Chapter 141 Unraveling Threads
Chapter 141 Unraveling Threads
Briar's POV
Lucian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small container of pistachios, already shelled. He brought one to my lips, his fingers brushing against my mouth with deliberate slowness.
Without thinking, I parted my lips slightly to accept it. But instead of the nut, I felt his mouth cover mine, his hand sliding to cup the back of my head as he kissed me with sudden intensity.
Footsteps echoed from inside the house, and I tried to push him away, but his arm only tightened around my waist, pulling me closer against the railing.
"You're insane," I hissed against his mouth when he finally let me breathe. "This is the Castellan estate."
His eyes glinted with dark amusement. "If we were somewhere else, could we continue?"
The audacity made me want to kick him. I tried, aiming for his shin in the dim light, but miscalculated and nearly lost my balance.
"Careful," he said, steadying me.
He released me, stepping back to pull out his phone. In the screen's glow, he deliberately smeared the lipstick at his mouth with his thumb, transforming a clean kiss into something that looked heated and prolonged.
Before I could process what he'd done, a knock sounded at the terrace door.
"Miss Vance?" Oscar's voice carried through the glass. "I'm heading out. Would you like me to give you a ride back?"
Lucian moved past me to open the door, and the light from inside illuminated his face clearly. The smeared lipstick was impossible to miss, a deliberate mark of possession painted across his mouth.
"We're heading the same direction," Lucian said smoothly before I could respond. "I'll make sure she gets home safely."
Oscar's gaze lingered on Lucian's face for perhaps three seconds before he gave a small, polite nod and looked at me with quiet amusement.
"Who said I was going anywhere with you?" I cut in immediately, stepping forward.
Oscar's eyes crinkled slightly, something that might have been amusement flickering across his features before he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
---
Several days later, the news broke that Vincent was considering investment opportunities in Seattle's biotech sector. The announcement sent ripples through the business community, and suddenly Oscar was at Vance Botanicals nearly every other day.
After one particularly long strategy session, Oscar leaned back in his chair and studied the expansion plans spread across the conference table. "If we secure Vincent's investment, we can leverage his reputation to break into the European market."
"I'm not interested in giving Vincent majority control," I said flatly. "That's non-negotiable."
Oscar nodded, unsurprised by my position. "What percentage are you comfortable with?"
I pulled out the financial projections I'd been working on and slid them across to him. "Foreign investment caps at one third. That keeps Vincent interested without giving him enough voting power to override decisions. I'll match that with my personal capital, and we'll bring in a third partner to balance the structure."
"Smart," Oscar said, genuine approval in his voice. "You're thinking long-term. Who did you have in mind for the third position?"
I met his gaze directly. "Not you. You just finished a major investment round for your own company. I'm not going to bleed you dry just because you're willing."
He smiled at that, but something in his expression shifted, becoming more serious. "Speaking of investments, Sterling and Montgomery have been unusually quiet lately. Too quiet."
My hand stilled on the papers I'd been organizing. "What do you mean?"
"Julian and Willow left for Mexico three days ago," Oscar said casually, but his eyes were watchful. "Supposedly for a pharmaceutical conference, but the timing is interesting."
Mexico. The word triggered a cascade of connections in my mind. Sterling Pharmaceuticals' money laundering operations that Lucian had uncovered, the shell companies, the complex web of transactions that always seemed to trace back to international borders. If they were moving product through Mexico, that's where the source would be.
"You think that's where their supply chain originates," I said slowly.
Oscar's silence was confirmation enough. Then he added, almost too carefully, "Make sure you keep those documents Lucian gave you somewhere very safe."
I looked up sharply. "How do you know about those?"
"Because Sterling Pharmaceuticals' internal financial records aren't exactly public information," Oscar said. "The only way anyone outside the family could access them would be from inside the company itself."
The pieces fell into place with uncomfortable clarity. Lucian was still embedded in Sterling operations. He had been gathering evidence from within.
Oscar didn't confirm or deny, but he didn't need to.
"He's in his own family's company," I said. "What could possibly go wrong?"
---
That afternoon, I stopped by Nightfall Medical Center to check on Ash. The nurse at the reception desk smiled when I asked for his room number.
"Oh, young Mr. Kincaid was discharged two days ago," she said brightly. "His brother came to pick him up."
I was turning to leave when I heard someone behind me ask the same question in a voice that trembled slightly.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Ash Kincaid's room?"
I turned and found myself face to face with the woman from the park, the one Ash had accidentally hit with a snowball. Mrs. Cross, I remembered. Her elegant coat and carefully styled hair couldn't quite hide the exhaustion in her eyes.
The nurse repeated the information about Ash's discharge, and I watched Mrs. Cross's shoulders sag with what looked like disappointment. She thanked the nurse quietly and turned toward the stairwell instead of the elevator.
Something in her defeated posture made me follow. She moved through the building like someone in a daze, and when she finally emerged onto the street, I hung back in the doorway.
A car pulled up abruptly, and a man jumped out. Daniel Cross. Even from this distance, the resemblance to Ash was striking, the same sharp features and dark hair, though decades older and carrying the weight of years.
He caught his wife in his arms as she tried to push past him. "Please," he said, his voice carrying across the quiet street. "Just listen—"
"Listen?" Mrs. Cross's voice cracked. "Like I listened twenty years ago when you told me that woman meant nothing? When you swore it was just one mistake?"
"It was a mistake," Daniel said desperately. "I never meant—"
"She was your mistress!" Mrs. Cross was crying now, her hands beating weakly against his chest. "And when she killed herself, you thought that made it even? That her death somehow balanced out what you took from me?"
"No, I never—"
"I protected you!" she screamed. "I kept your dirty secrets, I smiled at those charity functions, I played the perfect wife while you destroyed our family! Maybe everyone should see what you really are!"
Daniel pulled her closer, his own face crumpling. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."
"Sorry doesn't bring him back!" Mrs. Cross sobbed. "It's almost his birthday, Daniel. My baby would have been twenty years old in two days. Twenty years, and I still don't know if he's alive or dead, if he's warm or cold, if he's—"
Her voice broke completely, and she sagged against her husband's chest.
"I was so cold that day," she whispered. "But how cold was he? A newborn baby, thrown in a dumpster in a snowstorm because your mistress couldn't stand to look at him. How cold was my son?"
"We've looked," Daniel said, his voice hollow. "We've hired investigators, we've followed every lead—"
"That boy," Mrs. Cross interrupted, gripping his coat with desperate hands. "I need to see him again. He could be—"
"Don't," Daniel said, and there was pain in the word. "We've done this before. We've found boys who look like they could be him, and every time it destroys you a little more when they're not."
"But what if he is?" Mrs. Cross pulled back to look at her husband's face. "What if this time—"
"We'll look into it," Daniel promised. "But please, don't hope too much. I can't watch you break again."
Mrs. Cross's laugh was bitter and broken. "If you can't find him, I don't want to live anymore. Do you understand? I can't do this without knowing he's safe."