Chapter 58 Third POV
What if my father had an affair with this Evelyn person? Perhaps that’s the reason he’s searching for her? What if Lucien was the product of that affair? Does that mean that Lucien and I are—
Celeste gasped, hands flying to her mouth to shut herself up from completing the foul thought.
Her stomach twisted anxiously as she paced the length of her bedroom, trying to make sense of the envelope she had found in her father’s office earlier.
Meanwhile, in the room across the hallway, Lucien had buried himself in what could only be called an investigation.
He sat at his desk, back hunched over, scribbling connections between Vanessa, Camille, James, his father, and even Brad Miller.
He was certain this whole side quest would somehow lead him to his mother.
“Brad Miller—artifact courier who worked for Vanessa… called Celeste twice and said her mother was alive. Brad was shot about a month ago.”
“Ivana Easton’s last move was a month ago. Ivana Easton… may be Camille Ashford. Camille Ashford’s death faked by James? Reginald? Reginald knows about Ivana. Perhaps he’s backing her up?”
He stared at the lines, circles, and annotations sprawled across the paper and blinked.
Where was finding my mother in all of this? He wondered.
He barely had time to dwell on that thought before a sharp knock interrupted him.
“It’s me, Celeste,” came the voice from the other side.
“Come in,” he replied, scrambling to cover the papers with books and whatever else was nearby. A quick glance at the desk assured him she wouldn’t notice anything.
When she walked in, her eyes were wide, her hands gripping her phone like it could anchor her spiraling thoughts.
He smiled at her. “I didn’t realize you were back already.”
She smiled back, politely. “Yes… I didn’t want to disturb you when I heard you come in.”
He nodded, noting the flush in her cheeks. “How was your first day?”
She told him how it went, down to the flowers, her stepmother, Vanessa, presented.
“I mean, tell me why anyone in their right mind will present chrysanthemums…” but her voice trailed off when she realized his expression had shifted.
She thought she was boring him.
He thought about how that name was entangled in everything.
There and then, he decided that Vanessa was a wild card. One he needed to be cautious about.
“Are you alright?” Her voice cut through his thoughts.
He nodded. “I’m fine.”
She nodded back, gripping her phone even tightly.
She had come to take her mind off her Evelyn Smith thoughts, but seeing Lucien’s face only made things worse.
And the thought. Oh, just the thought that they might be siblings—
“Tell me about your mother!” She blurted out to free her mind from its new madness.
“We…we didn’t get to finish our conversation about her before the accident happened that day.” She slowly explained.
He blinked at her, slightly taken aback by the sudden outburst.
She bit her lips in embarrassment, brushing off the talk with an apology. “That was quite random… I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s fine. I know you’re trying to take your mind off things, and somehow, you ended up thinking about that night.”
It wasn’t. She had planned this moment from the moment she stepped out of her room.
“I have already told you about how she left me at my father’s front porch,” he said, casual, unbothered.
“I didn’t know she worked for your household as a housekeeper until after we were married. I don’t recall ever going there myself. I usually came home after school and waited so we could bake together when she got back. One day, she didn’t go to work, and we baked all day. One day turned into days… then weeks… then months.”
“Little me thought I’d won the lottery,” he said, smiling at the memory forming in his mind.
“We were spending so much time together, and then, one day… she just sent me there and left.”
The smile disappeared from his face, and his expression turned serious.
He swallowed a lump and clenched his jaw. He couldn’t let her see him like that. Weak. Vulnerable.
He couldn’t stand the thought of her comforting him.
Don’t ever get too comfortable, Lucien. He reminded himself.
“So…you never got to know the reason?” Celeste cautiously asked.
“No…she just quit. She quit her job. Her responsibility to me as a mother. She quit everything,” Lucien said coldly.
She had seen the shift, she had noticed his eyes turn glassy, she had seen his jaw clench and hands fold into his fists.
He hated talking about his mother. Perhaps he even hated her?
She didn’t know, she couldn’t tell.
Do I tell him about the photo, what happens next? What if telling him opens up Pandora’s Box? What if I ruin everything? Perhaps I shouldn’t?
She quickly shifted the topic, to something that wasn’t about her, but wasn’t too farfetched.
“Days like this make me think of my mother. Sometimes, I wonder what she’d be like if she was alive.”
He stiffened.
Because he knew it was a possibility. That perhaps she’d been alive the entire time locked away from reality.
Do I tell her about Ivana Easton? What if it isn’t her? I’d given her false hope. Maybe it’s easier if the truth is concealed for now. He decided.
“I’m sorry about your mother, Celeste,” he finally said, more detached than he'd intended to.
“Thanks,” she sniffled. She didn’t realize that tears were trailing down her cheeks.
She pointed to the awkward stack of books and reading lamps on Lucien’s desk.
“Work?”
“Yeah.” He lied. “Jackson asked me to review some documents.”
“Okay.” She nodded, but she could tell he was lying because his laptop was nowhere in sight. Also, it was a stack of law textbooks. But she didn’t bother him, she agreed with his lie this time.
“I’ll let you work then.”
The moment she stepped out, the lock clicked shut, and Lucien let out a barely audible sigh of relief.
A small sigh escaped her lips as she returned to her bedroom. She pulled out the little safe she had randomly bought earlier in the day.
From a drawer, she retrieved the envelope. She gave it one last glance before making her decision.
Carefully, she placed it in the safe and locked it on the top shelf of the drawer.
“Maybe some things are better left as they are,” she whispered to herself.
Back in Lucien’s bedroom, his email notification pinged. It was from Westbridge Psychiatric Care Facility. They had accepted his proposal and said he could come in three days for an evaluation.
“Yes!” he muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, everything was falling into place.