Chapter 68 68
Lucas’s face twisted with fury, veins standing out on his neck.
“Get out of my way, Blair,” he seethed, voice low and dangerous, each word carved out like a threat. “I’m not asking again.”
Blair planted herself between him and the hallway leading to Mave’s tiny bedroom, arms spread wide like she could physically block the entire doorway with her body.
“No,” she said, voice shaking but fierce. “I won’t, Lucas Brooks. All I want is for you to leave here. We don’t fucking need you. We don’t need your money. We never did.”
Mave, still clinging to the edge of the couch, had started crying—big, heaving sobs that made his whole little body shake.
His face was red, tears streaming, snot running down his upper lip. He looked terrified, caught between the two people he loved most in the world suddenly turning into strangers.
“Mommy… Daddy… stop…” he whimpered, voice breaking.
Lucas didn’t even glance at the boy this time.
His eyes were locked on Blair.
He lifted his phone, thumbed a quick button, and spoke into it without breaking eye contact.
“Up here. Now. Both of you.”
Less than thirty seconds later, heavy footsteps thundered up the narrow staircase. The apartment door flew open again.
Two large men in dark suits stepped inside.
Lucas jerked his chin toward Mave.
“Take him to the car. Gently. But take him.”
Blair’s scream ripped through the small apartment.
“NO!”
She threw herself forward, trying to reach Mave, but one of the bodyguards stepped in front of her.
The other one scooped Mave up smoothly, cradling the crying child against his chest like he’d done this a hundred times before.
Mave’s wails turned hysterical.
“Daddy! Mommy! No—let me go!”
Blair collapsed.
Her knees hit the worn carpet hard enough to bruise. She clawed at the bodyguard’s leg, at the air, at anything she could reach.
“No… no, please… don’t do this to me, Mr. Brooks…”
Her voice cracked into sobs. “Don’t take him from me. He’s all I have. Please… I’m begging you… don’t do this…”
Tears poured down her face in rivers. She reached toward Mave, fingers trembling, stretching as far as she could while the bodyguard held him firmly out of reach.
Lucas stood over her, unmoving.
His chest rose and fell, but his expression was stone.
“You had five years to tell me he existed,” he said quietly, voice stripped of everything but ice. “You chose to keep him in this… this place. You chose to let him grow up without a father. That ends tonight.”
Blair’s shoulders shook with violent sobs.
She pressed her forehead to the floor, hands fisted in the carpet, body curled in on itself.
“Please…” she whispered, over and over, the word barely audible now. “Please… don’t… he’s my baby…”
The bodyguard carrying Mave moved toward the door.
The little boy was still crying, reaching back over the man’s shoulder with both arms.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Lucas turned away—couldn’t watch anymore.
“Get him in the car,” he told the men. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
The door closed behind them.
Mave’s cries echoed down the stairwell, growing fainter with each step.
Blair stayed on her knees in the middle of the tiny living room, rocking slowly, arms wrapped around her empty chest.
Within one minute, Lucas was back down the narrow stairs.
The black SUV idled at the curb, rear door still open. One of the bodyguards stood beside it like a statue, arms folded.
Inside, Mave sat on the wide leather seat, legs dangling off the edge, tiny hands clutching the seatbelt strap he couldn’t quite buckle yet.
His face was still blotchy from crying, but the sobs had quieted to shaky hiccups.
Lucas slid into the back seat beside him, pulling the door shut with a soft, final thud.
Mave looked up at him with those big, familiar eyes.
“Daddy…” he whispered, voice small and awed. “You got a huge car. Like the one I always see in my comics. There’s enough space for… for everything.”
He glanced around the empty seats, then back at Lucas.
“But I don’t want to leave without my mommy.”
Lucas turned his head to the side, staring out the tinted window at the flashing streetlamp. His throat worked hard—once, twice. He swallowed the lump that felt like broken glass.
“Baby,” he said quietly, forcing his voice steady, “ssh. You don’t need to talk about her right now. I’m here, okay? Daddy is finally here.”
Mave’s bottom lip trembled. He reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Lucas’s jacket with both hands.
“But Daddy… Mommy…”
“I know,” Lucas cut in gently, turning back to face him. He rested one hand on the boy’s knee—careful, like he was afraid he might break something. “Mommy will come after, okay? We’re just going home first. Let’s go home.”
Mave searched his face, searching for the lie he was too young to name but old enough to feel.
“Promise me, Daddy?” he asked, voice cracking on the last word.
Lucas looked straight into those eyes—his eyes—and felt something inside him fracture all over again.
“Yes, son,” he said, the words rough. “I promise.”
He reached over and finally clicked the seatbelt into place, pulling it snug across Mave’s small chest.
The driver didn’t wait for another word. The engine purred to life, tires rolling smoothly away from the curb.
Within minutes, the black SUV glided through the wrought-iron gates of the Brooks mansion.
Mave had fallen asleep halfway through the ride, tiny body curled against Lucas’s side, head resting on his father’s thigh.
Lucas didn’t wake him.
Instead, he carefully shifted the boy, lifting him onto his shoulder in one smooth, motion—like he’d done it a thousand times before, even though this was the first.
Mave’s head lolled against his neck, warm breath tickling Lucas’s skin, curls tickling his jaw.
They walked up the wide stone steps in silence. The double front doors opened before Lucas even reached them—staff always watching, always ready.
Lucas’s mother, stood in the grand foyer, arms crossed over her robe, silver hair perfectly pinned even at this hour. She had clearly been waiting up, perhaps sensing something was wrong the moment Lucas left earlier.
Her eyes widened the second she saw the small figure draped over her son’s shoulder.
“Lucas…” Her voice trailed off as she took in the sleeping child—dark curls, soft cheeks, the unmistakable Brooks nose. Confusion flashed across her features.
“Who… do we have here?”
Lucas kept walking, heading straight for the staircase without breaking stride.
“Mom,” he said, voice low and tired, “can I go in first? I need to… get him settled.”
Eleanor stepped forward, blocking the bottom of the st
airs with surprising speed for someone in her late sixties.
“Lucas Brooks, you will stop right there and explain yourself. Right. Now.”