Tyler's POV.
The Gala was a bore, so I retreated to the balcony to meet Fernanda. She wasn't dressed in a gown; she wore a sharp, tailored female tuxedo that made her look like she was ready to buy the museum and turn it into a warehouse.
"The contracts are signed, Tyler," she said, handing me a leather-bound folder. "The first shipment of the mobility tech arrives at the ZigLan harbor on Monday. Your logistics team is already briefed."
"You don't miss a beat, do you?" I asked, leaning against the stone railing. "Not even for a Gala?"
"I don't find pleasure in crowds," she said, her eyes scanning the room inside. She paused, her gaze landing on Lucas. "Your cousin... he is composed and calculating. I admire him"
"Um, hello!... I'm the one handing the deal" I said, with a settled frown on my face.
Fernanda looked at me, as if noticing the jealousy in my tone, a small,rare smirk appeared on her lips. "Be careful, Tyler. In Mexico, we say that the heart is the only organ that can't be armored. Make sure your weakness is not explored. "
She didn't stay for a drink. She vanished into the crowd, leaving me with a folder full of shares and a feeling of impending doom.
Back at Black wood wing.
(Beatrice's POV)
The dining room of the Blackwood Wing felt cavernous tonight. I sat at the head of the mahogany table, the soft chime of the big wall clock in the hall marking the minutes like a slow, rhythmic pulse. The dinner Patricia had prepared was long cold.
Since Aunt Patricia had told me the truth, my perspective had shifted. I used to see a tyrant, but now, I saw a man whose world was constructed entirely of glass and iron to keep his fractures from showing.
I looked down at my stomach, my fingers tracing the subtle curve beneath my silk dress. The child was restless. I felt a series of light, fluttering movements that made my heart ache. I was terrified. What future was there for an Elliott heir? I was a girl from Oakhills, a seamstress who knew the price of thread but not the price of an empire. I worried about the weight this child would carry.
Every time the security perimeter hummed, I felt a jolt of anxiety. I didn't want him to be the "Ice King" when he walked through that door. I just wanted him to be whole.
The fatigue finally won. I leaned my head on my hand, my eyes drifting shut as the scent of the lilies on the table lulled me into a light, fitful sleep.
...
(Lucas's POV)
The Gala had been a battlefield of optics, but I was finally home. I stepped into the foyer of the Blackwood Wing, the silence of the mansion acting as a balm to my frayed nerves.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at the caller ID, it was Tyler.
"The contract is finalized, Lucas," I heard Tyler's voice from the other end. "Fernanda was... persistent. She's demanding a 50/50 split on the mobility tech distribution, but she's offering the Mexican infrastructure in exchange. It's a clean deal. The logistics are already moving."
"Good," I said, with a low. "Ensure the encryption on the shipping manifests is airtight. We can't afford a leak to Damien now."
"Already done. Go get some sleep, Lucas. You looked like you were ready to freeze over at the museum."
I ended the call and walked toward the dining room. I stopped at the threshold. Beatrice was asleep at the table, her head resting on her arm. In the dim light, she looked fragile, yet there was a stubborn strength in her that I couldn't ignore. I stood there for a long moment, simply admiring her, the way her hair fell across her face and the steady rise and fall of her chest.
"Patricia," I called out softly as the nanny appeared from the kitchen. "Help me reheat the food. She's been waiting too long."
A few minutes later, the smell of warm stew filled the room. I sat down across from her, and her eyes slowly fluttered open.
"Lucas?" she whispered, blinking away the sleep. "You're back."
"I am. " I stood up and pulled out the dinner chair for her. This simple gesture felt odd, I didn't know what was happening to me, or why I did that.
She smile back at me before sitting down. This was something we both don't get often from each other.
We ate in a quiet that was surprisingly comfortable. I looked at her, noting the change in her demeanor, the way she watched me with a soft, searching gaze instead of the usual defiance.
"How was your visit to Oakhills?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"It was good. My mother misses me," she said, her voice growing more confident. "Actually, I'll be going out with her this weekend. We need to get some supplements and things for the nursery."
I felt the familiar surge of hesitation. Oakhills was a vulnerability. But I looked at her hopeful expression and sighed. "Fine. But Orpheus goes with you. No exceptions."
"I know," she smiled. "And the Gala? How was it?"
"Dull," I replied simply, cutting into the bread. "A lot of people saying things they don't mean in clothes they can't afford. It's handled."
I didn't tell her about Damien's threats or the pressure from the Ministry. I wanted this house to remain untainted by that world. After dinner, I retreated to my study, the weight of the ZigLan paperwork waiting for me.
My phone rang at 2:00 AM. It was the Old Master. His voice was like gravel, speaking of matters at the headquarters that required my direct oversight.
"It will take two weeks, Lucas. You need to be there in person. No proxie"
...
Tyler's POV.
After the call with Lucas, I was heading to the hotel. My phone buzzed, it was a my mother. "Tyler, your father expects you for dinner tonight at the mansion. Don't be late."
I sighed and diverted toward my parents mansion . Unlike the Blackwood Wing, this house felt lived-in, filled with the history of the TC Empire.
At the dinner table, my father, Marcus, looked at me over the rim of his glasses. "The deal with the Mexican distributors... I heard it went through."
"It did, Dad. Fernanda is sharp. We've locked the mobility percentages."
"Good," Marcus said. "But remember, Tyler, the TC Empire wasn't built on just 'deals.' It was built on knowing when to step back and when to strike."
I just nodded, simply aware of the implications of his words.