Lucian Velmore sat in his office, sleeves rolled up and phone in hand, eyes flicking between news feeds and press releases. His inbox had exploded with PR statements, curious journalists, and marketing executives seeking clarification on Mirana's sudden disappearance from the headlines.
"She was trending 2 hours ago," his secretary murmured beside him, scrolling on her tablet. "But now... nothing."
Lucian leaned back, his gaze sharp. "That's impossible. The interview was pre-scheduled across six networks."
"And now? All wiped. It's like it never happened."
A knot tightened in Lucian's chest. Something wasn't right.
He pulled out his personal phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Gale," he said as soon as the man picked up. "Tell me what you're hearing in media circles."
A beat of silence. Then Gale, his private fixer, sighed. "The Winslows."
Lucian's jaw flexed.
"Gregory's people swept in like a storm. Legal threats, money, influence—everything. Even blackmailed a few editors. They want your scandal gone. And Mirana? She's been silenced. NDA signed this morning."
Lucian cursed under his breath. "He's protecting Caliste."
"You didn't think he'd stay quiet while his daughter's name trended next to 'Velmore Bastard Child,' did you?"
Lucian stood, walking to the floor-length windows. A war raged in his mind—between guilt, pride, and a dawning realization. Gregory wasn't just protecting Caliste's name.
He was warning him.
---
The Winslow Estate
The evening air at the Winslow estate was thick with silence. Caliste stepped out of the black car, her coat wrapped tightly around her. The sprawling mansion she once called home looked unfamiliar now, cloaked in tension.
"Miss Winslow," the butler greeted with a low bow, ushering her in.
She found her father in the drawing room, a glass of wine in hand, the fireplace crackling low behind him. He didn't turn as she entered.
"Sit."
She obeyed, quietly sinking into the chair across from him.
"You're trending again," he said coldly.
"I know," she whispered.
"But not for long. I've already cleaned up the mess."
Caliste's eyes flickered up. "You... had it taken down?"
Gregory finally turned to face her. "Your reputation is worth more than gossip. I didn't raise a Winslow to be headline fodder."
She swallowed, feeling like a child again under his gaze.
"You should've stayed out of the spotlight," he added. "But since you didn't, I've made sure your name won't suffer. And neither will the Velmore name. That's still tied to ours."
Caliste looked away, fingers twisting nervously in her lap.
"Thank you," she said softly. "But I didn't ask for you to fix it."
"No," Gregory said, "but I did. Because that's what fathers do—when their daughters don't know who to trust."
Caliste's heart stung at that. Was he talking about Lucian... or about her?
As silence settled between them, she realized something else.
This was no longer just about business or alliances.
It was personal now.
Lucian stood by the window of his penthouse, city lights glimmering beneath a veil of dusk. A half-empty glass of bourbon sat forgotten on the table beside him, untouched for hours.
She hadn't come home.
Not after the scandal.
Not after the confrontation.
Not after the storm he foolishly let spiral out of control.
He hadn't needed Gale to confirm it, but when he heard it from his fixer's lips—that Caliste had gone back to the Winslow estate—a strange ache tightened in his chest.
"She didn't even tell me," Lucian muttered under his breath, dialing her number again.
Riiing.
Riiing.
Voicemail.
His jaw clenched. He hung up. Then called again.
No answer.
He tossed his phone onto the coffee table, pacing like a man unraveling. The image of her frozen expression during their last encounter—right after the kiss, right before she was pulled into a vortex of flashing cameras and whispered betrayals—played on repeat in his head.
He hadn't meant to humiliate her.
He hadn't even meant to kiss her—not like that.
But when she defied him in public, when Jace stood there beside her with that smug protective air...
Lucian's pride had exploded. And now?
Now he was alone in a silent penthouse, staring at a screen that refused to light up with her name.
With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed his coat and keys. If she wouldn't take his calls...
He'd go to her.
Just as he opened the door, his phone buzzed. Hope lit briefly in his eyes. But it was only a text.
Gale:
Winslow estate has restricted all access. No one gets through without Gregory's say-so. You're officially on his blacklist.
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
So that's how Gregory wanted to play it.
But this wasn't about politics anymore.
It was about her.
He stared out into the night, then whispered under his breath:
> "You can hide behind your father's walls, Caliste. But don't forget... you're still my wife."
-----
The Winslow estate was quiet, too quiet.
Caliste sat by the large bay window of her childhood room, hugging her knees to her chest. The soft hum of the wind brushing against the garden trees soothed her frayed nerves. It had only been a few hours since she arrived, but it felt like she'd been here for days.
No flashing cameras.
No probing questions.
No cold gazes from Lucian.
Just... silence.
She turned over her phone in her hand. The screen lit up—six missed calls. All from the same name.
Lucian Velmore.
Her lips curled slightly, more sad than angry. He never used to call. Never even bothered to send a message unless it was something business-related or for appearances. But now?
Now he called when she finally walked away.
She tapped the screen, listening to the silent ring in her ears, imagining his voice on the other end. But she didn't call back. She couldn't.
Her thumb hovered over the notifications again.
Missed Call — Lucian Velmore, 9:42 PM
Missed Call — Lucian Velmore, 9:35 PM
Missed Call — Lucian Velmore, 9:27 PM
…and on it went.
She sighed and finally locked the screen.
> "Why now, Lucian?" she whispered to herself. "Why only now?"
There was a soft knock on her door. A maid peeked in.
"Miss Caliste, your father says dinner will be in twenty minutes."
Caliste nodded gently. "Thank you."
The maid left, and she was alone again.
She stood up and walked to her desk, pulling out a slim white folder. Inside was a printed email she had sent earlier that day—to the Winslow estate manager.
> Subject: RESTRICT ENTRY — Lucian Velmore
Please deny access at the gate. No meetings, no exceptions unless cleared directly by me. I need space for now.
She had read it over three times before pressing send. Her hand trembled when she did it. But she knew she had to.
She needed peace.
She needed air that wasn't choked with expectations, scandals, or feelings she wasn't ready to confront.
This wasn't revenge.
This wasn't punishment.
It was just... distance.
And yet, why did her heart feel so heavy?
She reached again for her phone. Her thumb paused over his contact name. Just one call and she'd hear his voice. Maybe he'd explain. Maybe he'd say it wasn't true.
But what if it was?
What if Mirana was pregnant?
What if she wasn't just another name from his past, but someone who would soon tie herself to him forever—with a child?
Caliste closed her eyes.
The memory of Lucian's kiss at the gala flashed again in her mind. Not the scandal it caused, but the way it made her feel—caught off guard, possessed, cherished. For a moment, she believed she meant something more to him than a contract signed three years ago.
But that moment was gone.
Swallowed by tabloids and twisted truths.
Tucking the phone away into the drawer, she whispered again to herself.
> "Not yet, Lucian. I need to breathe first."