The Defense Tycoon’s Secret Lover

Chapter 1

Midnight. The penthouse of Ethan Lancaster's private sky residence, perched atop a New York skyscraper.

I'm pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, Ethan's hand clamped on my waist with a force brutal enough to fuse me into his bones.

Tonight, he's especially wild.

He changes positions again and again, driving harder and faster, like he's trying to devour my entire soul.

When the thirty-sixth climax crashes over me, I nearly lose consciousness, able only to cling to his arm and let out broken whimpers.

"Lana." He holds me tight, his low, dangerous voice sliding past my ear. "Tell me—no other man can make you scream like this."

I hook a smile and bite his shoulder: "You know the answer."

Afterward, I'm pinned beneath him on the bed, sweat and breath tangled.

Just as my heartbeat hasn't settled, he suddenly says, "Tomorrow night. Come with me to the family board dinner."

I jerk my head up, my chest lurching.

In the ten years I've been his secret lover, he's never taken me to any formal occasion.

Those places, he said, belong only to wives, fiancées, or the future Mrs. Lancaster.

Could it be that he's finally willing to make my existence public?

I suppress my excitement and ask softly, "Ethan, you mean you want me by your side?"

He lights a cigar, takes a deep drag, then exhales a single word: "No."

His voice is calm to the point of cruelty: "Tomorrow is the welcoming dinner for my fiancée."

My breath catches, as if someone's gripping my throat.

"What?"

"Her name is Miranda Volkov." He continues, "The heir to Russia's largest defense conglomerate. She's central to this strategic marriage alliance."

A roar fills my ears. I can barely stand.

"What about me?" I ask.

He looks up at me, cold and emotionless: "You're useful, Lana. And I do enjoy your body."

"Ethan..." My voice cracks. "All these years, you said—I was special to you."

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly: "Don't look at me like that. Makes me think you're expecting something you'll never have."

My heart feels torn open.

I look down at the marks covering my body, suddenly feeling ridiculous, humiliated.

"Do you love her?"

"Love?"

He rises and walks to the bathroom. Water starts running. He stands behind the glass, his muscled silhouette hazy in the steam—cold, precise, perfect as always.

"This isn't a fairytale," he says. "It's a cross-border acquisition."

Moments later, he emerges from the bathroom, toweling off while calmly instructing his assistant: "That five-million-dollar blue diamond—make sure we get it. Miranda likes blue. Commission a custom silver filigree jewelry box, have Italy air-ship it. When she moves in, her walk-in closet needs to be fully stocked with haute couture."

As he says all this, his face shows a softness I've rarely seen.

I feel like someone's just driven a knife through my chest.

I grab my clothes and flee, returning to my apartment.

I pull open the hidden cabinet, dumping out everything he's given me over the past ten years into the living room:

Black cards, rare watches, sapphire earrings, couture gowns, limited-edition daggers, art pieces...

Every single one—a toy he tossed my way.

I light the fireplace and throw in each gift that symbolized being owned, one by one.

The flames burn quiet and cruel, consuming the ten years of devotion I poured into him.

Then I dial a number I've never dared call in ten years.

One ring, and he picks up.

"Lana?"

The man's voice is steady and commanding.

"Dad."

My voice is eerily calm. "I'm ready to come back to Cruz Industries."

There's a beat of silence, then a low chuckle. "Finally had enough? I told you—that Lancaster man would never give you happiness."

I close my eyes.

"One more thing," I add. "Within five days, make my current identity vanish from New York completely."