Chapter 92 Guilt
Caleb
I got home long after the sun had disappeared behind the hills, the house already wrapped in that quiet that only old money knows how to keep. The kind of silence that presses in on you instead of comforting you. I pulled into the driveway and sat there for a moment with my hands still on the steering wheel, staring at nothing in particular, my mind refusing to slow down.
Inside, the lights were low. Mrs. Chavez was in the living room, moving the way she always did as if the house itself might bruise if she disturbed it too roughly. She looked up the moment she heard my footsteps and her face eased into a gentle smile.
“You’re home late,” she said. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“I’m fine,” I replied, loosening my jacket.
She was already on her way to the kitchen. “You always say that.”
By the time I sat down, she had placed a cup in front of me, the steam curling lazily into the air. She watched me the way she always did, like she could read answers off my face if she stared long enough.
“I was told by your brothers that the girl is safe,” she said carefully. “That she’ll be coming home.”
My jaw tightened before I could stop it. “She decided not to.”
Mrs. Chavez blinked. “Not to…?”
“She left,” I said. The word felt heavier than it should have. “She made her choice.”
Surprise crossed her face, brief but unmistakable. She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. She didn’t ask questions. Mrs. Chavez never pushed when something didn’t belong to her.
“I see,” she said.
A maid appeared, her eyes fixed on the floor as she greeted me. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening,” I replied.
She hesitated, then asked softly, “Is Elsie back?”
“Is she your friend?” I asked.
She fidgeted with the hem of her dress. “Yes. I miss her. We all do.”
I smirked at her shyness and felt a quiet sense of pride too. Despite everything, Elsie had people who genuinely cared about her. “What’s your name?” I asked. It was the first time I’d ever bothered to ask any of the domestic staff for their name, but this time it mattered. The people Elsie cared about mattered.
“Rosa,” she said, still unable to meet my eyes. Then, after a pause, she asked softly, “Did you bring her home with you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Mrs. Chavez moved faster than I expected. She reached for Rosa’s arm and gently but firmly pulled her away.
“Come with me, child,” she said. “There’s something I need you to help me with.”
Rosa glanced at me once, confusion flickering across her face, before she let herself be led away. Mrs. Chavez paused at the doorway and turned back.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “She didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s fine,” I said, though it wasn’t.
I finished the tea without tasting it and headed toward my father’s study. Malcolm Lancaster didn’t like surprises, and tonight, I had one waiting.
He was behind his desk when I walked in, glasses perched low on his nose, a tablet in his hand. He looked up and studied me the way he always did, measured, critical, searching for cracks.
“You’re late son,” he said.
“I know.”
He set the tablet aside. “Diego told me you let the girl go.”
I didn’t flinch. “I did.”
A long pause followed. Then he nodded. “You made the right decision. She was becoming a liability.”
I said nothing.
Malcolm leaned back in his chair. “This was never meant to be personal, Caleb. You understand that.”
“I understand more than you think,” I replied.
He watched me closely, then sighed. “Is that all?”
“No,” I said. “I have a son.”
The words landed harder than I expected. Malcolm froze, disbelief flashing across his face before he masked it.
“A son?” he repeated. “Since when?”
“Five years.”
His chair creaked as he sat forward. “Five years,” he echoed slowly. “And you’re telling me this now?”
“I didn’t think it mattered before.”
“And now it does?” His voice sharpened. “Who is the mother?”
“Luciana.”
He frowned. “Luciana who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
That answer disappointed him more than the confession itself. I could see it in his eyes.
“You’ve been keeping secrets you had no right to keep,” he said. “A child is not something you hide, Caleb.”
“I wasn’t hiding him,” I said. “I was protecting him.”
Malcolm studied me again, longer this time. “What do you want?”
“I want custody,” I said plainly. “Or at least a fight for it. I want her home.”
“That won’t be simple.”
“I don’t expect it to be.”
He exhaled slowly. “Do you intend to marry his mother?”
“No.” The answer came without hesitation.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not ready to tie myself to any woman,” I said. “Not now. Not ever, if I can help it.”
“That girl you let go… Elsie… right?” Malcolm said, watching my face carefully, “Was she so important that you do not want someone else?”
“No,” I replied. The lie slid out smoothly. Too smoothly.
He nodded, but his expression darkened. “You’ve hardened,” he said. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
Neither did I.
As I stood to leave, his voice stopped me. “Caleb.”
I turned.
“You did what you had to do,” he said. “Don’t let regret make you weak.”
I left the study and headed upstairs, the house quiet again, too quiet. In my room, I loosened my tie and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.
Elsie’s face flashed in my mind, the way she had looked at me when she finally understood. I pushed the thought away, the way I had been trained to do.
This was the cost of survival.
And I had chosen to pay it.