Lucas's POV
The most exhausting part of being the perfect man is remembering which version of myself each person expects to see.
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, practicing the smile that makes everyone trust me. The concerned boyfriend. The respectful suitor. The devoted son who would never dream of disappointing his family.
The mask fits perfectly, it should, after all these years of wearing it, but the weight grows heavier with each passing day.
Smile softer. Eyes warmer. Head tilted just slightly, like you're genuinely listening.
I run through the motions, watching my face transform from predator to prince in the span of a breath. It used to be effortless, this performance.
Now it feels like dragging chains across glass, the scrape of it grating against nerves I've trained myself to ignore.
I'm tired of bowing and scraping. Tired of asking permission from William Lakin like I need his blessing to take what's already mine. Tired of treating Serena like she has any real choice in how this ends.
Patience, I remind myself. Patience is what separates winners from amateurs.
Once she says yes, publicly, irrevocably, in front of everyone who matters, she'll have nowhere left to run. The engagement will become a cage so golden no one will question why the bird inside has stopped singing.
My thoughts turn to Caleb, and my jaw tightens so hard my teeth ache.
That self-righteous bastard has been a thorn in my side since the Christmas party, hovering around Serena like a guard dog who's forgotten his place in the hierarchy.
I've watched him watch her. I've seen the way his eyes track her movements across a room, the way his whole body goes rigid when I touch her arm or lean too close.
Protective stepbrother my ass.
There's hunger in the way he looks at her. The same hunger I see in my own reflection, except he's too stupid or too noble to act on it properly. And Serena, sweet, naive Serena, tenses whenever they're in the same room.
Not with fear, which would be appropriate. With anticipation, which makes my blood simmer beneath this carefully maintained surface.
If I can find proof of whatever sick thing is happening between those two, the leverage would be devastating.
They'd have no choice but to fall in line—both of them, tangled together in a web of their own making, dancing to whatever tune I decide to play.
But first, there's another problem to address—Rachel.
She almost ruined everything at the restaurant, whispering warnings to Serena like some self-appointed guardian angel risen from the grave I thought I'd buried her in three years ago.
The memory makes my hands curl into fists against the marble countertop. Rachel was supposed to stay broken. Stay silent. Stay the hell out of my way while I built something beautiful from the ashes of her credibility.
Instead, she's decided to play hero.
That cannot continue.
I drive to her house without hesitation, the familiar route burned into my memory from years of cataloging escape routes and weak points.
Her apartment sits on a quiet street near campus, the kind of place where neighbors mind their own business and don't ask questions about raised voices behind closed doors.
When Rachel opens the door and sees me standing there, the color drains from her face so fast I almost laugh.
"Lucas." My name comes out strangled, her hand already moving to push the door closed. "What are you…"
I'm faster. My palm catches the edge before she can complete the motion, and I push my way inside with the easy confidence of a man who's never been denied entry to anywhere he wants to go.
The door clicks shut behind me, sealing us together in the dim hallway of her cramped little apartment.
"Rach." I let the nickname roll off my tongue, honey-sweet and dripping with false affection. "We need to talk about your recent extracurricular activities."
She backs away from me, her auburn hair swinging against her shoulders, those green eyes darting toward the kitchen—looking for an exit, a weapon, anything that might give her an advantage she doesn't have.
"Get out of my apartment."
"In a minute." I follow her retreat, matching each step she takes backward with one of my own forward. "First, we're going to have a conversation about boundaries. Specifically, the ones you keep crossing."
"I haven't done anything."
"You talked to Serena." I let the words hang in the air, watching her flinch at the confirmation that I know everything. "At the restaurant. You warned her about me, didn't you? Tried to poison her against her own fiancé."
"You're not her fiancé yet." The defiance in her voice is admirable, if pathetically misguided. "And I didn't poison anything. I told her the truth."
"Your truth."
I stop advancing, letting the distance between us stretch into false safety.
"Which nobody believed three years ago. Which nobody will believe now, no matter how many tearful confessions you rehearse in your bathroom mirror."
Rachel's chin lifts, but I see the tremor in her hands. She's afraid. She should be.
"People are starting to listen. The world is different now than it was when you—"
"When I what?"
I take another step closer, and she hits the wall behind her with a soft thud.
"When I took you to that party? When you got too drunk to remember what actually happened? When you decided I made a convenient scapegoat for your own bad decisions?"
"That's not what happened and you know it."
"What I know…"
I reach out and grip her shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, watching fear flood those pretty green eyes,
"Is that if you continue poking your pretty nose where it doesn't belong, I'll make sure you have no mouth to talk."
She tries to twist away, but I hold her in place with ease.
"No one believed you before, Rachel. No one will believe you now. And next time…" I lean in close enough to smell her shampoo, to feel her breath coming fast and shallow against my cheek, "I won't be so merciful."
I release her shoulder and give her a rough shove that sends her stumbling against the wall. She catches herself on a side table, knocking over a lamp that crashes to the floor with a satisfying shatter.
I'm already at the door when I pause, turning back to deliver the final line of the evening's performance.
"Think carefully about what I said." My voice carries no warmth now, no pretense of the charming man everyone else gets to see. "Lay low. Keep your head down. And forget Serena Lakin ever existed."
I leave her trembling in her own hallway, the door clicking shut with a finality that feels like a promise.
The message has been received.
Now I just need to deal with the stepbrother who doesn't know his place—and the fiancée who's about to learn that running was never really an option.