Chapter 77
Suddenly, a massive golden firework exploded across the night sky, its shimmering light illuminating Sylvia's delicate profile.
She tilted her head back, watching the brilliant sparks rain down. For the first time in forever, a genuine smile touched her lips. Soft. Relieved. Free.
The smile froze before it could bloom.
At the terrace entrance stood Lucas in a sharp black coat, tall and imposing.
Lynn clung to his side, wrapped in a pink Chanel jacket.
They stood at the edge of shadow and light, the perfect couple. The sight was a knife to the chest.
Xanthe followed Sylvia's gaze. Her expression darkened instantly.
She yanked Sylvia behind her and let out a cold laugh that echoed across the quiet terrace. "Thought it was somebody important. Way to kill the mood during the holidays! Emerald City's huge—what are the odds of stepping in dog crap at a fireworks show? Talk about rotten luck!"
Lynn's face flushed crimson. Her eyes welled up as she tugged at Lucas's sleeve, voice dripping sugar. "Lucas, let's just go. I don't want to upset Ms. Spencer and her friends."
Lucas's face was carved from stone.
His dark eyes cut past Xanthe and locked onto Sylvia.
She stood between Edward and Xanthe, wrapped in an oversized cashmere coat. Her expression was calm as still water. Not a flicker of emotion to spare for him.
That complete indifference lit a fire in his chest. His jaw clenched.
Xanthe turned back and patted Sylvia's hand gently. "Sylvia, ignore those two. Let's enjoy the show."
Sylvia nodded.
She didn't run. She forced herself to stand there, meeting Lucas's dark stare, and watched every last firework bloom and fade.
Only when the sky fell silent did she let Edward help her away. She never looked back.
---
The next morning at Spencer Manor.
Sylvia had barely finished breakfast when Cleo called.
The woman's tone left no room for argument. Under the guise of Christmas, she demanded Sylvia return to Smith Estate for a "family gathering." Really, Cleo wanted to personally verify the safety of the Smith family heir.
Sylvia didn't want to ruin the holiday for her family or worry her parents. She agreed quietly.
Vincent refused to let her go alone. He insisted on driving her himself.
The black sedan pulled smoothly to a stop before Smith Estate's ornate iron gates.
The moment Vincent parked, he spotted Lucas and Preston waiting on the front steps.
Lucas wore a charcoal turtleneck and long coat, one hand shoved in his pocket. His expression was cold, edged with barely concealed irritation.
Preston looked warm and approachable by contrast. When the car stopped, he stepped forward immediately.
Vincent opened his door, walked around, and carefully helped Sylvia out.
Lucas's eyes flickered. He started forward.
But Vincent didn't even glance his way. He placed Sylvia's hand directly into Preston's arm.
"Mr. Preston Smith, Sylvia's heavily pregnant, and Smith Estate has high thresholds. Please take care of her." Vincent adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone polite but pointedly ignoring Lucas.
Preston steadied Sylvia's arm with a gentle smile. "Don't worry, Mr. Scott. I'll make sure she's safe."
Lucas's half-step froze. His outstretched hand hung awkwardly in the air.
He watched Sylvia rest her hand on Preston's arm without a glance his way. She walked straight into the house.
His expression turned black as thunder.
---
Inside Smith Estate, the living room was warm and stuffy.
Sylvia had just settled onto the mahogany sofa when Cleo appeared, supported by a servant, leaning on her cane.
"Oh, let me see!" Cleo's eyes zeroed in on Sylvia's rounded belly, her face lighting up. "Look at that—high and pointed. Definitely a healthy baby boy. Sylvia, you be careful now. The Smith family heir can't afford any mistakes."
Beyond Cleo's fussing, the rest of the Smith relatives barely acknowledged her. They offered perfunctory greetings before huddling together to chat and sip tea. Sylvia was nothing more than a walking incubator. Hardly worth the effort of polite conversation.
Sylvia lowered her lashes. Her heart was still as glass.
She'd grown used to this coldness. No expectations. No disappointment.
Preston noticed the pallor in her face and frowned.
"Sit tight. I'll get you some coffee and something to eat." He headed toward the kitchen.
Preston had just pulled out a clean cup when steady footsteps sounded behind him.
Lucas walked in and shut the door.
"How considerate of you." Lucas leaned against the counter, gaze icy and mocking.
Preston didn't pause. His voice was calm but edged with frost. "Sylvia's pregnant. She came all the way here in the cold, and no one's even offered her coffee. Lucas, you're her husband. You shouldn't treat her like this."
"How I treat her is none of your damn business." Lucas's laugh was sharp. His eyes glinted dangerously. "Preston, don't think I don't know what you're really thinking. What, does it hurt to watch me push her away? Does it kill you inside?"
Preston's hand stilled. He said nothing.
Lucas stepped closer, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You think you hide it so well? Always pining after your own brother's wife. How's that working out for you? Loving someone you can't have?"
The air turned glacial.
Preston set down the cup and turned to face Lucas.
"Yes. I admit it. I have feelings for her." His gentle eyes hardened with quiet resolve. "I've loved her since college. But Lucas, she married 'you'. I've never crossed that line. What I can't stand is watching you grind her into the dirt!"
He took a sharp breath, voice rising. "Lucas, you don't love her. You could let her go. But as long as she's still Mrs. Smith, you owe her respect! Not parading other women around and stomping all over her dignity!"