Chapter 39 Chapter 39

Chapter 39 Chapter 39
Lucien

I stood by the window of my room, phone pressed to my ear, staring down at the city lights bleeding into the water below. Amsterdam looked peaceful from up here.

It wasn't.

"Kade," I said quietly, keeping my voice level. "I need you to delay the Rotterdam transfer."

Silence on the other end.

"Not cancel it," I added. "Delay it. Paperwork issue. Dock congestion. Customs red flag. I don't care what you use just make it clean."

Another pause.

"But Sir, your father already signed off on the schedule," Kade said carefully.

"I know."

"And he's expecting confirmation tonight."

I closed my eyes briefly. "Then don't confirm. Tell him the port authority flagged a secondary inspection. Make it technical. Something boring. He won't dig too deep if it sounds administrative."

"That only buys us so much time."

"Forty-eight hours is enough," I said.

"For what?"

"For me to figure something out."

Kade didn't push further. He never did. "And the girls?"

My jaw tightened. "They stay where they are. No movement. Make sure they're comfortable."

A beat of silence.

"As comfortable as that place allows," I corrected, bitterness creeping into my voice.

"This may be dangerous Sir," 

"I've been playing one my whole life. Just stall it. And don't let it trace back to me."

"Alright Sir."

The line went dead. I lowered the phone slowly, raking a hand through my hair. Valentina's face flashed in my mind the shock in her eyes in the conference room. The disgust. The hurt.

She hadn't known. And when she realized what my father was truly involved in, that look stayed with me.

The truth is, she didn't say anything I hadn't already thought myself.

The idea of innocent girls being moved from one country to another like inventory separated from their families, their homes it never sat well with me. It never has. I learned early to keep my face neutral, my opinions buried.

But that didn't mean I agreed. I didn't choose this world. I was born into it. From the time I could walk, I was taught obedience. Precision. Loyalty. My father's word was law. I followed orders before I understood what they meant.

There were days many of them when I didn't want to.

But wanting never mattered. The last time I openly defied him, I was seventeen.

I can still remember the smell of leather and metal in that warehouse. The sound of boots on concrete. The coldness in his eyes when he said, "You will learn."

I did. His men held me down. I didn't scream. I refused to give him that satisfaction. But I remember the sting of the whip across my back. Once. Twice. Enough times to leave a thin scar trailing from the base of my neck down between my shoulders.

I rolled my shoulders slightly now, feeling the faint pull of that old mark beneath my shirt.

Valentina had never noticed it. Even when we were close. Even when her hands traced my skin. Maybe she wasn't looking for damage.

Or maybe I never let her look long enough. I exhaled slowly. She thinks I sit in those meetings because I support him.

She doesn't understand that walking away isn't simple. That stepping out means blood in the water. That men who leave don't get clean exits they disappear.

But this... this situation is different. Even if she hadn't spoken in that room, I would've moved on it.

Because this one crosses a line I can't keep pretending doesn't exist.

Tomorrow we fly back to New York. But before that we are going to sign the contracts. And from what I know , my father wants Valentina to sign the European compliance agreement herself.

She has no idea. He wants her signature tied to the operation. If she signs it, she becomes legally connected. Bound. Complicit.

Would she refuse? She has fire.  But she's still new to this. Still unaware of how deep the intimidation runs. He knows how to corner people. How to make refusal feel impossible.

And she's already afraid of him. A knock sounded at my door.

I straightened, smoothing my expression back into something neutral before crossing the room.

I opened the door. A woman stood there, dressed in hotel uniform, pushing a cart.

"Room service," she said politely.

I frowned slightly. "I didn't order anything."

Her smile didn't waver.

"Complimentary from the hotel, sir."

"Complimentary?" I repeated.

"Yes, sir." Her smile remained perfectly measured. "Courtesy of the hotel."

I let my gaze drop briefly to the cart silver domes, a bottle of wine, two glasses, strawberries arranged too precisely. Romantic.

"Is it just for me, or everyone on this floor receiving the same generosity?"

A flicker. Barely there.

"Selected guests, sir."

"Selected how?"

She kept smiling. "VIP registry."

Of course. My father loved theatrics.

I stepped slightly into the doorway but didn't let her in. "And who authorized it?"

"The front desk, sir."

"Name?"

A fraction of hesitation. "Manager on duty."

I held her gaze long enough to make her uncomfortable.

"If it's from the hotel," I continued, "then it can wait downstairs until I confirm."

Her fingers tightened on the cart handle. Just slightly.

"It's perishable, sir."

"So am I," I replied flatly.

Silence. She recalibrated quickly. "Shall I leave it inside?"

"No."

She nodded, professional mask slipping back into place. "Very well, sir. I'll inform the desk."

"Do that."

I didn't close the door immediately. I watched her walk down the corridor, pushing the cart with controlled, even steps.

I shut the door quietly. Complimentary.

Nothing in my life has ever been complimentary. If this was my father's doing, it wasn't about hospitality. It was either surveillance... or leverage.

Wine loosened tongues. Rooms got bugged. People talked.

Or perhaps it wasn't meant for me at all. Perhaps it was meant for Valentina. The thought made my jaw tighten.

I walked back toward the window.  If my father was already positioning pieces around us tonight, then delaying the transfer was only the beginning.

And if he planned to corner Valentina into signing those documents tomorrow...

He wouldn't do it without preparation. I exhaled slowly. Forty-eight hours. That's all I'd bought.

A knock came suddenly. Three hard bangs in rapid succession.

Before I could even move, it came again.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Whoever it was had no intention of waiting.

I exhaled sharply, irritation flaring. I wondered if my father had decided to escalate whatever game he was playing tonight.

The knocking continued louder, faster. Enough.

I strode across the room and yanked the door open. Valentina stood there.

Furious. Her eyes were blazing, cheeks slightly flushed, breathing uneven like she'd come straight from pacing.

She didn't wait for permission. She pushed past me into the room before I could say a word.

I shut the door behind her, watching her closely. She turned on me immediately.

"Why did you turn it down?" 

"Turn what down?" I asked confused. 

"The food," she snapped. "The wine. The strawberries. The tray that was just brought here." She flung her hands in the air. 

I stared at her for half a second.

"That was you?"

"Yes," she shot back.

I folded my arms masking up the smile that threatened to spill out. "You sent it?"

"Yes."

"And told the staff to say it was from the manager."

Her chin lifted. "I didn't want to raise suspicions."

A breath left me somewhere between disbelief and restrained amusement.

"You thought sending wine to my room wouldn't raise suspicions?"

"I thought you would understand," she retorted. "It was a gesture."

"A gesture that came disguised."

Her eyes narrowed. "I asked her to say it was complimentary so no one would assume I was coming here."

"And why would that matter?" I asked, studying her.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second.

"Because," she said more quietly, "after everything that happened today, I didn't want anyone watching."

That made my irritation fade slightly.

"You shouldn't have done that," I said, though my tone had lost its edge.

She scoffed. "Why? Because you assume everything is a trap?"

"In my world, it usually is."

She threw her hands up. "Not everything is your father pulling strings, Lucien."

Damn! I like seeing the irritated side of her. It's cute. 

"You'd be surprised."

Her expression shifted frustration giving way to something else.

"I was trying to do something normal," she said. "You were tense. I was tense. I thought maybe... we could just sit. Talk. Without meetings. Without—" she gestured vaguely "—all of that."

"You thought wine and strawberries would fix this?" I asked softly.

"No," she replied. "I thought it might make it easier."

I stepped closer. "You should have just come yourself," I said.

"I wasn't sure you'd want me to." She avoided my gaze. 

The honesty in that stilled something in me.

"I turned it down," I admitted, "because nothing arrives at my door without motive."

Her shoulders dropped slightly.

"Well," she muttered, "this one did."

Silence lingered between us.

Then I asked quietly, "Are you angry?"

Her lips pressed together.

"Yes."

I nodded. "Good," I said. "So am I."

Her brows knit together in confusion.

"At the situation," I clarified. "Not you."

"You could've just told me," she said.

"And you could've knocked normally."

A reluctant spark flashed in her eyes. "You deserved aggressive knocking." And I smiled. 

"Why are you smiling?" she threw me a glare.

I shook my head. "Nothing."

I walked past her and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on my hands. "Call the lady."

Her glare sharpened. "For what?"

"Tell her to bring it back."

Her mouth fell open. "You're joking."

"I'm not."

"You just turned it down."

"And now I'm changing my mind."

She crossed her arms. "Lucien."

I tilted my head, studying her. "You wanted to do something normal, didn't you?"

"Call her," I repeated calmly.

The look she gave me could have set the curtains on fire. God, I liked this side of her.

The irritation. The spark. The way her eyes flashed when she was trying not to smile.

I shouldn't enjoy getting on her nerves this much.

But I do.

"Fine," she muttered, pulling out her phone.

She turned slightly away from me as she made the call, lowering her voice. I watched her the entire time.

She didn't know I was watching.

Didn't know that this her trying, even in the middle of chaos did something to me.

Seconds later, a knock came at the door. Then she nudged me with her knee. "Go get it."

I raised a brow. "Why?"

"You don't expect me to open that door so she can see me here."

A slow grin spread across my face. "Suspicious, aren't we?"

"Lucien."

I stood, still amused, and walked to the door. I opened it only slightly just enough to take the tray without exposing the room.

The same woman stood there, composed as before.

"Thank you," I said evenly, taking the cart handle before she could glance past me.

She nodded and stepped back. I shut the door immediately. I wheeled the tray toward the bed, the soft rattle of glass filling the quiet room.

Valentina watched me. I positioned the cart beside the bed and lifted one of the silver domes dramatically.

"Well," I said lightly, glancing at her. "This looks like a romantic date, doesn't it?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

I chuckled softly, pouring the wine into the glass.

Strawberries. Chocolate. Candlelight from the city filtering through the window.

It did look intentional. I handed her a glass.

"You started this," I reminded her.

She took it cautiously. "I didn't intend for it to look like... this."

"Like what?"

"Like we're pretending everything is fine."

I studied her for a moment before sitting back down beside her on the bed.

"We're not pretending," I said quietly. "We're just... pausing."

She looked at the tray, then at me.

"For how long?" she asked.

"For tonight."

She took a cautious sip of the wine, eyes still studying me over the rim of the glass. Then she paused.

"Wait," she said, lowering it. "Why did you give me the drink? You're supposed to be the one drinking. And eating everything."

An amused smile escaped me. "I want you to enjoy it too," I said simply.

She blinked at that.

"It might not be a date," I added, glancing at the tray, "but it definitely looks like a romantic one."

She slapped my back lightly. "You're crazy."

I laughed under my breath.

"Drink," she ordered, pushing my glass toward me.

"Yes, ma'am."

I took the glass and drank, letting the wine settle slowly. She watched to make sure I actually swallowed.

"Now eat," she insisted, nudging the strawberries toward me.

"You're very bossy tonight."

"Eat."

I obeyed, taking one of the strawberries and biting into it. Her lips twitched.

For a moment, silence settled between us. Not heavy this time. Just... quiet.

"How do we deal with the girls?" she asked breaking the silence. 

There it was. The real reason she came. I set the glass down slowly.

"I already made a move," I said.

Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I called Kade. I told him to delayed the Rotterdam transfer."

Her posture straightened immediately. "You did?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Forty-eight hours."

"That's it?"

"For now."

She studied me carefully. "How?"

"Port authority inspection. Paperwork discrepancy. Something boring enough that my father won't dig too deep."

"And he won't suspect anything?"

"He might," I admitted. "But not immediately."

"And after forty-eight hours?"

"I reroute them."

She frowned. "Reroute?"

"Not to where he intended."

Confusion flickered over her face. "Where?"

"Safe holding under one of our shell companies. Somewhere quieter. Off his primary radar."

"And then what?" she pressed.

"Then I find a way to dismantle that branch quietly. Move them out legally if I can. If not..." I paused.

"If not?" she whispered.

"I'll burn the paper trail."

She stared at me.

"You've thought about this," she said softly.

"I've had to. But that's not the only problem."

"What else?"

I hesitated briefly.

"Tomorrow," I said carefully, "My father plans to have you sign the European compliance agreement."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"He wants your signature tied to the operation."

"Why?"

"Because it binds you legally. Makes you complicit. If anything ever surfaces, your name is on it too."

The color drained slightly from her face.

"He wouldn't—"

"He would."

"He wants control," I continued. "If you're legally involved, walking away becomes impossible."

"I'm not signing anything."

"You can't just refuse outright," I said calmly.

"Why not?"

"Because he won't corner you in private. He'll do it in front of executives. Lawyers. Make it look procedural. Normal. He'll make refusal seem irrational."

Her breathing slowed as she processed that.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"You stall," I said. "Ask questions. Request revisions. Say you want your own legal review in New York."

"And if he pressures me?"

"You stand your ground calmly."

"And if he intimidates me?"

I met her gaze directly.

"You look at me."

Her eyes searched mine.

"I won't let him force you," I said.

She swallowed.

"You're sure?"

"No," I admitted honestly. "But I won't let you face it alone."

She leaned back slightly, absorbing everything.

"You were already working on this," she said quietly. "Before I came here tonight."

"Yes."

"Even if I hadn't sent the food?"

"Yes."

Something softened in her expression.

"You don't agree with what he's doing," she said.

"No."

"Then why stay?"

I held her gaze.

"Because leaving without power changes nothing," I replied. "Stopping him requires leverage. And I don't have enough of it yet."

Silence returned.  She picked up another strawberry and handed it to me absentmindedly.

I took it.

"We're in this together, aren't we?" she asked.

I didn't hesitate. "Yes."

And for tonight, at least, that felt like enough.