Chapter 3 The ghost of a father

I scrambled back, my skin buzzing from where we’d touched. I pulled the robe tight, my fingers shaking as I tied the belt.

What just happened?

Lucien didn’t move. He stayed propped on his elbows, watching me with storm-gray eyes that felt like they could read my thoughts. His chest rose and fell steadily.

He was unshaken. Nothing rattled Lucien Belmont.

“Is it just me,” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips, “or do you always fall for your enemies?”

The knot in my stomach tightened. “You’re not that special.”

His grin widened. “No? You looked pretty comfortable just now.”

I refused to dignify that with a response. My heart was still racing, uncertain of where it stood in this conflict. I retreated to the dresser, my back tense as I fumbled with my nightgown.

“You don’t have to act shy now,” Lucien’s voice softened, sounding intimate. “We’re practically family, remember?”

I spun around. “Not for long.”

He tilted his head. “Right. The divorce.”

I fell silent. I couldn’t trust him, or anyone with Belmont blood. He wasn’t supposed to know, and now that he did, it felt like I was treading on thin ice.

Lucien leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You went through with it, huh? Had His Royal Highness sign his own divorce papers.” His voice danced between joking and challenging. “Has your conscience finally decided to show up?”

Conscience? I’d buried that long ago. All that remained now was survival and a flicker of hope I was too scared to acknowledge.

“Don’t pretend to know anything about me,” I snapped.

He let out a dry laugh. “I know you stayed. For years. Played the perfect wife while Dave was cheating on half the city.”

“That’s none of your business,” I said, struggling to keep my composure.

“Maybe,” he replied, rising slowly with an almost predatory grace. “But it’s convenient, isn’t it? You find your courage and return here, where you had your honeymoon. Almost like part of you isn’t ready to leave.”

He locked eyes with me. “Or maybe you aren’t as free as you think.”

“I needed space,” I shot back. “I had no clue you were coming back today. If I had, I’d have stayed at the mansion.”

His expression darkened, a shadow crossing his face. “Well, you won’t find much space this week. Not with the memorial tomorrow.”

I blinked. “What memorial?”

“You forgot?”

The realization hit me hard. The one-year memorial for the Patriarch, the only man in this family who ever treated me like a daughter. I recalled the funeral, where I’d seen Lucien cry at the grave while the rest of the family was busy bickering over the inheritance.

“The one-year memorial for Belmont Senior,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice. “Or have we started calling him something else?”

“Of course I didn’t forget,” I whispered, guilt tightening in my chest. “I just… didn’t think I would go.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Why not? You always looked so good in black. I figured you’d show up in pearls and tears, acting the part of the grieving daughter-in-law. That’s your specialty, isn’t it? Pretending.”

The urge to slap him was electric, but I held my ground.

“I’m done pretending,” I said, my voice steady. “In thirty days, I’ll be out of all your lives.”

Lucien studied me, and for a fleeting moment, the cruelty faded, replaced by something resembling sadness.

“Thirty days,” he echoed. “That’s not long.”

“No.”

He walked to the dresser, picked up the divorce papers, and held them out. As I took them, his fingers grazed mine, a brief but intense contact.

“Dave doesn’t know he signed this, does he?” He watched me with eagerness. When I didn’t reply, a smirk returned. “I won’t say a word. Your secret is safe.”

He turned toward the door, moving with an effortless confidence. But just as he reached the frame, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

“Remember, the family will be expecting their dutiful daughter-in-law at dawn.” His tone softened, almost tender that it made my heart twist in annoyance. “Hope you don’t let them down.”

The door clicked shut.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, finally exhaling the breath I’d been holding. I was caught between my obligation to a deceased man and the first flicker of freedom that felt tantalizingly close.