Claire lay awake in the large double bed, the room bathed in shadows from the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. She tossed and turned, unable to find solace in sleep. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, the events of the day replaying in vivid detail.
Foremost among them was Lucas—the man whose piercing dark eyes seemed to hold an unspoken challenge. His gaze was sharp, cutting through her like a blade, and the mocking smirk he wore only added to the sting. The memory of their brief encounter left her with a strange mix of irritation and intrigue.
How could someone so composed, so physically perfect, have a disability? Claire's thoughts wandered over the possibilities. He walked with confident strides, spoke with eloquence and wit. Whatever his condition was, it wasn't immediately visible. Could it be internal? A genetic disease or some hidden ailment that only those close to him knew about?
She mentally chided herself for not paying more attention earlier. When Mrs. Zeller mentioned Lucas's condition, Claire had been too eager to reassure her of her commitment. She had promised without hesitation, driven by her determination to repay the Zeller family's kindness, yet now she realized how little she truly understood about the man she was supposed to marry.
Even so, Claire resolved not to waver. Whatever Lucas's challenges might be, she had made her choice. She was here for a reason—to honor her late father's debt and repay the family that had saved them from despair. Her purpose steadied her, and with that thought anchoring her, she finally closed her eyes and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The clock had long since struck midnight when Lucas Zeller returned home, the faint scent of whiskey clinging to him. His jacket hung loosely over his arm, and his steps were measured, careful to avoid making any noise that might disturb the household. The quiet of the house felt oppressive, magnified by the muffled tick of a distant clock.
He made his way upstairs, his senses dulled from the alcohol, but his movements remained precise—a practiced habit from years of self-discipline. Reaching his bedroom door, he pushed it open and slipped inside, closing it softly behind him. The room was as he had left it, familiar and inviting in its understated elegance.
Guided by the silvery moonlight streaming through the window, Lucas moved toward his bed. The plush mattress called to him, and he collapsed onto it without a second thought, eager for sleep to claim him. But as he settled into the bed, a sense of wrongness prickled at the edges of his awareness.
The pillow felt oddly misplaced, resting in the center of the bed instead of its usual position. The mattress, too, felt uneven, as though something—or someone—was occupying it.
Then he heard it.
A faint, steady sound of breathing.
Lucas froze, his body tensing as the realization hit him. His hand instinctively reached for the bedside lamp, and in the same moment, his other hand brushed against something soft and warm. His heart raced, and when the light flicked on, his eyes widened in disbelief.
A woman was lying in his bed.
Not just any woman—it was Claire.
Her face was serene in sleep, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath. She clutched his pillow to her like a lifeline, her lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile. For a moment, Lucas could only stare, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of the situation.
Then his gaze fell to his hand, which had landed on her chest. His fingers had brushed against the unmistakable warmth and softness of her skin, and he recoiled as though burned, wiping his hand against the sheets with a look of disgust.
"What the hell?" he muttered under his breath, his sharp features twisting in irritation.
Pulling back slightly, Lucas ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. Had this been her plan all along? First, she'd fainted conveniently near his car, worming her way into his family's good graces. Now, here she was, sleeping in his bed as if she belonged there.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, glaring at her small, fragile frame.
For a brief moment, his irritation gave way to scrutiny. She was thinner than he had realized, her slight frame dwarfed by the bed. Her skin, illuminated by the warm light, had a natural glow, smooth and unblemished. Her legs, long and slender, were tucked beneath her, and her nightdress slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing a hint of her delicate collarbone.
Lucas's jaw tightened. He forced himself to look away, but the memory of the black lace bra he'd found earlier flashed in his mind. He shook his head, annoyed with himself for even remembering it. Yet, his hand still tingled from the warmth and softness he had felt just moments ago.
Unconsciously, his fingers flexed, as though searching to recapture the sensation. A strange heat coiled within him, rising unbidden. His rational mind fought to suppress it, but the tension in his body betrayed him.
Lucas clenched his fists, his jaw locking as he forced his gaze away from her. She looked so peaceful, so oblivious to the turmoil she was causing him.
"What game are you playing?" he whispered, his voice low and strained.
With a sharp exhale, Lucas turned off the light and moved to the armchair in the corner of the room. If she wanted the bed so badly, she could have it. Let her play her innocent act—it wasn't going to fool him.
But as he sat in the dark, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the air, Lucas found himself unable to close his eyes. The memory of her warmth, her softness, and the infuriating calm on her face stayed with him, teasing the edges of his composure.
And for the first time in years, Lucas Zeller felt truly unsettled.