The morning sun poured into the penthouse like gold, but Lucian felt nothing of its warmth.
He had just returned from overseas meeting, his tie loosened, jacket tossed over a chair. The city below buzzed with life, yet his own world was wrapped in tension—one he'd grown far too used to lately.
The phone on his desk buzzed.
Victoria Velmore.
Lucian's jaw clenched. He debated ignoring the call, but the woman didn't tolerate silence well. With a deep breath, he answered.
"Grandmother," he said smoothly.
Her voice came sharp, commanding, yet soft with age. "Lucian. I've been patient long enough."
"I assumed this wasn't a social call."
"I have someone I want you to meet," she said briskly. "A lovely girl from the Aldecourt family. Polished. Noble. Fertile."
Lucian leaned back in his chair, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "That's rather clinical of you."
"I'm too old to dance around words," Victoria snapped. "I want to see a grandchild before I leave this world. Is that too much to ask?"
Lucian exhaled through his nose. "It's not that simple."
"Oh, but it is. You're a Velmore. Our legacy must go on. The board grows restless. You know it. The investors whisper. You're the last heir. It's time, Lucian."
He was silent for a beat. His gaze flicked to the closed door of Caliste's room.
Victoria's voice softened. "If only you hadn't let her go..."
Lucian froze.
"If only you hadn't hurt her back then," she continued, each word sharp as a needle, "perhaps you would have had that child already. With Caliste."
He closed his eyes.
"That's not fair," he said quietly.
"But it's the truth," she said. "She loved you. And you let her shatter."
Lucian gritted his teeth. "That chapter is closed."
"Is it?" Victoria challenged. "She disappeared after your separation. No one could find her. And now? You won't even look at the women I send."
Lucian didn't respond.
There was a silence between them. Then Victoria sighed, weariness leaking through her regal tone.
"I'm not asking for love, Lucian. I'm asking for a future. Don't wait until it's too late."
He looked out the window again, watching as clouds rolled over the skyline. The silence in the penthouse grew heavier by the second.
"I'll consider it," he said at last, his voice low.
"I expect more than 'consider,'" Victoria replied. "You have a duty. Don't fail this family again."
The line went dead.
Lucian dropped the phone and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.
A child.
A family.
With Caliste… he once dreamed it, too.
But he had destroyed that dream with his own hands. And now, even as she slept just rooms away, they were more distant than ever.
His grandmother's words echoed in his mind.
"If only you hadn't hurt her."
He whispered to no one.
"I never stopped hurting her…"
---------
Caliste was arranging the new shipment of silk scarves when a sudden, firm grip caught her wrist.
"Come with me," a woman hissed under her breath, her face shielded by a thick shawl. Before Caliste could react, she was dragged past the boutique floor, through a corridor, and shoved into the fitting room.
"Hey—excuse me—" she protested, but stopped mid-sentence.
The woman pulled down her hood.
Time froze.
"Mother…?" Caliste whispered.
Her breath hitched. The years had taken their toll, but she would know those eyes anywhere—storm-gray with sorrow buried deep within. The once-radiant Agatha Winslow, former queen of society, now stood hunched in a faded coat and gloves, her presence ghostlike, her beauty dimmed but not lost.
Agatha's hands trembled as she reached out and cupped her daughter's face.
"My darling… my sweet Caliste…"
Tears welled in Caliste's eyes. "How? Why are you here?"
"I don't have time," Agatha rushed, her voice barely a whisper. "Desmund doesn't know I left. He would never allow this. He controls everything now. Even me."
Her fingers clutched Caliste's sleeve desperately. "I've become a servant in my own home. Stripped of everything. Today is grocery day—that's the only time they let me out alone. I had to see you."
Caliste could barely breathe. Her world tilted again. "I thought you… I thought you..."
Agatha's eyes brimmed with tears. " I was locked away, hidden… Desmund ensured you and I would never cross paths again."
"Then how—how did you find me?"
"Leina," Agatha answered, eyes darting toward the door. "She told me where you work."
Caliste's lip trembled. "Why now? Why risk this?"
"Because he suspects," Agatha whispered. "If Desmund finds out you're here, he'll come for you. Just like he came for your father's legacy, your inheritance... and me."
Caliste looked down, her heart heavy with unshed pain. "What am I supposed to do? I'm barely surviving."
Agatha gripped her wrist again. "Find Lucian. He's the only one who can stand against Desmund. He's powerful—dangerous, yes—but if there's one person Desmund fears… it's him."
Caliste's mouth parted in disbelief. "You're telling me to run to the man who break me?"
"No," Agatha said, firm yet soft. "I'm telling you to trust the man who once loved you. Because love, even buried, can protect better than power born of greed."
There was a knock on the wall—someone calling for help at the counter. Agatha flinched and stepped back.
"I have to go," she whispered, hastily pulling her shawl back over her head.
Caliste reached for her. "No, wait—"
Agatha's arms wrapped around her in a mother's embrace—tight, warm, heartbreaking.
"I love you. Always have. Please, stay hidden. Be smart. And don't go near Desmund. He'll destroy what little of you is left."
And then, like a shadow, she slipped out of the dressing room and vanished into the crowd. Her shawl fluttered behind her like a veil of memories.
Caliste stood there, stunned, breathless.
Her fingers curled around the scarf in her hand, her heart pounding.
Lucian…
Could he really help her?.