Claire's POV

I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror, studying every detail with almost obsessive care. The black lace lingerie beneath my dress hugged my body like a secret, a promise only one man was meant to uncover. The scarlet slip dress fit over it perfectly, its thin straps tracing the line of my collarbones before dipping into a neckline. I'd spent the past hour curling my hair, lining my lips with crimson, and fastening the gold bracelet Ethan gave me last year. It shimmered softly under the warm light, a reminder of how much tonight was supposed to mean.

Our four-year anniversary.

Four years of waiting. Four years of believing.

My mother's voice echoed in my head — "A woman's worth blooms in patience. Never give yourself away before you're certain." She'd repeated that lesson my entire life, and I'd obeyed it with the kind of faith only love could justify. I'd waited for Ethan to be ready — for his career, for his ambitions, for us. He used to say, "When I can give you the life you deserve, that's when I'll put a ring on your finger."

And tonight… I believed he would.

I smiled faintly at my reflection, trying to suppress the nerves fluttering in my stomach. My heels clicked as I picked up the bouquet of deep red roses tied with a white ribbon,and the small cake I'd ordered with the words "Forever starts tonight."

The elevator ride to his apartment felt endless. My pulse quickened with every floor, a soft rhythm that seemed to whisper this is it, this is the moment.

But the moment I opened his door, the world shattered.

I heard the pleasurable moans.Emma, my stepsister, was on all fours on the sofa as Ethan violently thrust into her.

My stomach churned as I stared at the scene in disgust.

"Did my goody-two-shoes stepsister ever make you feel this good?" Emma purred between gasps.

Ethan roughly groped her breasts, "That prude? Couldn't even get wet if she tried. I was fucking bored to death."

White-hot rage flooded my veins.So this was his truth?All those nights he'd "respected" my choice to wait just empty words?

We were together for four years, and Ethan definitely knew how much I despised Emma. Her mother was the mistress who stole my father away, and now she's stealing my boyfriend?

The air left my lungs in a violent rush. My heart didn't just break — it imploded. The cake slipped from my trembling hands, crashing onto the floor with a dull, wet sound. Frosting splattered across the carpet like blood.

Ethan jerked his head up, shock flashing across his face, but not enough to make him stop. Emma gasped and covered herself with a blanket, then smirked when she realized it was me.

"Oh," she said softly,with mock pity. "Guess she found out."

Ethan stood, cursing under his breath, grabbing his jeans. "Claire, wait—"

"Don't," I whispered. My voice shook, and so did my hands.

He reached for me, and I stepped back. "You were supposed to propose tonight," I said, each word breaking apart. "I was going to— I thought—"

Emma's laugh cut through me like a blade. "Propose? To you? Please. You're a virgin who thinks love is a charity project."

Ethan shot her a glare, but she didn't stop. "He told me how you always pull away when he touches you. How he's tired of waiting for your perfect little fairytale." She leaned forward, her smirk widening. "He said it's like trying to seduce a nun."

Something inside me snapped.

I grabbed the bottle of red wine I'd brought for dinner and swung it with every ounce of pain tearing through me. It hit Ethan's shoulder instead of his head, shattering into a spray of glass and burgundy. He stumbled back, shouting my name, but I was already reaching for the cake, the one that once spelled forever.

It landed square on Emma's face.

She screamed.A ridiculous, muffled sound through the frosting . I stood there, chest heaving, watching them both like strangers in a nightmare.

"Take a good look," I hissed. "Because this is the last time you'll ever see me weak."

Ethan's expression twisted between guilt and anger. "You're overreacting—"

"Overreacting?" I laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "You just destroyed four years of my life for my step-sister, Ethan. There's no 'overreacting' to that."

"Get out," Emma spat, wiping cream from her cheek. "You were never good enough for him anyway."

I turned to the door, my hands still shaking but my spine straight. "You can keep him," I said quietly. "You two deserve each other."

And I walked out — no tears, no backward glance. Just the click of my heels on the hallway floor and the bitter taste of betrayal on my tongue.

The night air hit me like ice. I stumbled down the street, clutching my purse to my chest as if it could hold my breaking heart together.

Every step carried me further from the life I'd built, from the girl I used to be.

I thought of all the nights I'd stayed up helping Ethan fix his résumé, the meals I'd skipped to pay his rent when he lost his job, the gentle way he used to tuck my hair behind my ear and whisper, "You're my future."

All lies.

I ducked into the first bar I saw — a small, dim-lit place with music humming low and the air thick with whiskey and smoke. The bartender gave me a quick glance, then silently poured me a drink. I didn't even taste it before ordering another.

The alcohol burned, numbing something deep inside.

I was halfway through my third when I noticed him.

A man sitting at the far end of the bar, alone. He was all sharp lines and quiet power — blond hair that caught the amber light, a jaw that looked carved from marble, eyes the color of a winter sky. He wasn't watching anyone, just slowly turning his glass in his hand, lost in thought.

Something about him drew me in — he looked like danger wrapped in elegance.

I slid off my stool and walked toward him, the click of my heels slicing through the music.

He looked up as I approached, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

"Rough night?" he asked, voice low and velvety, with an accent I couldn't place.

"You could say that." I smiled, but it came out broken. "I just caught my boyfriend screwing my stepsister."

His brow lifted, but there was no pity in his eyes. Only quiet understanding. "Then he's a fool."

I laughed, a bitter sound that turned into something softer. "You don't even know me."

"I don't need to," he said. "A man who betrays loyalty isn't worth knowing."

The simplicity of his words hit deeper than I expected. My heart stuttered, unsure whether to ache or steady.

He gestured to the empty stool beside him. "Sit."

I hesitated ,then obeyed. His scent was clean, cold, with a hint of something wild beneath it, like pine andmint. It filled my lungs, clouding the edges of my thoughts.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Lucius." His eyes flickered with something I couldn't define. "And you?"

"Claire."

"Claire," he repeated, as if tasting it. "So what are you doing here, Claire?"

"Take me away from here," I said.

His eyes darkened, but he didn't move. "You're drunk. You don't mean that."

"I do." I placed my hand over his. His skin was warm, but there was a strange pulse beneath it — not quite human. "Please."

He exhaled slowly, his gaze searching mine, testing my resolve. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

Something shifted then. His restraint melted into a silent decision. He stood, his height eclipsing mine, and reached for my coat. When his fingers brushed my shoulder, a spark ran through me so sharp it made my knees weaken.

He wrapped an arm around my waist ,firm,protective. Then he guided me toward the door.

Outside, the city had quieted, rain misting against the pavement. He opened the back door of a sleek black car, his other hand shielding me from the rain. Elegant and gentlemanly..

Before I got in, I looked up at him. Really looked.

The streetlight caught his eyes.

They glowed.

Not the reflection of light, not a trick of alcohol — but a faint, golden glow pulsing from within.

For a heartbeat, the world held still.

"What are you?" I whispered.

Lucius smiled faintly, his voice a murmur against the night. "You'll find out soon enough, Claire."