Lucian was back in his office early the next morning sharper, colder than usual. His entire staff felt it. The air around him seemed tenser, like the quiet before a storm.
He didn't speak much. Just gave curt orders, eyes never quite meeting anyone's. But his mind was racing not with confusion anymore, but decision.
He picked up his phone and called Marcus, his head of security.
> "I want the island ready in a week."
> "The island, sir?"
"Yes. Full security. Round-the-clock surveillance, medical team on standby. Discretion is key. No names. No leaks. Understood?"
> "Of course. Will she—"
> "She's not to leave once she arrives. Keep the guest wing sealed off from staff access. She'll be treated well, but she's not to make calls or have visitors unless cleared by me."
> "Understood, Mr. Velmore."
Lucian ended the call and leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the polished wood of his desk.
She wants freedom? She'll get it—after she pays in full.
He opened a drawer and pulled out a file — the silent agreement he drafted last night. No signature yet, but soon.
Custody Transfer Agreement — full legal guardianship awarded solely to Lucian Velmore, mother's identity sealed indefinitely upon delivery.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Something in his chest pulled tight.
Was he really doing this?
Yes. She had made her choice. And now he would follow through. It was what she wanted. What she asked for.
He called in his legal counsel next. Made it official. Clean. Silent.
> "Don't question the clauses. Just file it. No mother's name attached. I'll handle the rest."
---
Later that day, Lucian visited the penthouse briefly. He didn't say much to Caliste, who was quietly sitting near the window, lost in thought. He simply placed a sealed envelope on the coffee table.
She looked up, startled.
"What's this?"
"Your next destination," he said flatly. "You'll leave in three days. I'll handle your father's reinstatement as promised. He'll be free, and so will you."
Caliste swallowed hard. "And the child?"
Lucian met her eyes, cold and unreadable. "Mine."
Her breath caught.
He turned away before she could say anything more.
"I suggest you start packing."
And with that, he left — the door clicking behind him like a final sentence.
The days passed like slow-moving shadows.
On the third morning, Caliste stood alone in Lucian's walk-in closet. Her slender hands ran over the soft fabric of her borrowed clothes — silks, linens, and cashmere that once felt too rich for her skin. Now, she folded them quietly, placing them in a modest suitcase Lucian had ordered for her.
She didn't take much. Just enough to carry her through the months ahead.
The penthouse felt colder than usual. Lucian hadn't returned the night before. She knew it was intentional — a silent message that their chapter was closing.
Her hand paused on a pale blue dress. The one she wore the night she first cooked for herself — when garlic made her sick, and her world tilted.
She folded it gently.
Next to her suitcase, she placed a leather-bound notebook. Inside it were simple sketches — tiny baby clothes, flowers, names she would never use. Scribbles she couldn't throw away. Yet she couldn't take them either. They were hers, but also not.
Her gaze landed on the coffee table, where the sealed envelope with her island instructions still sat. She hadn't opened it. She didn't need to. The destination didn't matter. The isolation was part of the deal.
What mattered was that her child — their child — would be safe. Free from Desmund. Free from blackmail. Even if it meant never hearing them say "mama."
She picked up the envelope now and slipped it into her handbag. A knock at the door startled her.
It was Marcus, Lucian's head of security.
> "Miss Winslow. The car is ready."
Caliste nodded and picked up her suitcase. As she walked toward the door, her steps were calm, composed — but every footfall felt like a farewell she couldn't put into words.
She took one last look around the penthouse. So many moments blurred together — awkward glances, angry nights, passionate silence. All of it tangled and bittersweet.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, though no one was there to hear it.
---
The black SUV was silent, save for the soft hum of the road. Caliste kept her hands folded on her lap, staring at the envelope resting beside her.
She didn't cry.
She couldn't afford to. Not now. Not while the baby inside her still had to feel safe — loved, even if silently.
Her phone vibrated once — a message from Lucian.
> "Message me when you arrive."
No warmth. No name. Just instruction.
She typed a single word back:
> "Okay."
And that was it.
As the city skyline faded behind her, Caliste leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She'd done what she had to. For the child. For her father.
Even if it meant disappearing completely.
Lucian sat behind his massive desk in the heart of Velmore Holdings' upper floor, fingers steepled, eyes locked on the stack of legal documents before him. It had been three days since Caliste left for the island.
Three days of silence.
But her words still rang in his mind.
> "I'll give you the heir you need. Then I'll disappear. No one will ever know the child was mine."
That voice, calm and final, haunted him more than he wanted to admit.
Lucian pressed the intercom button.
> "Call Mr. Albrecht. I want the Winslow case reopened — today."
Within hours, his legal team was swarming. The goal was clear: clear Gregory Winslow's name, erase the false charges, and dismantle Desmund's web of influence.
Lucian's private investigators delivered results faster than expected. Documents were unearthed — shady financial links, forged statements, witnesses Desmund paid off.
Lucian didn't even flinch.
He leveraged every political connection, greased every stubborn hand, and even threatened to pull billion-dollar investments if Gregory's case wasn't resolved.
By the end of the week, the headline hit the papers:
> "Gregory Winslow Cleared of All Charges — New Evidence Reveals Foul Play and Forged Testimonies"
Gregory was free. His name, restored.
But Lucian wasn't finished.
He ensured the Winslow name was reinstated in the society registry. The old family properties — held under shell companies — were quietly returned.
It was not mercy.
It was strategy.
If Caliste had truly meant to disappear after giving birth, then this — this — was the least Lucian could do. A silent way of giving her something in return… even if she never thanked him for it.
---
In the lavish office of Desmund Winslow, the moment the headline hit the screen, a crystal glass shattered against the marble wall.
> "He cleared Gregory?! He dares—"
Desmund's face turned red, veins pulsing at his temple.
> "Who gave him the leverage? Who leaked those files?!"
His assistant cowered near the door, holding a tablet with the official court ruling.
> "Lucian Velmore submitted the evidence himself, sir. Through an anonymous holding—"
> "Velmore…" Desmund hissed. "That arrogant bastard."
He slammed a fist onto his desk. Everything he had planned using Caliste,letting her get pregnant and holding the unborn child as leverage, turning Lucian into a puppet — all of it unraveled like smoke.
> "If she gives birth to a child and I don't get my hands on it…" he muttered, pacing. "That baby was my insurance."
He looked toward the window, the skyline glittering like mockery.
> "You think you've won, Lucian," Desmund whispered, eyes narrowing. "But I always come back."