The grand hall of the Winslow empire buzzed with tension. Staff lined the marble floors in hushed silence as Gregory Winslow stepped through the doors — tall, proud, and free for the first time in years.
The board members had no choice. With the charges dropped and Desmund's corruption exposed, control of the Winslow empire legally reverted to its rightful heir.
Gregory didn't waste time.
He sat at the head of the long mahogany conference table, his voice firm and unwavering.
> "Desmund Winslow is no longer affiliated with the Winslow Corporation. Effective immediately, all his assets are frozen pending further investigation."
Not an hour later, police officers arrived at Desmund's office.
> "Desmund Winslow, you're under arrest for fraud, embezzlement, and falsification of documents."
But Desmund smirked as he was escorted in cuffs.
> "Don't get comfortable," he whispered to the officer. "I always come back."
Hours later, he posted bail — furious but free, for now.
---
Reunion at the Manor
At dusk, Gregory returned to the old manor. The sunset bathed the halls in a golden hue, but it was the woman waiting in the foyer who brought warmth to his heart.
> "Agatha…" he breathed.
His wife stood, eyes brimming with tears. She rushed into his arms, holding onto him as though afraid he might vanish again.
> "You're back… You're really back."
"I am." He cupped her face gently. "And I'll never leave again."
They sat in the parlor, and after a few moments of quiet joy, Agatha finally asked the question lingering in her heart.
> "Who helped you, Gregory? Who made this possible?"
Gregory hesitated, eyes distant.
> "Lucian Velmore," he said at last. "He moved the courts. Gathered the evidence. He… did what no one else could."
Agatha's brow furrowed in surprise.
> "Lucian? But why? What does he gain?"
Another pause.
> "Caliste," Gregory said, his voice low. "She asked him to help me. That's all I know."
> "And where is she now?"
Gregory's eyes fell to the floor.
> "Lucian promised she's safe… but she won't be back for now. He didn't say more. Only that she made her choice, and we should trust her."
Agatha leaned back, hand to her heart.
> "Our daughter… she's done something we don't yet understand."
> "She always had more strength than we saw," Gregory whispered.
--------
The soft crash of waves outside the large villa windows couldn't soothe the weight in Caliste's chest.
The island was breathtaking — white sand stretching endlessly beneath the bright sun, with gardens and terraces tailored for royalty. But to her, it was a beautiful cage.
She stood on the balcony, one hand resting on the gentle curve of her belly.
> "Three months now..." she whispered to herself, voice lost in the sea breeze.
The pregnancy was progressing quietly. No doctors unless Lucian arranged it. No guests. No calls. Only Lucian's carefully selected staff, trained not to ask questions, not to speak unnecessarily. Her every need was met — yet it all felt... hollow.
She cooked small meals for herself sometimes, more to feel normal than because she wanted to eat. She read. She walked the shoreline. She sat by the water and spoke to the child in her womb when no one was listening.
> "You'll be strong like him," she whispered one night beneath the stars, hands on her stomach. "But kind... like your grandfather."
Despite everything she told Lucian — about being carefree again, about waiving her rights — the ache inside her grew deeper every day. She lied to him to protect the baby, and now, she was the one unraveling.
Sometimes she wondered if Lucian thought about her. If he believed she truly didn't want the child. If he resented her.
But she reminded herself: It had to be this way.
If Desmund found out she was pregnant, he'd come for the child. He'd use the baby the way he used everything — as a tool.
> "I made this choice," she whispered, brushing tears off her cheeks. "And I'll live with it."
Still, the nights were the hardest.
She would curl up in the large bed, the silence of the villa pressing into her bones, and remember the warmth of Lucian's arms, the steadiness of his breath as he slept. He had become her shield, her captor, her sanctuary, all at once.
And now she was completely alone.
----
Lucian sat in his study, the candlelight flickering across the dark wood of his desk. Papers lay scattered before him, but he hadn't read a word. His mind was elsewhere—on the island, on Caliste, and on the child she carried.
At last, he reached for the sealed line of communication reserved for the island caretaker. His voice was low, calm, but carried the weight of command.
"Report to me. How is she?"
There was a pause, then the voice of the steward filtered through the line, careful and respectful.
"Sir, the young lady is… quiet. She spends her mornings walking along the cliffs, her afternoons in the garden. She rarely speaks, but she eats enough to sustain herself. The physician has seen her, he says the child grows strong."
Lucian's jaw tightened. He pressed his fingers against his lips, masking the storm beneath his composed exterior. "And her health?"
"She grows tired easily, but that is to be expected. The child drains her strength, though she hides it. She does not complain. She… writes sometimes, staring out to sea. Her eyes" The steward hesitated, then finished, "they seem far away, as if searching for something that is not here."
Lucian closed his eyes briefly. Silence was worse.
"Make sure she wants for nothing," he ordered sharply. "If she refuses food, coax her. If she wanders too close to the cliffs, watch her carefully. Do not let harm come to her or the child. I will hold you accountable."
"Yes, Sir."
He ended the call, leaning back in his chair, staring at the shadows stretching long across the floor.
She was safe. The child was safe. And yet—why did it feel as if he was losing with each passing day?