Claimed by the Prince of Darkness novel Chapter 58

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."

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

"T–That isn’t mine?" Ruelle’s voice cracked on the last word, like the breaking edge of something sharp.

She stared at Lucian for a second longer. The shame of her own 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 contempt, the timing. She sensed his silence like a stone dropped in water—deep, widening ripples of doubt.

Ruelle’s breath shuddered in her chest, her lashes still damp with unshed tears. Her gaze dropped from Lucian’s, unable to hold the weight of his stare.

"I... I’m sorry," she 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 sides.

She could only imagine the rage in Lucian’s now possibly narrowed eyes. Ready to snap her neck like a twig for her audacity.

"I’m so sorry," Ruelle said again, stumbling back a step. "I didn’t mean to—please, I didn’t know—"

And then she turned. Her shoes scraped against the cold stone as she bolted down the corridor without looking back. She ran—ashamed, horrified, and terrified of what that silence might become.

The corridor seemed to blur, her breath catching in uneven bursts, footsteps echoing until she reached her room. Her hands trembled as she pushed the door open and slipped inside.

She stood in the room, heart hammering against her ribs, her fingers curling and uncurling with restless guilt. She paced back and forth.

"Stupid," she muttered under her breath. "Stupid, stupid. How could I—"

She couldn’t believe what she had done. She had struck an Elite. Accused him. Publicly. On nothing but suspicion and a look-alike box.

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