Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Chapter 58: The Box and the Blow

The slap echoed through the corridor like a gunshot in winter. For a moment, even the flames in the torches seemed to still, holding their breath in stunned silence.

Lucian’s head tilted slightly with the blow—not in recoil, but in acknowledgment. His posture remained unshaken, regal and still. But something in his eyes flickered which was quiet and razor-thin.

His grip tightened on the velvet box in his hand.

Ruelle’s hand dropped to her side, burning with the sting of contact. Her breath was shallow, and her eyes—wide, glassy—swam with tears she tried to hold back, and it locked onto his.

"Whoa—easy, easy now—" Sawyer’s voice broke the silence, low with disbelief as he pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against. "What did you just do?"

But Ruelle didn’t look at him.

She stood unmoving, eyes burning into Lucian’s. And Lucian, for the first time, met her gaze—not with arrogance nor disdain, but something colder. Something unreadable.

The silence in there stretched, pulling taut like a string of a cello. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

"How could you?" her words trembled accusingly. She was well aware of Lucian’s contempt for humans like her, but she had never expected him to stoop so low. "You took the box so I would fail..."

"I think there’s some misunderstanding going here," Sawyer tried to reason. "This box is from the Seduction Department. I took it earlier this evening."

"What?" Ruelle’s breath caught. Her lashes fluttered, just once. His words felt like cold water over burning skin.

Sawyer shifted uneasily and stated, "You can ask Gemma. I took it."

hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word. His eyes, intense and locked onto

Ruelle’s voice cracked on the last word, like

assumption burned hotter than the sting of her slap. And yet, she couldn’t shake the weight of what she had overheard. His voice, the

still damp with unshed tears. Her gaze dropped from Lucian’s, unable to hold the weight

apologised, the words clumsy. "I—I shouldn’t have— I thought...I thought it was mine. The box looked the same. I—I heard you two speak and—" her words caught in her throat. Her voice dissolved, like parchment soaked in water. Her hands clenched at her

possibly narrowed eyes. Ready to snap her neck like a twig for

again, stumbling back a step. "I didn’t mean to—please, I didn’t

then she turned. Her shoes scraped against the cold stone as she bolted down the corridor

corridor seemed to blur, her breath catching in uneven bursts, footsteps echoing until she reached

stood in the room, heart hammering against her ribs, her fingers curling and uncurling with

under her breath. "Stupid, stupid. How could

what she had done. She had struck an Elite. Accused

outside the corridor, she quickly darted towards the couch. Grabbing the edge of the blanket, she pulled it over

with a

punish her? Demand an apology? Throw her out of the room for the night, or worse

when the pair of boots clicked gently across the floor, drawing closer to where she lay curled on the couch, breath held so tightly her lungs ached. The boots stopped right next to the

something click on her desk. Slowly moving the blanket away, her eyes fell on Lucian’s long, pale fingers withdrawing from her desk.

I don’t need the

are yours," Lucian responded cooly. "Not the

Ruelle blinked.

Her gaze fell on the box again, now clearer in the candlelight. As if in realisation,

back against the fireplace, she could see his silhouette and his face covered in

he finally answered. No apology.