Chapter four: The first Lie

Chapter Four – The First Lie

POV: Levi

The velvet suite was not a room. It was a cage dressed in luxury.

The guards shoved him inside, their gloved hands rough against his arms. The heavy door sealed shut with a dull finality that sank into Levi’s bones. He staggered forward, wrists still bound, shoes squelching faintly as water dripped from his rain-soaked clothes. The carpet beneath him was so thick it swallowed the sound of his movements, as if even his presence had been muffled.

He lifted his head slowly, gaze sweeping over his prison.

A chandelier glowed above, its crystals scattering warm light over velvet drapes, gilded mirrors, and a four-poster bed draped in crimson silk. The colors were rich, indulgent, too deliberate. The kind of room a fairytale prince might have slept in—if the storybook had been rewritten into something darker, a tale where the prince was the captive instead of the hero.

Levi’s chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm, breath shallow. He tugged against the restraints. The plastic cut deeper into his skin, cruel and unyielding. His wrists throbbed, but he pulled again, as if sheer desperation could undo the bite of plastic. His throat burned with the urge to shout. To demand release. To insist on truth.

Not Adrian. They’ll see it. They have to see it.

The thought looped like a frantic prayer.

The lock clicked.

Levi’s head jerked up. His heart lurched, each beat heavy and punishing.

Lucien filled the doorway.

No guards. No weapons drawn. He needed neither. Power hung from him like a cloak, reshaping the very silence around him. The velvet suite seemed to shrink as he stepped inside. His suit jacket was gone now, his tie loosened at the throat, but the absence of formality did not soften him. If anything, it sharpened him, stripping away the veneer until only the raw, commanding presence remained.

For a long, stretched moment, he said nothing. His eyes—dark, steady, impossible to read—moved over Levi with deliberate slowness. Not the quick, careless glance of a stranger, but the measuring gaze of something patient and predatory.

Levi’s skin prickled, heat crawling beneath his damp clothes. He forced words out past the dryness in his mouth. “You’ve made a mistake.”

Lucien shut the door behind him with a soft thud. Even that sound seemed heavy. “Have I?”

“I told you, I’m not Adrian.” Levi’s voice cracked, but he refused to let it fall. He made himself stand straighter, chin lifting. “My name is Levi. Levi Moretti. You took the wrong brother.”

A shadow of a smile touched Lucien’s lips. Not warmth. Something sharper. “Names again.”

Levi’s stomach twisted. “You don’t believe me?”

Lucien’s stride was slow, deliberate, each step claiming the floor between them. His presence gathered like a storm, pressing in until Levi’s pulse thundered against his ribs. “Belief,” Lucien said softly, “is irrelevant. Truth bends. Lies endure. What matters is what I decide you are.”

The words landed like stones in Levi’s chest. His head shook before he realized he’d moved, denial spilling out in a hoarse whisper. “That’s insane.”

Lucien closed the final distance, stopping just inches away. Heat radiated from him, searing against Levi’s chilled, damp skin. He raised a hand, gloved fingers brushing Levi’s jaw with unsettling gentleness. The touch was not rough, not violent—yet it carried the weight of absolute control.

“Tell me, Levi,” Lucien murmured, velvet wrapped around steel. “If you are not Adrian… then prove it.”

Levi’s breath snagged in his throat. “How?”

Lucien’s thumb traced the hollow of his cheek, the gesture intimate, dissecting. “With your eyes. With your lies. I’ll know the difference.”

The words sank like poison. Levi’s gut tightened, his chest constricting. Adrian had always been the one with quicksilver charm, the talent for masks, the practiced tongue. Adrian spun lies like silk threads, beautiful and strong. Levi had never been able to do the same. His life was built on truth, on the quiet certainty of books and silence, on a world where honesty was safer than invention.

But here, honesty felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

He forced his mouth to move, words shaking loose in a whisper. “You’re wrong about me. I’m not the man you want.”

Lucien’s gaze stayed on him, unreadable, an ocean with no surface. Then, finally, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a knife. The polished steel caught the chandelier’s light, gleaming like a sliver of captured fire. Slowly, deliberately, Lucien slid the blade beneath Levi’s restraints.

Plastic gave way with a sharp snap. The ties fell to the carpet. Levi jerked his wrists free, rubbing at the angry red grooves carved into his skin. The sting of returning blood was sharp, almost dizzying.

Freedom. And yet not.

Lucien slid the knife away with practiced ease, tucking it back into his suit. “Better.”

Levi’s throat worked as he forced his voice past the tightness in it. “Why let me go if you don’t believe me?”

Lucien leaned closer. His lips hovered just beside Levi’s ear, his voice a low hum that sank under the skin. “Because I want to see how far you’ll run before you break.”

A shiver carved down Levi’s spine. He stumbled a step back, but Lucien did not follow. He remained still, watching with a gaze that held both curiosity and something far more dangerous. The air between them pulsed, heavy with the knowledge that running would never mean escape.

Levi swallowed hard. “What do you want from me?”

Lucien’s answer came without hesitation. Soft, terrifying in its simplicity. “Everything your brother owed me. And everything you are.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Levi’s heartbeat thundered so loudly it filled his ears, drowning out thought. He opened his mouth, desperate to speak, to argue, to insist again—but no words formed. The truth felt useless, fragile in the face of Lucien’s certainty.

Lucien’s lips curved faintly, sharp as a blade. “Rest, Levi. Tomorrow, we’ll test your truth.”

He turned then, the weight of his presence leaving with him. The door shut, the lock sliding into place with the softest click. That sound echoed louder in Levi’s head than any slam could have.

Levi sank onto the edge of the bed. His hands trembled against the crimson velvet, the fabric soft as chains. His wrists still burned, the marks stinging reminders that freedom was a performance, not reality.

He stared at the door,

each ragged breath scraping his throat raw.

I’m not Adrian. I’m not.

But in this place, under that gaze, he feared the truth might never matter again.