She Called Me Hers'

Lucien POV

The room was dark, save for the glow of a single screen.

Lucien sat in silence.

He wasn't a man of many words these days. at least, not the spoken kind. Everything he needed to say lived in the quiet spaces between actions. In the tilt of a chess piece. In the signing of a deal. In the way he made an empire kneel beneath him and called it Tuesday.

But right now, all of that noise faded into nothing.

Because she had arrived.

He watched as the car pulled up to the estate's gates. gates he'd custom-built for this exact moment. Her bag slung over one shoulder, curls brushing her cheek, sneakers scuffed and familiar.

His jaw tensed.

Five years.

He could count every second.

Every breath since she walked away from him with tears in her eyes and silence in her throat.

He had tried to forget. At least once. He really had.

But forgetting her would've meant forgetting his own heartbeat.

So instead… he built her world.

The Bellwood Creative Estate? A $32 million purchase. Quiet. Secluded. Prestigious.

The Artspire Foundation? Not his on paper. but controlled through five shell companies.

Every paintbrush, every sketchbook, even the lavender sheets?

All from memory.

Because Lucien Gray didn't forget anything.

And he especially didn't forget her.

He leaned forward now, elbows on his knees, watching her on the private feed. No audio. just soft, clean video streaming through a hidden monitor. The estate staff didn't even know it existed.

He saw the way she stepped into her suite and froze.

The way her eyes widened at the sight of her art supplies, already waiting.

The way she touched the desk. Paused. Looked around.

As if the room already knew her.

It did.

Because he did.

She walked to the window and stared out, and something in his chest pulled tight.

Lucien let the silence sit for a while.

Then he stood.

The penthouse around him was filled with all the trappings of power: leather seats, glass walls, untouched wine. He walked to the massive bookshelf where a single drawer waited. locked and rarely opened.

He keyed in the code.

Inside were things no one knew he'd kept:

A folded page from one of her first public art features.

A sketch she threw away after a bad critique he'd pulled it from the trash before she even noticed it was missing.

A copy of her student ID.

And a small cloth bandana she once tied around his wrist, half as a joke, half as a claim.

He touched it now.

Held it.

Pressed it to his chest.

Then tucked it back inside.

Aria West had always been his. She just didn't know it yet.

He returned to the monitor.

She was sitting now. smiling.

God. That smile. It used to undo him.

He hadn't seen it in five years, not in person. But it still haunted him in dreams, in shadows, in unfinished paintings he locked away.

Tomorrow, he would see it again.

He would visit the estate under a different name. just a sponsor checking on his investment. No pressure. No warnings. He wouldn't touch her. Not yet.

Let her breathe.

Let her think she had space.

Let her settle in.

Then he'd take it all away.

Not cruelly.

Just truthfully.

Because he had waited long enough.

And now… he'd built a world where she couldn't run anymore.

Not without tripping over all the pieces of him she thought she'd left behind.

Lucien turned away from the screen, whispered to the shadows,

"She thinks this is about her dream.

But it's always been about mine."

Later that night

The estate never slept.

Even at 3:00 a.m., Bellwood stayed quietly alive. motion lights blinking across stone paths, guards making their silent rounds, the soft hum of energy pulsing beneath glass walls and digital locks. Lucien sat in the dark of his private suite fifteen minutes off-site, staring at the wall of monitors like a man watching his own heartbeat.

She was asleep.

One arm hanging off the bed. Her sketchbook open beside her.

Her lips parted slightly, breathing slow. Unaware of the eyes watching her from miles away.

Lucien leaned closer to the screen.

She had no idea how far he'd gone to bring her here.

But she would.

The Next Morning

He dressed in tailored silence. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up, no tie. His jaw was clean-shaven. His expression unreadable.

A knock at the door.

His assistant waited with a tablet. "Final confirmation. All twenty residents checked in. Orientation starts at nine. Would you like to observe the session?"

"No," Lucien said. "I'll do a sponsor walk-through. Quiet. Unannounced."

The assistant blinked. "It's been over six months since you did one, sir."

"I'm doing one today."

Bellwood estate 9:37 a.m.

No one reacted to his presence. Staff had been trained not to. Lucien preferred it that way.

He moved like shadow. Like someone who didn't need to speak to be obeyed.

The residents. young artists buzzing with nerves. crossed his path now and then. Some looked at him with curiosity, a few with awe. None recognized him as the owner.

He liked it that way.

Then he saw her.

She stood at the edge of the courtyard, barefoot in soft grass, a warm drink in her hands. Sunlight framed her curls like gold threads.

Lucien stopped in his tracks.

She didn't see him.

But he saw everything.

The way her mouth tilted slightly when she exhaled. The way she pressed her thumb against her cup like she always used to when thinking. The small hum escaping her lips. a tune with no name, off-key and familiar.

He hadn't realized how much he missed that sound.

He let himself watch for a minute longer.

No need to rush.

She didn't look like someone who'd been broken.

Didn't look like someone haunted by his name.

That should've comforted him.

It didn't.

Because he hadn't come all this way for closure.

He came to take back what had always been his.

He'd built this world to draw her in. and he'd done it perfectly.

She said yes.

Of course she did.

But she didn't know the price yet.

His phone buzzed.

Mother.

He answered with a flat, "Yes."

"Lucien," her voice was silk wrapped in control, "I've sent over the profiles for potential partners. The ambassador's daughter from Milan. gorgeous girl, from a good family. "

"No," he said.

She ignored him. "She's educated. Speaks five languages. And your father. "

"I'm not interested."

Her tone turned sharp. "Lucien, you're almost thirty. You're building empires, but what about your future? What about. "

"I've already made my choice."

A pause. She inhaled like she didn't want to say what came next.

That girl. from all those years ago... the one your commander told us about. Said you were always looking at her pictures. That was young love, Lucien. You don't build legacies off things like that."

She's mine," he said simply. "That hasn't changed."

He didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to.

"It wasn't young love," he said quietly. "It was real. The rest of the world just wasn't ready for it."

"You've changed," his mother said.

"I changed so I could have her."

he ended the call.

Later that night

He returned to the surveillance room. Dim lights. Cold air.

On the screen, Aria was laughing softly at something on her phone. Her fingers brushed her cheek. Her eyes were bright.

Lucien sat in the leather chair.

Tomorrow, he'd speak to her.

Not as Lucien Gray, heir of Gray Enterprises.

But as a quiet sponsor.

Someone harmless.

Someone close.

She wouldn't recognize him at first.

But she would.

And when she did… she'd understand:

Everything around her had been placed. Curated. Designed.

Her chance. Her room. Her opportunity.

"You didn't stumble into this world, Aria,"

Lucien whispered, watching her smile through the screen,

"I built it for you. And now that you're here… you're not leaving."