Page 65 of Black Castle

Around the property, soldiers stand at attention. Some are wearing the correct army uniform, while some are in black T-shirts and green cargo pants—the type that usually follow him down to the States. Back in the States, they were usually never more than two. But now, they are in hundreds of numbers, spreading across the expanse of land, all built for war, armed, ready to take out an enemy without hesitation.

“Anytime soon?”

Vivienne startles, unaware that everyone in the car has stepped out, and Lucan is by the door held open by a soldier, waiting for her.

“Oh, sorry.” An embarrassing tint coats her cheek as she maneuvers herself out of the car, almost crashing into Lucan’s chest. But he doesn’t move, his presence looming over her, body heat ghosting over her skin.

“Let’s go.”

He moves ahead, soldiers in front him, countless at the back of her, trapping her in the middle, their steps powerful and precise. Then Kenji appears beside her, his hand slipping into hers, squeezing it gently.

“Can you see this, Sato?” she whispers, her gaze traveling as far as the peak of the building, which is at forty feet tall, while she clutches the strap of her backpack tighter. Her voice feels too small here, too weak.

All of a sudden, poverty has a smell. A convoluted suffocating thing, clinging to her like a second skin.

The echo of heavy boots falls behind them steadily as they head to the grand entrance which looms ahead. And when they arrive and the massive oak door swings open, a flood of warm, golden light spills out, illuminating the sleek elegance of the manor.

They walk into the palatial living room and the polished floor stretches endlessly, reflecting the glow of the chandelier that casts geometric shadows across the room.

Every inch of the space is curated—crisp white walls, muted grays, abstract paintings that breathe color into the vastness. Unspoken elegance weaves into every corner as the air hums with quiet wealth.

She absolutely does not belong here.

Her fingers twitch as she fights the urge to turn around. To flee.

“Do make yourselves comfortable,” Lucan’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts. “Your rooms are being prepared. In the meantime, Mr. Putin over here…” He turns his gaze to the man dressed like a butler, his graying hair combed back neatly. “Will attend to your needs. I assume you must be hungry. Just tell him whatever you want and he’ll set it up for you.”

His gaze flickers between them again, then settles on her. A fraction too long, a second too sharp, but he looks away. And even though it’s fleeting, Vivienne can’t help but notice the storm brewing in his eyes. And there’s exhaustion too, casting a shadow under the lids of his eyes.

“Do you want to eat anything?” she asks Kenji.

“Nah, I’m not really hungry,” he shrugs and begins to wander off.

She turns back to Lucan, and she finds him already watching her. “I’ll be gone for a couple of hours,” his voice is low, firm. “Was about to head to a meeting when you called. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Are you trying to avoid me?” The question is out before she can stop it.

“Get some rest, Vivienne.” His expression doesn’t waver. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

And then he’s gone.

She stands there, fist clenched at her side.

For the first time since she arrived, uncertainty truly creeps in.

Maybe she should have just let him go.

“Would you like anything, Miss Marchand?” the butler asks, his voice kind, despite his rough accent.

“Nothing for now,” she says, her smile forced.

Maybe she just needs to sleep for a little while. Maybe she’s just tired and overwhelmed.

Maybe everything will be better in a couple of hours when he gets back.

Maybe he will tackle her in a hug and tell her he misses her.

Who knows, maybe he will kiss her.

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