Chapter 42 Chapter 42
Valentina
I didn't go back to Ambrose's mansion yet. I told the driver to take me to my parents house instead. I needed to see my sisters before my father returned. Before he filled the house with his presence and his rules and his version of reality.
The moment I entered the living room, Violeta's voice shrieked before she launched herself at me. "Valentina!"
Viviana followed right behind her.
"You're back!" Violeta said, holding my arms, scanning my face. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"You look tired," Viviana added, softer, studying me carefully.
I forced a smile. "I missed you both."
And I had. God, I had.
For a moment, being wrapped between them felt normal. Safe. Like I wasn't someone's bargaining chip.
My mother sat on the couch across the room. Elegant. Composed.
She didn't rush to hug me. She didn't even stand.
"Valentina," she acknowledged calmly.
"Mother."
"Are you staying for dinner?" Viviana asked.
"I just came to see you," I replied.
Violeta looped her arm through mine. "Good. You can help me pick a dress for the gala next week. Father says it's important." She said boringly. "He's been reminding us of that for days now. I wonder what he's planning."
Important. Of course it was. Everything was always important when appearances were involved.
I glanced at my mother. She was observing us quietly.
After a few minutes of small talk and forced laughter, I gently squeezed Violeta's hand.
"I need to speak with Mother."
They both groaned dramatically.
"Don't fight," Violeta warned playfully.
Viviana smiled. "She won't. She's married now. She's diplomatic."
If only they knew.
I walked down the familiar hallway toward my mother's bedroom. She followed shortly after, closing the door behind her.
The moment we were alone, she spoke up. "What is this about?"
I turned to face her fully. "Are you going to sit and watch?" I asked.
Her brows pulled together. "Watch what?"
"Watch our lives be negotiated."
Her expression hardened. "Is that why you're here?"
"No but since I'm here why not talk about it."
She straightened. "Your father knows what he is doing."
"That's what you believe?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "He has always provided. He has always protected this family."
"At what cost?" My voice cracked.
"You are speaking emotionally."
"I am speaking as your daughter."
She went quiet.
"You know what Ambrose is involved in?" I asked.
"Business alliances are complicated. She looked away. "You are married now. You must learn not to question everything."
Something inside me snapped.
"He almost hit me."
Her head turned sharply.
"What?"
"In Amsterdam," I continued. "He grabbed my arm. Hard. In a hotel room. Because I questioned him."
Her composure flickered.
"He was angry," she said automatically. "Men in power—"
"Do not excuse that," I whispered.
I stepped closer. "You're exaggerating," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
I lifted my sleeve slightly, revealing the faint yellowing bruise that still lingered near my wrist.
Her eyes dropped to it. And something changed. She stepped closer without realizing she had.
"He gripped you like that?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"And your Father knows?"
"I don't think he cares."
She inhaled. For the first time, she looked less like the polished wife of a powerful man...And more like a woman.
A mother.
"You think marrying me to him was protection?" I asked softly. "Protection from what?"
Her lips pressed together.
"You think aligning with men like that keeps us safe?" My voice trembled. "It makes us property."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"Your father believes strength comes from alliances."
"And what do you believe?"
Her eyes opened slowly. For a long moment, she didn't answer.
Then, quietly. "I believed he would choose carefully."
"You still believe that? Mother... your daughters need you."
Her gaze lifted to mine.
"Not as Father's supporter. Not as his echo."
I swallowed.
"We need you as our mother."
Her eyes glistened, though she blinked it away quickly.
"You think it is easy?" she asked in a low voice. "To oppose your father?"
"I am living it," I whispered.
Her shoulders sagged just a fraction.
"When I married him," she said slowly, "I thought obedience meant stability."
"And now?"
She looked toward the door, as if she could see the whole house beyond it.
"Now I am not sure."
Hope flickered painfully in my chest.
"He is planning things for Violeta," I said quietly. "And for Viviana."
Her eyes snapped back to me.
"No."
"Yes."
Fear—real fear moved across her face.
"You have to stand with us," I said. "If you don't, he will keep deciding our lives like contracts."
She walked to the edge of the bed and sat down slowly.
"I have lived in this house for twenty-five years," she murmured. "I know how he operates."
"Then help us."
She looked up at me. I didn't see distance in her eyes. I saw conflict. Pain.
"He will not like this," she said.
"I know."
"You are asking me to choose."
"Yes."
Silence filled the room again.
Finally, she reached forward and gently touched my wrist.
Her thumb brushed lightly over the fading mark.
And in that small gesture... I felt it. She hadn't fully turned. But she wasn't completely blind anymore either. And that was a beginning.
After leaving my parents house I still didn't go back home. Even though it was almost 10PM. I went over to Lucien private house instead and texted him that I was there.
I let myself in with the code he had given me weeks ago. I slipped off my heels and walked toward the kitchen island. My nerves were still humming from the confrontation with my father... from my mother's almost-break... from the truth sitting heavy in my chest.
I poured myself a drink. I found one in his refrigerator. Then I moved to the living area and turned on the television to a comedy show. I curled into the corner of the couch, glass in hand, eyes fixed on the screen.
The laughter track filled the room.
And slowly, I felt myself get pulled into it. One of the characters slipped on something ridiculous and landed flat on his back. I let out a small, surprised laugh.
For a moment, I wasn't a pawn. I wasn't someone's daughter. Someone's wife. Someone's leverage. I was just... watching television.
The sound of the door unlocking barely registered at first. Then the soft click of it closing.
I turned my head. Lucien stepped inside.
His tie was loosened. His hair slightly disheveled like he'd run a hand through it too many times. His face looked exhausted.
His eyes found me immediately. He walked over set his phone aside and sank down next to me on the couch.
"Hey," he said quietly.
I set my glass down on the table and turned toward him and wrapped my arms around him.
Tightly. He stiffened for half a second surprised but then his arms came around me instinctively, strong and protective.
I pressed my face into his chest, breathing him in. Clean cologne. Faint leather. Something distinctly him.
"I've missed you," I whispered.
It hadn't even been that long. But today felt like years.
His hand slid up my back slowly, grounding.
"I was gone for eight hours," he murmured softly.
"It felt longer."
He exhaled lightly against my hair.
His chin rested on top of my head.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The television kept playing in the background. Another burst of canned laughter filled the room, absurdly out of place compared to the weight sitting between us.
"What have you been up to?" he asked.
"I went to see my father and also to see my sisters.”
"And?"
I swallowed.
"He said he has rights over us. That choosing for us is his right."
Lucien went very still.
"And your sisters?"
"They are fine. At least for now. My mother is cracking. But not broken."
A pause.
"And you?"
I didn't answer immediately. Because the truth was, I was still afraid.
Still intimidated. Still not strong enough to stand up to men like Ambrose without my voice shaking.
But right now, sitting here wrapped in Lucien's arms, the fear felt smaller.
"I don't want him to find out it was you," I said instead.
His hand paused on my back.
"He won't."
"If he does—"
"He won't," he repeated, firmer this time.
I pulled back slightly to look at him.
"You look tired," I said softly.
His lips curved faintly. "You should see the other side."
I almost smiled.
He brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face.
"You watched comedy without me?" he asked.
"I needed something stupid."
"That bad?"
"Yes."
His thumb grazed lightly along my jaw.
"You're safe here," he said.
The words did something to me. Safe. I didn't feel safe in Ambrose's house. I didn't feel safe in my father's office.
But here, on this couch. With his arms around me, I did.
I leaned back into him again, resting my head against his shoulder.
"Can we stay here a little longer?" I asked quietly. "Before I go back to the cage?"
I could feel his body stiffened.
"You don't belong in a cage," he said.
But neither of us corrected it. Because right now, that's exactly what it was.