Chapter 89
Lance
Silence.
Complete, absolute silence.
I watched Arthur's expression, waiting for the explosion. Waiting for him to demand answers, to look at me with disappointment or suspicion or—
Arthur laughed.
Not a polite chuckle. A full, genuine laugh that echoed through the dining room and made the crystal chandeliers seem to chime in response.
"Wesley!" Arthur set down his wine glass, still chuckling. "What kind of joke is this? Your uncle has run Lawson Corp for ten years without a single scandal. Not one romantic entanglement. Not one whisper of impropriety." He gestured at me with his fork. "Everyone knows Lance is practically a monk. The business world calls him the Ice King, for God's sake. And you're telling me he stole your girlfriend?"
He laughed again, harder this time. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard all week!"
Eleanor's lips curved into a smile—practiced, diplomatic. "Arthur's right, Wesley. You must be joking. Lance and romantic drama? That's quite the creative story."
Wesley's face went from angry to confused to desperate. He looked at Felix, who gave him the slightest nod—a signal so subtle I almost missed it.
Wesley's hand went to his jacket pocket. He pulled out several photographs and threw them onto the table, scattering them across the expensive tablecloth like playing cards.
"Then explain these," Wesley said, his voice shaking.
I didn't need to look to know what they were. But I looked anyway.
Serena and me at Aureole. The first photo showed us at dinner—her leaning forward slightly, engaged in conversation, her expression animated in a way that could absolutely be read as flirtatious if you were looking for it. The second caught us leaving the restaurant, Serena leaning against me, my arm steadying her, her face tilted up toward mine with half-closed eyes that looked nothing like the exhausted drunk I'd been trying to get into a car and everything like a woman gazing adoringly at her lover.
Whoever had taken these knew exactly what they were doing. The angles, the lighting, the moments captured—they told a very specific story. One that had nothing to do with what had actually happened.
Eleanor leaned forward, picking up one of the photos. Her smile faded instantly, her expression going carefully neutral as she studied the image.
I waited for Arthur's reaction. Waited for him to look at these photos and see proof of Wesley's accusations. Waited for the disappointment, the questions, the demand for an explanation—
Arthur snatched the photos from Eleanor's hands, holding them up to the light like he was examining rare artifacts.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said softly.
Here it comes, I thought. The lecture about propriety. The concern about appearances. The—
"This is wonderful!" Arthur's face broke into a delighted grin. "Felix, look at this! Lance is actually having dinner with a woman! A real, breathing woman!"
Felix's expression flickered with confusion. "Arthur, I don't think you understand—"
"No, no, this is fantastic!" Arthur set the photos down carefully, reverently almost, like they were treasures. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for Lance to show even the slightest interest in the opposite sex? Ten years! Ten years of watching him work himself to death with nothing but spreadsheets and board meetings for company!" He looked at me, his eyes actually gleaming with what looked suspiciously like pride. "She's pretty, too. Good choice, Lance."
Wesley's face was turning an alarming shade of red. "Arthur, you're missing the point! This is my ex-girlfriend! He—"
"I didn't steal anyone," I said, my voice flat. "We had dinner. That's all."
Arthur waved his hand casually. "Of course that's all. You don't do anything improper." He picked up one of the photos again, his expression warming. "But even just having dinner with a woman is progress! Look at this. You're actually smiling." He glanced at me, something like satisfaction in his eyes. "Finally giving me something to be happy about, aren't you?"
I forced a smile, unsure whether I should feel relieved or irritated.
"Arthur!" Wesley's voice rose, desperate now. "This isn't about Lance finally talking to women! This is about him taking my girlfriend—"
"Ex-girlfriend," Arthur corrected. "You broke up with her, didn't you?"
"That's not—she only broke up with me because she was already interested in Lance! She saw his money, his power, his position, and decided to—"
"Oh, please." Arthur's expression shifted, amusement giving way to something sharper. "Wesley, you dated that girl for three years. Three years. And in all that time, did you ever bring her to a family dinner? Introduce her to me? Take her to any public event?"
Wesley's mouth opened, then closed.