chapter 86
Lucas's POV:
The gravel crunched beneath the Bentley's tires as I pulled up to my family estate.
Vivienne sat beside me, her fingers intertwined with mine, though I could feel the slight tremor in her grip.
I gave her hand a gentle pat, my thumb tracing soothing circles against her palm.
When I switched off the engine and moved to her side of the car, opening the door with practiced courtesy, I extended my hand to help her out.
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around mine.
"Lucas..." She bit her lower lip, a gesture that always signaled deep insecurity. "How do I look? Is my face still..." Her free hand fluttered near her cheek without quite touching it. "What if it's still not natural enough? What if your father notices and—"
"You look beautiful," I interrupted gently, helping her to her feet.
My hands settled on her shoulders, grounding her. "More than that, you look like yourself. Strong, determined."
"But—"
"No buts." I tilted her chin up with one finger, making sure she could see the conviction in my eyes. "Whatever happens in there, whatever anyone says or thinks, I've got you. We face this together. Always."
The anxiety in her features softened slightly, though it didn't disappear entirely.
She drew in a steadying breath and nodded, squaring her shoulders in that way she did when preparing for battle.
The butler opened the door before we could knock, his expression professionally neutral as always. "Master Lucas. Miss Sterling. Your father is in the drawing room."
The walk through the familiar hallways felt longer than usual.
When we entered the drawing room, my father stood with his back to us, gazing out at the manicured gardens through floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Lucas." Father turned, his grey eyes—so like mine—sweeping over Vivienne with an assessment that made me instinctively step closer to her. The temperature in his gaze dropped several degrees as it settled on our joined hands. "Miss Sterling."
"Mr. Ashton, " Vivienne greeted them with a graceful nod, her voice steady. "Thank you for having me."
We settled into an arrangement of chairs that felt more like a tribunal than a family gathering.
Father's opening salvo came disguised as small talk—questions about Vivienne's recent activities, her current projects, the sudden cancellation of several high-profile appearances.
Each query was a subtle probe, testing for weaknesses.
"I heard you withdrew from the Maison Lucent campaign rather abruptly," Father remarked, his tone conversational but his eyes sharp. "And you seemed to miss the Harrods promotional event as well—weren't you one of their featured designers?"
"I've been focusing on some new creative directions," Vivienne explained when asked about her diminished public presence. "Sometimes an artist needs to step back to find fresh inspiration."
"Hmm." Father's noncommittal sound could have meant anything. "Yet there don't seem to be any new collections making waves in the market. Or perhaps I've simply missed them?"
I saw the flash of pain in Vivienne's eyes before she masked it.
"Actually, Father," I interjected, unable to watch her struggle, "we didn't come here to discuss business. We came to share some news."
The room stilled. Even the grandfather clock seemed to pause in its ticking.
"Vivienne and I have decided to set a date. We're getting married. Soon."
The silence that followed was deafening. Father's teacup rattled slightly against its saucer as he set it down.
"I see." He stood slowly, each movement deliberate. "Lucas. My study. Now."
It wasn't a request. I squeezed Vivienne's hand again, trying to convey reassurance I didn't entirely feel. "I'll be right back," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple.
The walk to Father's study felt like a march to execution. The moment the heavy oak door closed behind us, his carefully controlled facade shattered.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" The words came out in a low, dangerous tone that was somehow worse than shouting. "That girl—she's not worthy of the Ashton name, Lucas. What spell has she cast on you that you'd throw away everything we've built?"
"Father—"
"These past weeks, you've abandoned your responsibilities, missed crucial meetings, all to play nursemaid to her moods. The Singapore merger nearly collapsed because you couldn't be bothered to review the contracts."
He moved behind his desk, hands pressed flat against the mahogany surface. "Do you even remember who your real opponent is anymore?"
Sebastian Vane. The name hung unspoken between us, but we both knew.
While I'd been tending to Vivienne's crisis, Sebastian had been expanding his holdings, securing partnerships that should have been ours.
"I can balance both," I insisted, though the words felt hollow even to me. "My personal life doesn't have to interfere with business—"
"Doesn't it?" Father's laugh was bitter. "You're standing here, demanding to marry a woman whose reputation is in tatters, whose family offers us nothing but liabilities, while Sebastian Vane grows stronger by the day. "
"When her Madame Flower series was at its peak, at least she had value to our luxury goods division. But now? She's become a liability, Lucas. "
The cruelty of his words made me flinch, but I stood my ground. "I love her."
"Love." He spoke the word like it tasted foul. "Love is the most useless commodity in our world, Lucas. "
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "Then maybe that's where we're different, Father. I refuse to live in a world where love has no value."
Father sighed, suddenly looking older than his fifty years.
He sank into his chair, fingers steepled before him. "If you insist on this folly, then prove to me you haven't completely lost your edge. Show me you can still compete, still win."
"And if I do?"
"Then I'll stop fighting you on this. But Lucas," his eyes bored into mine, "if you fail, don't blame me for being ruthless. Let's see how much she loves you when you're nobody."