Lucian sat in the drawing room, his sleeves rolled up, his tie undone. It was one of the rare days he allowed himself to visit the Estrella Villa, not to disturb Caliste, but because of Lucca.
The boy sat cross-legged on the floor near the window, surrounded by scattered sketches of planes and castles. His dark hair caught the sunlight, and when he looked up at Lucian, his eyes mirrored his father's—icy blue, piercing yet warm when they softened.
Lucian watched him quietly, the corner of his lips twitching with a restrained smile. "You've been drawing again," he said in his low, calm tone.
Lucca nodded, proudly holding up his paper. "It's you and Mother… and me."
Lucian leaned forward to look. The drawing was clumsy but full of heart Caliste stood in the middle, smiling, while Lucian and Lucca each held one of her hands. Above them, a sun with a crooked smile shone brightly.
Lucian's chest tightened. "That's beautiful," he murmured.
Lucca looked up innocently. "Do you think Mother will like it?"
"I'm sure she will," Lucian said, his gaze drifting to the window. The gardens outside were alive with late blooms Caliste's favorite roses, now tended again since her recovery. "She's been better lately, hasn't she?"
"Yes." Lucca's voice brightened. "She smiles more. And she doesn't sleep all day anymore. She even made breakfast for me this morning."
Lucian's lips curved faintly. "She did?"
Lucca nodded eagerly. "She said she wants to take care of me here for a while… Is that okay, Father?"
Lucian paused, the question slicing deeper than Lucca could ever know. "Of course," he said softly. "If it makes her happy, then it's more than okay."
Lucca tilted his head, studying him. "You miss her, don't you?"
Lucian froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard by the child's bluntness. "She's your mother, Lucca," he finally said, standing to hide his unease. "Of course, I care about her."
Lucca frowned. "That's not what I asked."
Lucian turned his gaze to the vast family portrait hanging over the fireplace Caliste beside him, years younger, radiant and full of life. "Some things," he murmured, "are harder to say out loud."
Lucca stood, walking closer, his small hands clutching the drawing. "She still loves you, you know," he whispered. "When she looks at you, she looks… sad and happy at the same time."
Lucian looked down at his son, the boy's honesty cutting through the steel walls he'd built for years. "And how do you know that?"
"Because that's how she looks at me," Lucca said simply.
Before Lucian could answer, a soft knock interrupted them. Caelum entered the room, holding a folder. His face was composed, but hid tone was careful. "Lucian, I think you should see this."
Lucian took the folder, flipping it open. Inside were photographs recent, clear. Mirana Vale, dressed in black silk, stepping out of a car with Senator Aldous Murran, her hand resting possessively on his arm. The senator, wealthy and powerful, was now listed as one of Velmore's newest shareholders.
Caelum spoke grimly, "She's back. And this time, she's not just after attention she's after power."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Mirana Vale and Aldous Murran," he muttered. "A cunning woman and a foolish old man. Dangerous combination."
Lucca, sensing the tension, tugged lightly on his father's sleeve. "Who is she?"
Lucian closed the folder, kneeling down to meet Lucca's eyes. "Someone who made a big mistake once," he said carefully. "But you don't need to worry about her, all right?"
"Is she bad?"
Lucian hesitated. "She was," he said finally. "And she might be again."
Lucca's expression turned firm. "Then you won't let her hurt Mother, right?"
Lucian's gaze softened. "No, Lucca. I won't."
Caelum waited until Lucca walked off toward the piano room before she spoke again. "It seems Mirana's husband has bought his way into the board. She's already influencing some of the older shareholders."
Lucian exhaled deeply, turning toward the window where the estate gardens glowed gold in the fading light. "Let her play her game," he said quietly. "She's forgotten no one wins against a Velmore twice."
Caelum nodded. "Should I start an investigation?"
Lucian's eyes darkened with calm resolve. "Yes. I want every meeting, every deal she's involved in. And find out what Murran wants in return."
As Caelum left, Lucian lingered by the window, watching Lucca through the glass as the boy ran across the courtyard toward Caliste, who stood waiting near the fountain. The sound of her laugh reached him faintly a sound he hadn't heard in years.
For a brief moment, his heart eased.
But then he looked back at the folder on his desk, at Mirana's face frozen in a smile too familiar, too deceptive. His expression hardened again.
"They took one life from me," Lucian murmured to himself. "This time, I'll make sure they never touches what's mine again."
-----
The air smelled faintly of jasmine, and a soft breeze rustled the pages of the book in Caliste's hand.
She sat alone, her long hair falling loosely over her shoulders, wearing a light ivory dress that fluttered softly with the wind. Lucca had just fallen asleep in his room after lunch, his small breaths steady and peaceful. For the first time in a long while, the villa felt calm alive again.
Caliste turned another page, her eyes unfocused. She wasn't really reading. The words blurred into each other, her mind wandering to Lucian and the quiet heaviness that always followed when his name crossed her thoughts.
A faint shuffle of footsteps caught her attention. When she looked up, her eyes widened in surprise.
"Victoria…" she breathed softly, setting the book aside as she stood up.
Victoria Velmore, dignified as ever despite her years, stood at the entrance of the pavilion. Her silver hair was elegantly pinned, her cane tapping gently against the stone as she approached. But her smile warm, maternal broke all the formal distance between them.
"My dear Caliste," Victoria said with emotion, her voice trembling just slightly.
Caliste hurried forward, tears already gathering in her eyes as she embraced the older woman tightly. "I've missed you, Grandma," she whispered.
"And I, you, my child," Victoria replied, her tone thick with affection.
They both chuckled lightly as they sat together on the garden bench, the silence between them gentle and comfortable.
For a while, they talked of small things the flowers that had grown, Lucca's love for the pond fish, and how he enjoyed Caliste's company.
But then Victoria's expression softened, and she reached for Caliste's hand. "Caliste," she began carefully, "may I ask you something… personal?"
Caliste nodded, curious but cautious.
"Would you " Victoria hesitated, searching her eyes " would you ever consider taking Lucian back?"
The question landed heavily between them, carried away only slightly by the wind.
Caliste's fingers tightened around her skirt. Her throat felt dry as memories flickered Lucian's cold eyes, his possessive words, the suffocating love that both enthralled and destroyed her.
"Lucian loves you," Victoria continued gently. "He always has. I know my grandson, Caliste. He's just… a man who doesn't know how to love without control. But he's changing."
Caliste bowed her head, her voice trembling. "Grandma… loving Lucian feels like jumping into an abyss."
Victoria stayed silent, her heart aching at the pain beneath Caliste's tone.
"It consumes you," Caliste whispered, tears brimming. "He loves fiercely, but it's the kind of love that burns you until there's nothing left. I've spent years trying to find myself again after us. I can't—" She stopped, wiping her tears shakily. "I can't go back into that fire."
Victoria placed a gentle hand on her cheek. "And yet, you still love him."
Caliste smiled sadly. "Maybe I do. But love alone isn't enough anymore. I just want peace… I want to raise Lucca without the storm that always follows us." She took a deep breath. "Co-parenting is all I can offer now."
Victoria's eyes glistened as she leaned forward and pulled Caliste into an embrace. "You're stronger than I remember," she murmured. "And wiser too."
Caliste chuckled weakly, holding onto her as if she were the only piece of warmth left from the past.
Unbeknownst to them, just beyond the entrance, Lucian stood frozen.
He had come quietly, carrying a small tray of tea and pastries—his quiet way of joining them—but the sound of Caliste's voice had rooted him in place.
Each word cut deeper than the last. Loving Lucian means jumping into an abyss.
He stared at the ground, the strength draining from his frame. His grip on the tray loosened until the teacup rattled softly, a faint tremor betraying the storm within him.
He turned away before they could see him, his shoulders heavy, his eyes shadowed with pain.
As he walked down the garden path, the sunlight no longer felt warm.
From the pavilion, Victoria continued to comfort Caliste, unaware of the silent witness who had already left with a heart far heavier than when he came.