Chapter 73 73
Lucas’s breathing had grown shallower.
“You think you can threaten me in my own house?”
“I’m not threatening you,” Blair said simply. “I’m telling you the truth. You want me here? Fine. But I will be in his life—every breakfast, every scraped knee, every nightmare, every comic he wants to read. I will be the one he runs to when he’s scared.
And if you ever try to take that away again—if you ever send your security to drag me out like last night—I will burn this entire arrangement to the ground.
Courts, lawyers, media, whatever it takes. Because I didn’t survive five years raising him alone just to hand him over to a man who thinks love is a transaction and family is a signature on a cheque.”
She stopped inches from him now.
Neither moved.
Lucas stared down at her anger flashing in his face.
“You’ll have the east wing. Separate entrance if you want it. Full access to Mave whenever he’s awake. But you stay out of the main family areas. You stay out of my rooms. You stay out of my bed. You stay out of my life.”
Blair gave the smallest nod.
“Deal.”
She turned toward the door.
Lucas spoke again.
“He asked for you every day I was gone, didn’t he?”
Blair paused, hand on the knob.
She didn’t turn around.
“Every single day.”
She unlocked the door herself, stepped into the hallway, and closed it softly behind her.
Lucas stayed where he was—alone in the locked study—staring at the empty space she’d left behind.
Downstairs, Mave was already curled in Eleanor’s lap, listening to a story, but his eyes kept darting toward the staircase.
The next evening, after a long day of tense silences and careful distance, the three of them ended up in Mave’s new room for bedtime stories.
Eleanor had insisted on “family time,” and for once Lucas hadn’t argued—mostly because Mave’s face lit up like the sun whenever both parents were in the same space.
Mave sat cross-legged on his superhero bedspread, teddy bear in his lap, eyes sparkling as Blair finished reading the last page of The Amazing Spider-Man comic adaptation. Lucas leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, pretending to scroll on his phone but watching them both.
Blair closed the book softly.
“The end. Time for lights out, little hero.”
Mave suddenly bounced on the mattress, clapping his small hands together with pure, unfiltered joy.
“Yayy! Mommy and Daddy are both here!” he sang, voice high and wobbly with happiness. “Mommy and Daddy! Mommy and Daddy!”
He giggled, rocking back and forth.
“So Mommy… you gonna stay in Daddy’s room or mine?”
Before either adult could answer, Mave’s eyes went wide with excitement.
“Yayy yes! Daddy’s room! Just like Aiden’s parents in my comics! They sleep in the same big bed and hug and kiss and say goodnight together!”
He clapped again, beaming like he’d just solved the world’s biggest puzzle.
Blair’s smile froze for half a second.
Lucas’s phone screen dimmed in his hand.
They exchanged the briefest glance—loaded, warning, mutual understanding that this performance was for one audience only.
Blair recovered first. She leaned forward, tucking a curl behind Mave’s ear, voice warm and playful.
“Ohhh, you want Mommy and Daddy to share a room like in your comics, huh?”
Mave nodded so fast his curls bounced.
“Uh-huh! Aiden says that’s what mommies and daddies do when they love each other a lot!”
Lucas pushed off the doorframe slowly, forcing his expression into something softer. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed—close enough to be part of the scene, far enough that his thigh didn’t brush Blair’s.
He reached out and ruffled Mave’s hair, voice low but gentle.
“Sounds like Aiden knows a lot about comics and mommies and daddies.”
Mave giggled.
“So you will? You’ll sleep together?”
Blair glanced at Lucas—quickly.
His jaw ticked once, but he gave the tiniest nod.
She turned back to Mave, smile brightening.
“Yep. Mommy’s going to stay in Daddy’s room tonight. Just like in the comics.”
Mave squealed, throwing his arms around Blair’s neck, then lunging sideways to hug Lucas too.
“Yayyyy! Best day ever!”
Lucas wrapped one arm around the boy—careful, almost awkward—while his other hand stayed flat on the mattress, deliberately not touching Blair. When Mave pulled back, still beaming, Lucas leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his son’s head.
“Time to sleep, champ. Lights out.”
Mave snuggled under the covers, still smiling ear to ear.
“Night night, Mommy. Night night, Daddy. Don’t forget to hug and kiss like in the comics!”
Blair laughed softly—genuine for Mave, brittle underneath.
“We won’t forget, baby.”
Lucas flicked off the bedside lamp, leaving only the soft glow of the constellation projector spinning stars across the ceiling.
He stood first.
Blair followed.
They walked out together, closing the door quietly behind them.
The hallway was dim, silent except for the faint tick of the grandfather clock downstairs.
The second the latch clicked, Lucas stepped sideways—putting a full arm’s length between them. His shoulders were rigid, expression shuttered.
Blair didn’t move closer.
They stood there for a beat—two statues pretending not to notice the electricity crackling in the space between.
Lucas spoke first, voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry back to the child’s room.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he muttered. “This is for him. Only him. You sleep on the couch in my sitting area. You don’t cross the threshold into the bedroom. You don’t touch me. You don’t speak unless it’s about Mave. Clear?”
Blair met his gaze without flinching.
“Crystal.”
Lucas turned and started walking toward the master suite at the end of the hall.
Blair followed—three steps behind, exactly.
When they reached his door, he pushed it open, stepped inside, then held it just wide enough for her to slip through.
She did.
He closed it. Locked it.
Then he pointed to the sleek leather sofa in the adjoining sitting area—far from the bed, far from him.
“That’s yours.”
Blair walked past him without comment, dropping her small overnight bag beside the couch.
Lucas lingered in the doorway between the two spaces, watching her for a second longer than necessary.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he said quietly.
Blair sat on the edge of the sofa, back straight, hands folded in her lap.
“I’m not the one making it hard, Lucas.”
He didn’t answer.
He just turned off the main light, leaving only the faint glow from the hallway nightlight seeping under the door.
Then he disappeared into the bedroom proper, closing that inner door with a soft, final click.
Blair sat in the dark for a long time—listening to the distant hum of the house settling, listening to the silence where her son’s happ
y singing had been.
She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and whispered to the empty room:
“For you, baby.
All of this… is for you.”