Chapter 90 90
Lucas looked up from the stack of unread emails on his laptop. He’d barely slept—Patricia’s arrival looming, Olivia’s smug satisfaction from yesterday still burning under his skin.
He forced a small smile for his son.
“Alright, champ. Let’s go build that rocket.”
Mave cheered, grabbed Lucas’s hand, and tugged him down the hallway toward the east wing playroom.
Blair was already there—kneeling on the rug in leggings and one of Lucas’s old crewneck sweaters, surrounded by colorful magnetic blocks. She looked up as they entered, offering Mave a warm smile.
“There’s my co-pilot! Ready to launch?”
Mave dropped Lucas’s hand and ran to her, throwing himself into a hug.
Lucas lingered in the doorway for a second—watching the way she ruffled Mave’s hair, the way her face softened completely when she looked at their son.
Then he stepped inside.
The moment Mave turned to grab more blocks, Lucas’s expression changed.
He walked past Blair without a word, deliberately stepping over a small pile of stray pieces she hadn’t picked up yet.
“You missed some,” he said under his breath—low enough that Mave wouldn’t hear, but sharp enough to cut. “Again. I told you yesterday: keep his room spotless. This looks like a daycare.”
Blair’s shoulders tensed. She didn’t respond—just quietly started gathering the blocks.
Mave spun around, holding up a bright red fin.
“Daddy! Help me put this on top!”
Lucas’s face transformed instantly—warm, open, all sharp edges gone.
“Of course, buddy.” He crouched beside Mave, taking the piece, guiding it carefully onto the rocket’s nose. “Perfect. Now it’s aerodynamic. Fastest rocket in the galaxy.”
Mave giggled and clapped.
Blair kept working in silence—stacking blocks, organizing colors—while Lucas continued the performance.
When Mave ran to the other side of the rug to grab the “engine,” Lucas leaned slightly toward Blair, voice dropping again.
“You’re in my sweater. Again. Take it off. It’s not yours.”
Blair’s fingers paused on a blue block. She didn’t look up.
“I didn’t have anything clean,” she murmured—barely audible.
“Then do laundry,” he snapped quietly. “You’re not a guest here. You’re staff.”
Mave bounded back, oblivious.
“Daddy, make the rocket go whoosh! Like yesterday!”
Lucas’s smile returned—for his son.
“Ready for takeoff, Captain Mave?”
He lifted the rocket high, making exaggerated engine noises while zooming it around in a wide arc. Mave squealed with delight, jumping up to chase it.
Blair watched from the edge of the rug silently.
When Mave turned to grab the teddy bear (“He’s the alien ambassador!”), Lucas’s voice dropped once more.
“You’re too close to him,” he muttered. “He’s getting attached. That’s not good for him when you leave.”
Blair finally looked up—eyes meeting his for the first time that morning.
Mave ran back between them, breaking the moment.
“Mommy! Your turn to fly the rocket!”
Blair forced a smile only for her son—and took the toy.
“Of course, baby.”
She lifted it gently, making soft whooshing sounds while Mave clapped.
Lucas watched them—arms crossed.
He was rude when Mave wasn’t looking.
Fake-nice when he was.
And every time Blair met his eyes, he looked away first.
After tucking Mave in—another round of astronaut stories, a final kiss on the forehead from both parents, and the constellation projector spinning slow stars across his ceiling—Blair and Lucas stepped into the hallway together.
The door clicked shut behind them with that soft, final sound.
They walked in silence for a few steps, the hallway dim and quiet except for the faint hum of the house settling for the night.
Then Lucas’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his jaw tightened instantly.
Olivia flashing on the caller ID.
Blair noticed. She slowed her steps, eyes flicking to the phone, then to his face.
Lucas stared at the screen for two full rings—like he was debating whether to answer at all—then swiped to accept and put it on speaker without a word. He didn’t even lift it to his ear. Just held it between them like evidence.
Olivia’s voice came through immediately— breathy, already mid-sentence.
“…finally. I’ve been waiting for you all night, baby. Where are you? Come to our room. I’m already naked on the bed… legs spread wide open for Daddy. Look—”
There was a soft rustle of sheets, then a low moan.
“I’m touching myself right now… fingers circling my clit, so wet thinking about you. I’m waiting for you to come fill me up… stretch me… fuck me until I scream your name. Come on, Daddy… your good girl needs you inside her. I’ve been so patient…”
Blair’s face went blank—then pale. She took one small step back, arms wrapping around herself like she could physically block the words.
Lucas didn’t hang up.
He let Olivia keep talking—let the breathy little whimpers and filthy promises fill the hallway.
Then—eyes locked on Blair—he spoke, voice low, calm, and cruel.
“Yeah?” he said into the phone, loud enough for Blair to hear every word. “Keep those legs open, baby. I’ll be there soon. Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name. Gonna make you come all over my cock until you’re shaking… begging Daddy for more.”
Olivia moaned louder.
“Yes—fuck—hurry, Lucas. I need you. I’m dripping for you…”
Lucas ended the call mid-moan.
Silence crashed back in.
Blair stood frozen—eyes glassy, lips parted, breathing shallow.
Lucas pocketed the phone slowly.
He looked at her—really looked—taking in the hurt flashing across her face before she could hide it.
Then he stepped closer—close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he said quietly. “This is what you walked into. Olivia’s mine. She always has been. You’re here for Mave. Nothing more. Don’t forget that.”
Lucas watched her go until she disappeared around the corner.
Only then did he lean against the wall—head thumping back, eyes closing.
His chest felt tight.
Not from des
ire.
From the sick twist of satisfaction he’d felt watching her face fall… and the even sicker twist of regret that followed immediately after.