Lucian Velmore had mastered the art of silence.
In boardrooms, silence made men squirm. In negotiations, silence broke enemies before words did.
But tonight, silence was his prison.
He stood alone on the balcony, the cool wind brushing against his face, yet his blood simmered like fire.
Caliste Winslow.
Three years, and she still had the power to strip him of his composure with a single glance. She was no longer the delicate heiress he once knew, nor the shattered woman he bought from Silken Rose. Tonight she stood with elegance, poise, and a quiet pride that drew every eye in the room.
But Lucian's gaze was not admiration. It was fury.
Because no matter how much she had rebuilt herself, he could not forgive what she had done.
She gave up her own child. Our child.
His hand gripped the glass until it threatened to shatter.
Lucian could still hear her voice from that night—steady, cold, unwavering—as she offered him an heir in exchange for freedom. As if their child were nothing but a transaction, a bargaining chip.
She had signed the agreement without flinching, without hesitation, severing the bond that should have tied her to their son forever.
Every time Lucian held the boy—every time he saw those eyes, that smile that mirrored hers—rage crawled inside him. Not at the child, never at him, but at her.
How could a mother abandon her own flesh and blood? How could she not fight, not once, to keep him?
And yet tonight, when he looked into her eyes, he saw something else. A flicker of pain. A tremor she tried to bury beneath her calm.
Lucian's chest tightened, but his fury was quicker than doubt. He crushed the thought before it could take root.
No. I won't let myself be fooled again.
If she had truly loved their son, she would never have walked away.
She could wear her new strength like armor, she could shine in her gowns and gather admiration from society, but to Lucian she was still the woman who had abandoned her place as a mother.
And that… was something he could never forgive.
He leaned against the balcony rail, his expression a cold mask while a storm brewed beneath it.
"She gave him up," he muttered under his breath, the words tasting like poison. "She gave us up."
His jaw clenched, the memory of his son's laughter echoing in his ears. The boy deserved everything—love, warmth, a family. And though Lucian had given him all he could, he could never give him a mother. Not when she had chosen freedom over him.
Still, no matter how much he told himself he despised her, his chest burned with an ache he couldn't extinguish.
Because when his eyes met hers tonight, for the first time in years… he wanted her.
Not just her body. But the part of her she had buried, the part he hated and craved all the same—the woman who once looked at him as if he were her world.
Lucian dragged a hand through his hair, his composure threatening to unravel.
I should hate her. I do hate her.
At the Winslow Manor.
The Gala had ended.
Caliste moved through the grand hallways with unsteady steps, her heels clicking against the marble floor. The smile she had worn all evening had faded, replaced by an exhaustion that went beyond the physical.
Lucian Velmore.
Even his name felt like a thorn pressing into her chest. She had thought she was prepared for anything, thought she had mastered herself over these years. Yet the moment her gaze clashed with his across the ballroom, everything crumbled.
Her father's office door was slightly ajar. A faint light spilled into the hallway, along with the low hum of voices. She paused.
"…it was a good thing he showed up tonight," Agatha's voice murmured, carrying that familiar tone of restrained excitement. "Lucian Velmore… truly, he has only grown more striking with age. No wonder he still commands every room he enters."
Caliste stiffened. Her breath hitched as her mother continued, almost wistful.
"It almost feels like a dream, doesn't it? That once, he was tied to us by marriage."
Caliste's blood boiled. She pushed the door open with more force than necessary, the heavy wood creaking.
Her father, Gregory Winslow, sat behind his oak desk, cigar resting between his fingers. Her mother turned in surprise at the sudden intrusion.
Caliste's eyes burned as she looked between them. "Why?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended. "Why was he here tonight?"
Gregory leaned back in his chair, unbothered, his expression calm. "Because I invited him."
Caliste's hands curled into fists at her sides. "Why?"
"Because," Gregory said firmly, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "Lucian Velmore is still connected to our family. In business, in reputation. Whether you like it or not, Caliste, his shadow doesn't vanish simply because your marriage ended."
Her heart twisted painfully. "That marriage was destroyed years ago. He has no place in our lives anymore."
Gregory raised a brow, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "And yet, here you are agitated, emotional because he stood in the same room as you."
Caliste flinched.
Her father's words cut deeper than she wanted to admit.
"I invited him," Gregory continued, his tone measured, "because he remains a friend. And because he is still a powerful ally. This family cannot afford to burn bridges with men like Lucian Velmore."
Her mother's lips curved in a faint smile, her gaze wistful as if lost in memories. "Besides, darling, years have passed. Shouldn't the sight of him no longer trouble you?"
"Trouble me?" Caliste laughed bitterly, though the sound was strained. "Do you think I enjoy seeing him? Do you think I wanted to look up from across the Gala and " her voice faltered, "and feel like I couldn't breathe?"
Gregory's eyes sharpened, his gaze cutting through her defenses. "Unless…" He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk, "you still love him."
The words hung in the air, heavy and merciless.
Caliste's lips parted, but no sound came.
Her mother shifted in her seat, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her eyes. "Is that it, Caliste? Is that why you've never remarried, why you've buried yourself in work and titles? Because you still carry feelings for him?"
"No!" Caliste snapped, too quickly, too defensively. Her voice cracked with the effort. "Don't you dare suggest that."
Gregory's expression softened, though his words did not. "Then why are you still so affected? It has been years since the divorce. Years since you walked away. If you truly wanted to, you could have started over. You could have forgotten him. And yet here you standing, shaking at the mere mention of his name."
Her chest rose and fell, her throat constricting.
She wanted to scream that they were wrong, that she had erased Lucian Velmore from her heart long ago. But the truth clung to her like chains she could never break.
The memory of his hand on her skin. The cold fire of his eyes when she signed away her rights. The unbearable weight of her son's absence.
Her father's words struck her like a blade: Unless you still love Lucian.
Caliste turned away, hiding her trembling lips. "I don't," she whispered, though the words sounded hollow even to herself. "I don't."
Gregory let out a heavy sigh, leaning back once more. "Then prove it. If you truly do not, then stop letting him rule your emotions. Stop giving him power over you."
Her mother added softly, "You're stronger now, Caliste. You've rebuilt yourself. Don't let the past undo what you've become."
But as Caliste left the office, her hands still shook, and her heart still raced.
Because no matter how many times she whispered the denial, her father's voice followed her like a curse.
Unless you still love him.
And deep inside, a truth she refused to face whispered back.