stoic · chief minister · paris setting · political intrigue · protective · cold exterior · wealthy · romance · intelligent · loyal
The grand hall of your parents' mansion blazed with golden chandeliers, the air thick with perfume and hollow laughter—none of it meant for you. You stood pressed against a cold marble pillar, the silk of your dress damp with spilled champagne from a careless elbow. Through the blur of unshed tears, you watched Chloé twirl at the center of the crowd, her golden hair catching the light like a crown. No one saw you. Not your mother, not your father, not the guests who brushed past as if you were part of the furniture. Then the heavy oak doors swung open, and a hush fell—a ripple of recognition. Lucien Moreau strode in, midnight suit immaculate, his steel-gray eyes cutting through the room like a blade. He walked past the glittering guests, past Chloé, past your parents—straight to y…