Chapter 107
Chapter 107
Eloise’s POV
The courthouse steps were still warm from the midday sun, but the air had that sharp bite of early winter, the kind that made my breath curl faintly in front of me. People spilled out of the building in uneven waves, reporters with cameras slung around their necks, legal assistants clutching stacks of folders, the curious bystanders who had nothing better to do than watch someone else’s downfall.
Some reporters rush toward me, camera clicking, lenses glinting.
‘Ms Sinclair, any comment on your sister?’ One says.
I walk past them without breaking stride, my heels striking the wide stone steps in a steady, deliberate rhythm. Black dress, black coat, hair pinned back neatly — not a single thing out of place. The hearing had gone exactly the way I wanted, and for once, there was no lingering sting, or anything threatening to make me soft.
I was halfway to the bottom when I heard it.
“Eloise.”
I didn’t stop. The sound of my name in his voice was a familiar note in a song I’d long since deleted from memory, deep, smooth, tinged with that thread of command he liked to think was irresistible. It didn’t even brush my skin now.
His footsteps quickened behind me, each one closing the space between us.
“Wait,” he said, breathless in a way that told me he hadn’t expected to have to chase me. “I need to talk to you.”
I reached the last step and stepped onto the pavement, the cold of the stone fading into the grit of the sidewalk under my soles. My pace didn’t falter.
“You don’t,” I said, my voice even, the kind of calm that drew blood more effectively than shouting.
“Please.” He was beside me now, tall enough that his shadow cut into mine. “I know I’ve—”
“You don’t know anything,” I said, turning my head just enough to let him see my eyes. He flinched, almost imperceptibly, at the wall he found there.
“I was wrong. About… a lot of things. I want to make things right.”
I almost laughed, but I kept my mouth still. “You can’t.”
The way his face shifted, like he’d taken a punch he hadn’t braced for, was a small, cold satisfaction.
“I mean it,” he pressed, lowering his voice so the press swarming at the top of the steps couldn’t hear. “What I did… the way I treated you—”
“You’re wasting your breath.”
He blinked, as though he hadn’t thought I’d cut him off. “You can’t even give me a chance to explain?”
I tilted my head slightly, my gaze steady. “I gave you years, Lucian. You spent them showing me exactly who you are.”
Something flickered in his eyes — not regret, not really. Pride, wounded and restless, curling in on itself like a snake.
“People can change.”
“Some can,” I said, shifting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “You’re not one of them.”
I stepped past him, my shoulder brushing his only because he was in my way, and didn’t look back. The scent of his cologne, the same one he’d worn when he thought he was untouchable, trailed behind me, fading with every step.
.
By the time I reached the car, the air smelled cleaner. My driver opened the door without a word, and I slid into the cool leather seat, the door closing out the noise of the street.
“Straight home, ma’am?” he asked.
“No,” I said, pulling my phone from my bag. “To the office.”
There was work to do.
Lucian’s sudden display of remorse didn’t fool me, it wasn’t an apology, it was a reconnaissance mission. He wanted to see where the cracks were, if I’d left any door unlocked.
I hadn’t.
But I had left a door open for myself, one that led straight into his accounts, his shell companies, his little hoards of stolen gold dressed up as legitimate assets. My legal team was already in motion, quietly filing the paperwork that would begin freezing and seizing what was mine.
I didn’t need him to hand me the knife. I’d already sharpened my own.
.
The next morning, I woke to the faint smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen. My apartment was still, sunlight stretching across the floor in pale stripes through the blinds. The silence was good — it made the sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand audible.
A message from my lawyer.
‘We’ve hit a snag. You’ll want to see this in person.’
I dressed quickly, navy blouse, charcoal trousers, and by the time I stepped into the firm’s private conference room, the paper was already waiting for me. A legal notice, crisp and smug in its phrasing.
Lucian had filed an injunction. An order to seal certain financial records.
Something he didn’t want me to see.
I read the lines twice, the words settling into place like puzzle pieces that only confirmed what I already knew: his apology yesterday had been nothing more than a stalling tactic.
He wasn’t sorry. He was greedy. Still too proud of himself to admit the game was over.
The corner of my mouth lifted, not in amusement, but in the slow, deliberate recognition of an opponent making his move.
He thought I’d stop here. But Lucian had always underestimated me, even when I was standing right in front of him.
I set the paper down and reached for my phone. “Get me everything,” I told my lawyer. “If he’s hiding something, I want to know what, where, and who’s holding it for him.”
There was a pause on the other end. “That could take some time.”
I looked at the injunction again, the bolded words temporarily sealed standing out like a challenge.
“Then we’d better get started,” I said.