After talking to Regina, Lucy walked slowly, her heels clicking softly as she wandered through the upper corridor.
Her thoughts had been drifting light, idle until she caught sight of Lisa.
She stood near the front lobby, speaking with one of the firm's key clients. Her posture was confident, her expression focused but warm. Lucy paused instinctively. She leaned slightly over the railing, watching unnoticed from the top floor.
Regina's voice suddenly echoed in her mind.
" hes in a serious relationship with lisa"
Serious.
The word unsettled her like a stone dropped into still water. Lucy straightened her shoulders, arms crossing as her eyes narrowed faintly.
She didn't know what exactly bothered her the fact that Canary hadn't said anything directly to her, or the fact that Lisa, with her modest clothes and quiet strength, had managed to get that close to her son.
She watched Lisa lean in slightly as she spoke to the client, gesturing gently. Professional. Poised. Polite.
A flicker of discomfort tugged at Lucy's chest, sharp and unwelcome. She hated feeling like this uncertain, suspicious. But now that Regina had planted the thought, it was growing, spreading fast and messy.
Was this what Canary wanted? Was Lisa what he truly saw himself building a future with?
Lucy's gaze lingered for a moment longer, then she turned away, her expression unreadable.
---
That evening , Canary joined Lucy for dinner.
Lucy sipped her wine slowly, eyes trained on her son with quiet calculation. Finally, she spoke.
"I've been thinking," she said, her tone deceptively casual. "About why you suddenly joined the designing team."
Lucy set her wine glass down gently. "I just hope this isn't about Lisa."
A pause.
Canary's fork stopped midway to his mouth. "What about Lisa?"
Lucy's expression didn't change. " I know about your relationship Canary"
He didn't respond right away. He simply took a sip of water, then met her eyes. "Yes. I am."
Lucy's fingers twitched slightly, but she kept her expression smooth. "And you're serious about her?"
Canary leaned back in his chair, his voice firm but not defensive. "More serious than I've ever been with anyone. I love her."
That word—love—hung heavy in the air.
Lucy didn't flinch, but she didn't smile either. "You're sure it's not... just admiration? Or convenience?"
"No," he said without hesitation. "Lisa grounds me. She sees me for who I am—not for my name, not for the company. She doesn't care about the weight I carry. She's the calm in my storm."
Lucy looked down at her untouched wine. "She's quiet. Secretive. You know very little about her background."
"I know enough," he replied, with an edge of protectiveness in his tone. "And what I don't know, I'm willing to learn. With her."
Lucy nodded slowly, but her silence was telling. She picked up her glass and took a small sip, then set it down with a soft sigh.
"I see," she murmured.
Canary studied her carefully. "You're not pleased."
"I'm... processing," Lucy replied. "You're my only son, Canary. I want you happy, but I also want you protected. Loved the way you deserve."
"And I am," he said quietly. "By Lisa."
Lucy gave a tight smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. "I just hope your heart isn't bigger than your judgment."
___
That very vening settled like a cold shadow over Joel's apartment. The city outside whispered through half-closed curtains—the rumble of distant engines, the faint blare of horns, ordinary noises that only heightened the storm raging inside him.
He paced the length of the living room, jaw clenched, breath sharp. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Canary standing confidently in that conference room… challenging him, humiliating him without even raising his voice. The memory gnawed at Joel, stoking a fire that had never burned out.
"How dare he," Joel muttered, fingers curled into fists. "He thinks he owns everything. He thinks he can push me aside... like I'm nothing."
His gaze fell on the framed photos of his mother and sister—symbols of a life he believed should have been his. A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
"I made a mistake leaving that mansion," he said, voice trembling with anger. "All those things… they belong to me. I deserve that life. Not him."
The words tasted like vengeance and regret.
Without giving himself time to decide if this was madness or justice, Joel grabbed his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart.
A single ring.
"Yes, sir?" The man's voice was low, obedient.
"Come get me. Now," Joel ordered.
In less than fifteen minutes, headlights washed the building's entrance in stark white. Joel descended the stairs with purpose, shoulders squared as though marching into war. His man stepped out, opened the door to the waiting car, and Joel slipped into the back seat—eyes cold, jaw set.
"Where to, sir?"
Joel stared straight ahead, past the windshield, past the night.
"To the Andersons mansion," he said, voice steady with a dangerous resolve. "It's time I take back what's mine."
The car pulled away, swallowed by darkness—along with every chance Joel had left for peace.
Yet beneath that anger lay something more frightening: