Chapter 72 72
Blair’s eyes blazed as she stood her ground in the middle of the sitting room, fists clenched at her sides.
“You really think I will leave my son with you in a day, monster?”
Lucas’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer, voice low and cutting.
“Get out of here, Blair. I owe you no explanation.”
“I’m not leaving without him, Lucas Brooks. Where were you all those years? Where were you when he was sick at three in the morning? When he took his first steps? When he asked why he didn’t have a daddy like the other kids?”
Lucas’s face darkened.
“Security will throw you out, whore.”
Blair laughed once—sharp, bitter.
“No one should dare lay their hands on me.”
“Hey, shut up, Blair. Remember? I’m the boss here and you’re just some low-budget whore in disguise as a coffee seller.”
“Boss?” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Not today, Brooks. I submitted my resignation. I want my son. I’m leaving for good—with him.”
Lucas’s patience snapped.
“Security!”
Two guards appeared almost instantly, moving fast toward her.
Blair didn’t flinch.
But before they could reach her, a small, trembling voice cut through the tension.
“Mommy?”
Everyone froze.
Mave stood in the doorway—barefoot, still in his Spider-Man pajamas, teddy bear dangling from one hand. His eyes were wide, red-rimmed from earlier tears, but the second he saw Blair, he bolted forward.
“Baby!” Blair dropped to her knees the instant he reached her, arms open.
Mave crashed into her, hugging her neck so tight his little knuckles turned white.
Blair buried her face in his curls, rocking him gently.
“I’m here… I’m here, my love. Mommy’s here.”
Mave pulled back just enough to look at Lucas over her shoulder. His face lit up with innocent confusion and relief.
“Daddy, thank you for saving Mommy from these bad guys.” He pointed at the guards, then glanced upward toward the staircase. “And also… can the scary aunty upstairs leave? She looks like the witch in my comics.”
Lucas stared at his son—at the way Mave clung to Blair like she was oxygen, at the pure, unfiltered trust in those big brown eyes that were so much like his own.
He sighed—long, defeated.
Mave turned back to Blair, small hands cupping her face.
“Mom, promise you’re not leaving?”
Blair’s gaze lifted slowly. She locked eyes with Lucas over Mave’s head.
Before Lucas could speak, Mave suddenly let go of Blair and ran to him instead. He wrapped both arms around Lucas’s leg, looking up with fresh tears spilling over.
“I want Mommy to stay,” he cried, voice cracking. “Please, Daddy… I want Mommy to stay…”
He kept crying—soft, heartbreaking sobs—until Eleanor appeared in the doorway, arms folded, giving Lucas a pointed side-eye that said more than words ever could.
Eleanor cleared her throat.
“Yes, Mommy will stay, son,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Lucas exhaled through his nose, disgust flashing across his face. But he didn’t contradict her.
He crouched slowly, gently prying Mave’s arms from around his leg. He held the boy’s small hands in his own.
“Can I talk to Mommy, son? Just for a minute? Upstairs. You stay with Grandma Eleanor, okay? She’ll read you a story.”
Mave sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He looked between them, uncertain, then nodded slowly.
“Okay, Daddy.”
Lucas stood. He reached down, took Blair’s hand—tight, almost bruising—and pulled her to her feet.
She didn’t resist, but her eyes never left his face.
He led her out of the sitting room, past the guards, past Eleanor (who gave him another long look), and up the grand staircase.
They didn’t speak.
He pushed open the door to his private study—the one with the heavy oak door and the lock that clicked like a vault.
He guided her inside.
The door shut behind them.
He turned the key.
The lock snapped into place.
Silence fell, thick and dangerous.
Lucas let go of her hand and leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, staring at her like she was both the enemy and the answer to every question he’d ever had.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
“Don’t you dare think you are coming to stay, Blair,” Lucas said, voice low, each word measured like he was carving it into stone.
“You are only here to serve my son. And don’t think—don’t even dream—you’ll ever have access to my heart or my body again. You are going to stay here as a nanny for my son. That’s it. That’s the deal. Nothing more.”
Blair let the silence stretch for three full heartbeats.
Then she laughed.
“You really believe that, don’t you?” she said quietly. “That you can just… assign me a role. Nanny. Servant. Ex. Whatever label makes it easier for you to pretend you’re in control.”
Lucas’s jaw flexed.
“I am in control. This is my house. My son. My rules.”
“Your son,” Blair repeated softly. She took one slow step forward. “The same son who cried for me every night you weren’t there. The same son who just hugged me downstairs like I was air and he was drowning.
The same son who looked at that woman—your fiancée—and said she looked like a witch from his comics. That son?”
Lucas didn’t answer. His hands dropped to his sides, fingers curling into fists.
Blair kept going, voice steady.
“You can call me whatever you want. Nanny. Whore. Coffee seller. Low-budget. It doesn’t change facts. I carried him for nine months. I birthed him alone in a hospital room at three in the morning while you were probably closing some deal or fucking someone who wasn’t me.
I raised him on minimum wage and second-hand clothes and bedtime stories I made up because we couldn’t afford books. I kept him safe when the world wanted to chew him up. So yes, Lucas—I’ll stay.
I’ll stay in this gilded cage you call a house. I’ll be the ‘nanny’ if that’s what it takes to wake up in the same building as my child.”
She took another step closer.
“But hear me clearly,” she continued, eyes never leaving his. “I am not here for your heart. I stopped wanting that the day I walked out your door and realized it was never really mine.
I am not here for your body—I’ve spent years learning how to live without it. I am here for him. Only him. And if you think you can parade me around like some hired
help, humiliate me, lock me in the guest wing, and expect me to bow and smile while you play house with your fiancée… you’re wrong.”