Blood pooled on the floor, spreading out in dark rivulets. Lucas Hale's polished black shoes glistened with a crimson sheen as he leaned back casually against the worn leather couch. He watched the scene before him unfold with an eerie calm, his expression a blend of quiet elegance and lethal menace. The punishments being carried out seemed less like acts of violence and more like a macabre performance, designed solely for his amusement. His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, equal parts seductive and terrifying.
The woman on the floor—once proud and defiant—was now broken. Her hands trembled, their tendons severed, while her tongue lay discarded like refuse. A man, careful and precise, worked methodically with a thin blade, stripping the skin from her left cheek in measured, deliberate strokes. To Lucas, it was akin to watching an artist sculpt clay, each cut executed with meticulous care.
A large mirror was positioned strategically in front of the woman, ensuring she saw every agonizing moment. Despite her paralysis, induced by a potent cocktail of drugs, her wide eyes betrayed the searing pain she endured. Her face glistened with tears as muted cries gurgled from her throat, mingling with the blood and saliva pooling at her chin. The drugs heightened her agony, amplifying every nerve-ending's scream while rendering her utterly immobile.
The pungent odor of urine mixed with sweat filled the room, evidence of her body's involuntary reaction to overwhelming terror. Yet Lucas remained unmoved, his voice a chilling blend of calm and disdain as he finally broke the silence.
"Did you think you could strike my Serena and walk away unscathed?" His voice was a study in contradictions—velvet-smooth yet as cold as the steel blade carving into her flesh.
The woman's attempts to respond yielded only incoherent, gurgling sounds. Blood dripped from her lips as she tried in vain to plead for mercy.
Lucas took a slow drag from the cigarette in his hand, exhaling smoke in a deliberate stream. "Did you think you could insult her and escape retribution?" he continued, his tone devoid of warmth. It was less a question and more a declaration of her doom. The woman's world had narrowed to the cold, dispassionate man before her—a man who had become judge, jury, and executioner.
There was no need for secrecy. Lucas wanted her to know exactly why she suffered and who orchestrated her downfall. For him, there was no risk, no consequence in exposing himself. This woman's fate had been sealed the moment she dared to touch what was his. She would disappear into oblivion, her story buried with her in a grave no one would mourn.
Lucas gestured to the man with the blade, who paused and turned to receive his next instruction. "When you're finished, load her onto the ship heading for Macau. The brothels there are always in need of new faces. Make sure her contract is permanent. If I hear she's been released, your wife and children will take her place. Do I make myself clear?"
The man nodded fervently, his hands trembling. "Yes, sir."
He had carried out countless brutal acts in his life, but rarely had he seen his employer personally oversee such a spectacle. Lucas Hale, the enigmatic head of their empire, typically remained in the shadows, issuing orders from afar. For him to step into the light meant the offense was deeply personal.
As Lucas exited the dimly lit cellar, he lit another cigarette, his footsteps echoing softly in the narrow corridor. He passed by an old wooden crucifix mounted on the wall, its presence a stark contrast to the night's atrocities. The irony wasn't lost on him, and a wry smile tugged at his lips.
"Judgment?" he murmured, flicking ash onto the ground. "That can wait until I'm in hell."
Lucas was acutely aware of his own darkness. He was a man steeped in sin, his soul dyed black with the weight of his choices. But for now, as long as one person saw him as her light, her sanctuary, none of that mattered. He lived for Serena's unwavering faith in him, her need for him to be her protector and lover, even if it meant hiding the monster that lurked beneath his skin.
By the time Lucas returned home, the events of the night were behind him. He burned the bloodied clothes, letting the flames consume the evidence before stepping into the shower. The warm water cascaded over his body, washing away the physical remnants of his sins. The faint scent of Serena lingered in the air, the result of his insistence on using the same brand of bath products she favored. It was a small indulgence, but one that tethered him to her in moments like this.
When he emerged from the bathroom, clean and composed, he moved silently toward their bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated Serena's delicate features. She lay curled up beneath the covers, her dark lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. The sight of her filled him with an unfamiliar warmth, a fleeting sense of peace in the chaos of his existence.
Lucas slid into bed beside her, careful not to disturb her slumber. He leaned down, brushing a feather-light kiss against her lips, savoring the softness of her skin. His gaze lingered on her face, tracing every line and curve as though committing them to memory. Her nose, her lips, the curve of her jaw—everything about her was his. She belonged to him, as completely and irrevocably as he belonged to her.
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer until her body was flush against his. Her warmth seeped into him, chasing away the lingering chill of the night. Yet, as his hands roamed over her back, he felt the familiar stirrings of desire, a need that only she could awaken.
Serena, however, was not truly asleep. She had sensed his presence the moment he entered the room, her heart skipping a beat at the familiar sound of his footsteps. She had kept her eyes closed, unwilling to let him see how restless she had been in his absence.
When he tightened his hold on her, the heat of his body and the intoxicating scent of his skin became too much to bear. Her resolve crumbled, and she slowly opened her eyes, feigning grogginess.
Lucas froze, captivated by the sight of her sleep-heavy gaze. Her eyes, still clouded with drowsiness, were impossibly alluring. In that moment, she was both innocent and seductive, and it was his undoing.
"You're awake," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. A smirk played on his lips as his hand cupped her cheek. "Since you're up… why don't we make the most of it?"
Serena barely had time to protest before his lips captured hers, and the world around them faded away.