Cordelia's POV:
Cordelia had been standing outside the hotel for five full minutes, heels digging into the marble pavement, arms crossed, irritation simmering just below the surface.
"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, checking her watch again. "How does a man not show up on time for his own pathetic engagement revival meeting?"
She was just about to storm inside and call her driver when a sudden, awkward noise caught her attention, a sputter, then a low roar.
A motorcycle? No, not even that. It was a bike, older than her servant handbag collection combined, screeched into the lot. It looked like it had survived warzones, apocalypse drills, and at least three owners!
The rider parked it like it's nothing, right in the middle of the VIP lot. The guard moved fast.
"Hey! Hey! This isn't a parking lot for delivery boys!" the guard barked.
Cordelia paused, watching the commotion with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. The rider's helmet off now. The man is tall, lean, handsome and unfortunately... gorgeous. Disgustingly so. Tousled dark hair, sharp jaw, muscles that stretched the limits of a clearly thrifted button-down.
Shame, Cordelia thought. That body deserves better than that outfit and definitely better than a rust bucket on two wheels.
The guard was still ranting, now nearly shoving the man. "Move this trash before I call security! This is the Xantal, not some garage in the slums."
Cordelia walked over, if only because this was where her car was parked, and frankly, the noise was bothering her.
"What's going on here?" she snapped, already annoyed.
The guard turned. "Madam, this guy is causing a scene. Says he has an appointment here, but look at him! Refusing to move this bike."
Cordelia looked the man up and down again. He didn't flinch, to the guard, to her voice, not even to the judgment in her stare. His expression was calm, bordering on bored.
Then he spoke. "I do have an appointment."
His voice was sharp, clear and even. Almost... annoyingly pleasant.
He pulled out a card from his pocket and handed it over. The guard inspected it, frowned, then looked at the man again like he'd just been told a janitor owned the penthouse.
"This says… Lucien Kaelin." The guard's eyes darted between the name and the man in front of him. "You're joking. How could a person dressed so poor like you be a member of renowned Kaelin family?"
Cordelia blinked. "Wait. What did you say?"
The man turned to her, steady gaze meeting hers for the first time. "Lucien Kaelin."
There was a brief, stunned silence before Cordelia nearly laughed. This was Lucien Kaelin? The same boy her grandparents once claimed she'd be promised to? The exiled heir with no future?
She composed herself quickly.
"I see," she said coolly. "Then come with me."
---
**Rooftop, Table Five – Xantal Hotel**
The rooftop shimmered under the golden noon light, the sky above was soft and blue, framed by glass railings, with a view so breathtaking that even the sky seemed to have dressed up for it. Yet, the atmosphere between The air was stifling, for both me and Cordelia, the beauty did nothing to soften the frost in the air.
We sat across from each other. I was calm, quiet, unreadable. Cordelia sat like A ticking bomb.
The silence lingered until Cordelia broke it. She stirred her drink twice, then dropped the spoon with a sharp clink. "Don't you have a car?"
I shrugged lightly. "I have a bike. Been with me for over ten years."
"A bike," she repeated, like the word itself offended her ears. Her nose wrinkled. "Right."
Cordelia gave me a look that could burn holes through cheap polyester. Unfortunately, my thrifted shirt had already survived worse.
Cordelia scoffed. "Look, I don't know what you expected from this meeting. A rekindling of childhood dreams? A forced walk down memory lane with a girl you probably don't even remember?" She tilted her head, her voice sharp with superiority. "That engagement was a joke—an outdated arrangement made by desperate men from a different century."
She folded her hands neatly, back perfectly straight. "Let's not pretend this meeting is anything more than formality. The engagement was arranged when we were kids. We're not kids anymore. I have no intention of honoring some antique agreement."
I simply just leaned back, eyes on the skyline, fingers still.
"In fact," she went on, "I don't want to waste my time with a castaway son. Especially with the one who looks more broke than the security guards outside the Ruxin estate."
I still didn't flinch.
Cordelia leaned back, letting her disgust seep into her words, voice dripping with scorn. "But let's be clear, Lucien Kaelin. "You should feel lucky. Sitting at the same table as me? Most men would kill for that opportunity. And now with your position at Kaelin you and I are not equals. You're the kind of man who makes the air feel cheap. Just sitting across from you makes me feel like I need to disinfect my shoes."
My lips twitched. Luck's been kind to me then."
Cordelia stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"Oh please," she leaned forward. "Let's not pretend you're enjoying this. You're probably just here hoping to impress me. Let me tell you right now, you're not. You reek of failure."
A beat of silence. She hated how calm he was. How collected. As if nothing she said could get to him. That irritated her more than his worn-out boots and the smell of engine grease.
I finally met her eyes. "I see."
"I don't need to explain myself to someone like you," she shot back. "But yes. I want real power. I want Lucien Malric Moreaux."
I arched a brow, amused. "Interesting choice of name."
Cordelia didn't catch the irony in my tone. "Unlike you, he built something from scratch. Without dragging around family name as pity-card."
"Then he must be a great man," I said softly.
"He is," she said with zero hesitation. "And don't get too comfortable throwing his name around like you know him."
I paused for a second, then, finally, leaned forward, folding arms on the table, expression unreadable but eyes gleaming with a glint she couldn't quite place.
"Alright then," I said. "Since we both agree this engagement is dead, tell me, how are you going to end it?"
"I told you," she said coldly, "I have my ways."
"Such as?"
"That's none of your business."
I nodded. Alright then, I'll leave it to you.
Cordelia's jaw tightened. "I came here as a courtesy," she snapped.
"And I came here out of curiosity," I replied. "Now we're even."
She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping back. "Sitting here is making the air feel dirty."
I looked up at her, unbothered. "Funny," I murmured, "I was about to say the same."
Cordelia's eyes narrowed. Something flickered in them. Offense? Intrigue?
"I'll handle this," she muttered, turning sharply.
As she walked away, her heels echoing across the rooftop, I didn't watch her go. I simply leaned back in the chair again, letting the breeze tug at the sleeves of my weathered shirt.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the very same card, the appointment card from Theron, now folded in half.
I looked at it for a second before setting it on fire with the lighter.
The flame crackled silently in the ashtray.
I rose from the table, adjusted the shirt and walked down the stairs.
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