Chapter 130 130. I Am Not Your Successor
"Notified." Lucien repeated the word with zero inflection. "Consider me notified then."
"We recommend you come in asap."
"No." The single word cut through the air.
"Mr. Hayes, your father was poisoned. He's-"
"Don't want to know." Lucien's voice stayed eerily calm. "I'm not coming to that hospital. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. I have plans tomorrow that are infinitely more important than visiting that man. Do you understand?"
There was a pause on the other end.
"Sir, he's your father regardless of whatever feud going on between you guys."
"Is there anything that requires my presence for legal or medical decisions?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Then we're done here. Feel free to call back when he's dead." He hung up. Silence filled the room. Lucien stood there, phone still in his hand, staring at nothing.
"Lucien..." I called softly, crossing to him. "You should go."
His head snapped toward me. "What?"
"You should go see him." I took his hand, squeezing his fingers. "You hate him, and he doesn't deserve your time, your presence or anything from you, but he may have something to say. Something you'll always wonder what, and that wondering could eat at you."
He pulled his hand away, running it through his hair. "I don't want to see him. Your birthday is tomorrow. We're supposed to be in Vienna."
"We can delay a few hours." I moved closer, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Go see him. Say whatever you need to say. Then we leave for Vienna and never look back at Don."
He stared down at me for a long moment. Then his shoulders sagged.
The nurse, who recognized Lucien immediately, directed us to Don's room. Lucien's hold was iron around my hand as we walked through the sterile hallways. Don was awake when we entered. Propped up against pillows, IV in his arm, looking frailer than I'd ever seen him. But his eyes were sharp when they landed on Lucien.
"So you came," Don said, voice raspy. "Thought you were too important to visit your dying father."
"I am." Lucien stayed near the door. "We're not staying long."
Don's eyes shifted to me. "Of course you brought her. Can't make a decision without your little whore holding your hand."
"Watch your mouth old man."
"Or what?" Don laughed, the sound turning into a cough. "You'll leave? Please do. I don't need a weak man here to play family. Your little whore has destroyed you. If you thought I'd let you take over Elysium, think again."
Lucien let out a low, jagged chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. His free hand drifted to his jaw, fingers tracing the bone with a slow, rhythmic cruelty as he watched Don. His voice dropped to a whisper that filled the space like a shroud.
"Look at the ruins you've built, Don," he began, his eyes narrowing. "You're bleeding out, Ronan is rotting in a cage, and your brother is right there with him. Your great empire is a ghost town."
He paused, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
"Elysium is falling to the 'bastard' you spent a lifetime breaking. You forced me to crawl, to bleed, to prove I was worthy of a name you never intended to give me. And now? Now I don't need your permission.
When I take the keys to the kingdom, I'm not going to purge it. I'll burn the Hayes name out of the soil until the very memory of your legacy is ash. Because I am not your successor, Don. I am your consequence."
"I will die and take Elysium with me, you bastard!" Don sputtered as Lucien turned to leave with me. "Why should the child of a whore reap the fruits of my labor, along with his own whore?!!!" There was a crashing sound behind, but we didn't turn back.
Coming here was a mistake. He almost lost his life and he was still... a bitter old man who destroyed everyone around him?
I couldn't find the right words to describe him.
"What do you think he meant by taking Elysium to his grave?" I broke the silence.
"Ignore the old man, Fiera. What can he do from his death bed? I'm getting Elysium no matter what." He turned to me. "Let's go speak with the doctor."
At the office of the doctor that called earlier, we learned Don was poisoned by his driver of thirty-two years.
"The police have him. The Hayes family has been a loyal member of this hospital for decades. He doesn't deserve this. You should talk to the police and make sure he is prosecuted to the fullest extent-"
"And why the fuck would I do that? I'm sure he had a good reason. Probably better than anything Don has done in his life."
We left the doctor there, sputtering and calling after us.
The police station was across town. The detective who'd arrested the driver was willing to talk to us. His name was Ezekiel, middle-aged with tired eyes.
"Bernard Morrison. He's been your father's driver for thirty-two years. Claims your father assaulted his daughter who came visiting from college two weeks ago. She is nineteen."
My stomach dropped.
"That old bastard!"
"I knew Don Hayes deserved it," Lucien scoffed.
"Morrison put antifreeze in your father's evening scotch. If the housekeeper hadn't found him when she did, he'd be dead. He didn't even run away after his crime. And you know what he told us?"
"What?"
"He'd do it again if he could... and to all Hayes' blood."
Lucien stood abruptly. "Where can I find Morrison's lawyer?"
"Mr. Hayes, I don't think-"
"I'm not pressing charges," Lucien said. "I want to help with his defense. And I want to make sure his daughter gets justice. Real justice. Not whatever Don's lawyers will try to do."
Ezekiel blinked. "He poisoned your father."
"Something he deserved." Lucien pulled out a business card. "Have his lawyer contact me. I'll cover all legal fees. And Detective? Make sure the press knows exactly why Morrison did what he did. Every detail about what my father did to that girl."
We didn't make it to Vienna that night. The earliest the jet could take off was six in the morning, which meant we'd arrive late on my birthday instead of waking up there.
"I'm so sorry. This was supposed to be perfect. We were supposed to wake up in Vienna."
"Hey." I cupped his devastated little face. "It's okay. We'll still celebrate, Vienna or not."
"I'm disappointed in myself for even going to see him," he said quietly. "We delayed everything because of that bastard."
"You went because I pushed you to go. And now you know the truth again about what kind of man he really is. You can let go of any remaining guilt about hating him."
"I never felt guilty about hating him."
"Liar." I kissed his nose tip. "But it's okay. He doesn't get to ruin anything else for us. Starting now."
I woke up to soft kisses scattered across my face, my neck, my shoulders. My eyes fluttered open to find Lucien propped on one elbow, watching me with that intensity that still made my breath catch.
"Happy birthday, Fiera."
I smiled, stretching. "Thank you," a yawn followed my words.
"I have a couple surprises to make up for us not waking up in Vienna today!"
"Oh my goodness, you didn't have to make up for-" he kissed the words right out of my tongue.
When he pulled back, he took my hand in his and made me sit up.
"Whoa." Behind him, the room had turned into something else. Goody bags everywhere. "You got me dresses?"
He only smiled. Then he reached behind the nightstand and produced three velvet boxes. "First," he opened them one by one, "a necklace, earrings, and bracelet. To match those eyes that have haunted me since the day you dumped me."
My breath hitched at the stunning emerald pieces.
"Second." He held up a single key on a simple chain. "One vintage typewriter from 1952. It still works. I thought you might want to write something on it someday."
"Lucien-"
He wasn't done. He brought some of the shopping bags to the bed. Each dress was more beautiful than the last. Silk, velvet, lace in jewel tones that would complement my hair, my skin. "Thirteen dresses picked out by me for every occasion you can imagine, Fiera."
I was already overwhelmed, and he was still not done. The next were nine bottles labeled in Italian and French.
"Custom blended perfumes."
Next were leather-bound books, their spines embossed with gold. I counted and squealed.
Twelve freaking rare first editions! My hands trembled as I touched the covers.
"The artist said she was inspired by wildfire-and it instantly reminded me of you." He unwrapped a painting, dominated by copper and gold tones. I was still taking in its beauty when he handed me eight birthday letters from my favorite authors, including Vivienne Burns!
Then, a bracelet with a tiny typewriter, coffee cup, book and heart charms.
Next, a bouquet of roses in varying shades of red.
"They are twenty-five, one for every year you've survived, fought, and conquered this world."
Tears were already streaming down my face. It was too much to process all at once.
Five embroidered cashmere throws in mixes of red and green for cold mornings when he's not there to keep me warm, and then, twenty pairs of heels.
He was silent now, walking back to meet me on the bed. Gently, he took my hand in his.
"Lucien..." my voice broke through the tears. "Isn't it too much? I don't... I don't... know what to say..."
"I'm not done baby." He smiled. It was then I registered the cold feeling between our palms.
The air left the room.
"Is that a-"
"Key, yes," he whispered, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that felt like a claim. "It's the key to your new penthouse..."