Two months had passed since Caliste last saw Lucca—the little boy with Lucian's eyes. Two months when he smiled at her, innocent and pure, without knowing who she was.
Every day after that, she found herself searching—at galas, business events, charity dinners—anywhere Lucian Velmore might appear. But something had changed. The Velmore heir no longer brought the child to gatherings. The society pages that once photographed Lucian walking hand-in-hand with his young son now showed him alone. Cold. Detached. His public appearances were fewer, and when he did attend, he left swiftly, never entertaining questions about Lucca.
Caliste could not ignore the gnawing unease in her chest.
Where is he? Why isn't he bringing Lucca out anymore?
At first, she convinced herself that perhaps the child was merely being protected from the public eye, kept safe from the flashing cameras and gossip columns. But the longer the silence persisted, the more her anxiety grew.
One night, after a long charity gala, she saw Lucian across the hall—his towering figure wrapped in an all-black suit, his expression unreadable as usual. The crowd seemed to part for him, as if the air around him demanded space. Caliste's pulse quickened.
When the opportunity came, she approached quietly, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
"Lucian," she called, her voice calm though her heart raced.
He turned, his gaze landing on her. For a moment, his eyes flickered with something she couldn't define—surprise? Annoyance? Pain?—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"Miss Caliste," he greeted flatly. "I didn't realize you were still attending these circles."
"I needed to talk to you," she began, trying to steady her voice. "It's about—"
"I have nothing to discuss with you."
He brushed past her without a glance, his body radiating cold restraint. Caliste stood frozen, her words dying on her tongue. Every ounce of pride she had told her to let it go. But the ache in her chest, the maternal instinct clawing from within, refused to let her walk away.
That night, she didn't go home. She couldn't.
Instead, she found herself standing in front of the tall, glass-paneled building that housed Lucian's penthouse—the same place she once called home. The cold wind bit at her skin as she hesitated at the door, staring at the familiar black-and-gold nameplate.
This is foolish, she told herself. What are you even doing here?
But her feet wouldn't move.
She raised her trembling hand and placed her finger on the biometric scanner. A soft beep echoed. She waited.
Then—a click.
The door unlocked.
A shaky sigh escaped her lips. "He… he didn't remove me," she whispered. "He forgot."
For a fleeting second, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, deep inside, Lucian hadn't fully erased her. Maybe he just didn't care enough to change the lock—or maybe he couldn't bring himself to.
When she stepped inside, the faint scent of cedarwood and bergamot greeted her. The same scent she once woke up to every morning. Everything was as pristine as she remembered: the marble floors gleamed under the soft amber lights, the grand piano still sat near the wide glass windows overlooking the city skyline.
But the space felt… empty.
Too perfect. Too untouched.
She searched every corner, hoping to see even the smallest sign of a child—a toy, a drawing, a half-eaten cookie. There was nothing.
Her heart sank.
So he's at Victoria's estate… she thought bitterly. He's safer there, yes… but still—
She pressed her lips together, trying to push away the ache of guilt. She had no right to demand anything now. She was the one who left.
Yet being here again—inside the world they once shared—made every emotion resurface.
Caliste drifted toward the master bedroom, her heels silent against the carpet. The room looked exactly as she remembered it—the same soft cream drapes, the dark oak bed frame, the framed photo of the city lights above the headboard.
She stood at the center, her eyes softening as the memories flooded in.
Nights of laughter. Whispers under the sheets. Lucian reading reports while she teased him about being too serious.
And then the fights. The betrayal. The moment she walked away.
A faint sound broke her reverie—the click of the main door opening.
Caliste froze.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
She hurriedly darted into the bathroom, barely breathing as footsteps echoed through the penthouse.
Then came a voice—deep, familiar, unmistakably Lucian's. "Make yourself comfortable," he said.
Another voice followed. A woman's voice—soft, melodic.
Caliste's stomach twisted.
She peeked through the narrow gap in the bathroom door and saw them: Lucian and Kyline, a well-known model she'd once shared a runway with. The woman's beauty was almost unreal, her gown clinging elegantly to her curves.
Lucian loosened his tie and sat on the sofa, expression unreadable, while Kyline walked toward the kitchen and fetched a bottle of wine.
Caliste's breath caught as she watched Kyline pour two glasses and sit beside him. They clinked their glasses, and a faint smile curved Lucian's lips—one Caliste hadn't seen in years.
Then Kyline leaned in and kissed him.
Caliste's world cracked.
Her hands trembled as she backed away, her heel brushing against something on the counter—a small medicine bottle. It rolled off and hit the floor with a soft clink.
Lucian froze mid-kiss.
Kyline pulled back. "What was that?" she asked softly.
Lucian's eyes darkened. "Stay here," he said, his voice sharp.
Caliste's breath hitched. She quickly stepped behind the shower curtain, praying the noise of her heartbeat wouldn't give her away.
She heard the sound of his footsteps approaching—the calm, deliberate rhythm that once made her knees weak.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Lucian's voice came, quiet but dangerous. "Who's there?"
No answer.
Then, in a lower tone, he spoke into his earpiece. "Have Kyline escorted out. Now."
"B-but Lucian—"
"It's for your safety," he said curtly.
Moments later, Caliste heard the outer door close. Then silence.
The next thing she knew, the bathroom door swung open, and Lucian's hand shot through the curtain, grabbing her wrist.
"Found you."
Caliste gasped as he yanked the curtain aside. His eyes burned into hers, sharp and furious.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, his grip firm but not painful.
"I—"
Her voice faltered. She couldn't even meet his eyes.
Lucian's jaw clenched. "Answer me, Caliste."
"I just—" she whispered, her throat tight. "I wanted to see Lucca."
His eyes hardened instantly. "You don't get to say his name."
Caliste flinched.
"You think you can just walk back into my home," he said coldly, "after walking out of his life?"
Her lips parted, trembling. "You think I wanted that? You think it was easy for me?"
Lucian laughed bitterly. "You chose your freedom over your child. You chose your pride over your family."
"That's not true!" she cried, finally meeting his gaze. "I had no choice, Lucian."
"You have other choices back then but your selfishness empower you," he said, voice low.
His words cut deeper than a blade.
Caliste took a shaky step back. "You think I don't live with that guilt every single day? I wake up every morning wondering if he's eating well, if he sleeps through the night, if he ever asks about me." Her voice cracked. "You think I don't know what I lost?"
Lucian's hand tightened at his side. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to yell again—but something in her trembling voice silenced him.
She stepped closer, desperate. "Please, Lucian. Just let me see him once. I won't take him away. I just need to know he's all right."
His eyes flickered, torn between rage and something softer.
"You have no right," he said finally, though his tone had lost some of its edge. "You made your decision. He's safe where he is. That's all you need to know."
Caliste's tears brimmed, her breath shaking. "You really think you're the only one who cares about his safety? That I wouldn't die for him if I had to?"
Lucian turned away, pacing toward the window. His reflection in the glass looked exhausted, shadows darkening the lines of his face. "Don't make this harder than it already is."
She took another step toward him. "Harder for who, Lucian? You? Or me?"
The silence stretched between them, thick with all the words they'd left unsaid.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. "He doesn't know you. You'd only confuse him."
Her heart broke all over again.
"Maybe," she said softly. "But someday, when he's older… and he asks why I wasn't there—what will you tell him?"
Lucian's shoulders tensed.
Caliste's eyes glistened. "Will you tell him I abandoned him? Or will you tell him the truth—that I bargain him with my freedom?"
Lucian didn't answer.
The city lights shimmered through the window behind him, painting his silhouette in cold gold and blue.
Finally, he said, almost under his breath, "You should go."