makes Giulia’s eyes well with tears—I almost crumble under the weight of it all.

Her excitement is infectious.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget how I got here.

For a moment, I let myself be swept into the illusion.

Lucian and I rarely cross paths in the chaos, but when we do, he plays the perfect fiancé, his touch lingering just long enough to make my pulse stutter. The longer this goes on, the harder it becomes to separate the performance from reality.

One evening, as I sit with Giulia reviewing a seating chart filled with names I don’t recognize, I find myself studying her.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I admit, shaking my head.

She smiles, setting down her pen. “It’s a lot, but I’ve done it before.”

Something flickers in her expression. A shadow.

“Oh?” I hesitate, sensing something deeper. “You were married?”

She nods. “I was.”

I wait, giving her space. Eventually, she exhales, her gaze fixed on the chart in front of her.

“Right around your age, actually.” A wry smile tugs at her lips. “I imagine you must think of me as ancient.”

I huff a soft laugh. “Not at all.”

Her fingers trail over the paper absently. “It didn’t last,” she says after a moment. “After the wedding, he… changed.”

A cold weight settles in my stomach. I don’t need her to elaborate. I know what she means.

She glances at me, hesitant, like she’s testing how much truth I can handle.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat anything for me, bella Giulia,” I say softly. “I know who Lucian is. What he’s capable of.”

She searches my face, maybe expecting fear, maybe waiting for me to flinch. But I don’t.

He doesn’t scare me. Not anymore.

Giulia nods, something like understanding passing between us.

As much as I want to deny it, the bloodlust Lucian and I share is the one thing that ties us together. And that may be the most dangerous part of all.

Aurora’s nails bit into her palms as she glared at him. She hated how easily he got under her skin, how every response of his seemed designed to unravel her bit by bit. It reminded her too much of when they were younger—how he’d tease and prod until she snapped. But they weren’t children anymore.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

Lucian laughed softly. “You’re sexy when you’re mad at me, you know.”

Before she could fire back, he reached for the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion.

Aurora’s thoughts blanked.

Her mouth went dry as her gaze betrayed her, tracking the ink sprawled across his chest, the way droplets of water from his earlier shower still clung to his skin. She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze back up.

His knowing smirk told her she hadn’t been subtle.

“But what do I know, right?” he said, voice dripping with mock innocence. “I’m just the evil fiancé.”

Aurora groaned and turned away, willing herself to breathe.

She heard the rustle of fabric behind her, then the sound of a belt unfastening. She glanced over her shoulder, and that was a mistake. Lucian was already unzipping his pants, his movements slow and deliberate.

“I’m taking a shower,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just stripped down right in front of her.

Aurora barely managed to snap her gaze up before he caught her staring again.

“Really subtle, Lucian,” she muttered, marching toward the other side of the room.

He chuckled but didn’t reply. A moment later, the sound of running water filled the silence.

Aurora clenched her jaw and tried to ignore the heat pooling in her stomach. But when she turned, her eyes instinctively flicked toward the bathroom door, which he had—of course—left slightly ajar. Tendrils of steam curled into the room, teasing her, beckoning her to look.

She shouldn’t.

But her feet carried her closer before she could stop herself.

Through the hazy glass, Lucian’s shape was barely visible, but what she could see was more than enough. One hand braced against the tile, the other moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm down his body.

Aurora’s breath caught.

She should walk away. She should turn around and pretend she hadn’t seen anything. But she remained frozen, pulse hammering, stomach tightening at the low, guttural sound that rumbled from his throat.

Her thighs clenched instinctively.

Lucian’s head tipped back slightly, his movements unhurried, savoring every sensation.

Aurora pressed a hand to her burning face, horrified at how deeply she was affected.

Then his voice cut through the steam.

“You could join me, you know.” His tone was teasing, unashamed. “Instead of spying on me from all the way over there.”

Aurora’s stomach flipped.

Her heart pounded as she backed away, but she could still hear him, could still feel the heat radiating off her skin.

She barely made it a few steps before he emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips. He ran a hand through his wet curls, watching her with a predatory gleam.

“Principessa, you look a little flushed,” he drawled, lips curving into that devastating smirk. “Like what you see?”

Aurora’s fingers curled at her sides, but her voice had abandoned her.

Lucian took a slow step closer. “I’ve kept my promises, kept my hands to myself,” he murmured. “But considering you just had yourself a front-row seat to my performance back there…” His gaze flicked to her lips, then lower. “I think you should repay the favor.”

Aurora’s breath hitched.

She should say no. She should shove him away and remind him that they weren’t really in love, that this wedding was nothing more than duty.

But as he closed the last bit of distance between them, the heat in his eyes mirroring the fire in her veins…

She wasn’t so sure she could.