Chapter 23
Laurent
In my head, I’d always imagined watching Lucia bloom—seeing my child grow inside her belly. The thought alone used to make me hard. That was the end goal for me: to keep her available to warm my bed when needed and to bear my children. Her submissive streak had deceived me.
By now she’d be entering her eighth month of pregnancy.
No sightings. No hospital records. No bank activity.
That’s how much Lucia hated me.
How was she surviving? She had no family.
And what did I do? I offered her a prenup and a spare bedroom, as if she were a concubine—or a tenant.
I set my half-eaten sandwich back into the paper bag. The office no longer held any allure. On my lunch breaks, I came to sit by the park lake, searching for a sliver of peace.
To admit what kind of father I’d have been, if I’d ever been given the chance.
I couldn’t even call what I had with Lucia a relationship. It was a manipulation—a situation-ship built on deceit.
“Not hungry today?” Garrett asked.
I ignored him. He knew the deal. I didn’t talk during my daily time of reflection.
For all my torment, one question never left me.
Did she have an abortion?
?? ?? ??
The Furutachi project was well on its way to becoming a lucrative success, but I’d delegated it to others. I’d lightened my workload to something more fitting for my current state.
With a sigh, I set the report down when a knock sounded at my door.
Allison.
“I’m heading out, unless you need anything else?”
The office was silent when she left. The only sound came from the clock, and today it felt ominous.
I sat for a while, staring at nothing in particular, surrounded by the faint smell of ink and paper. Reports, numbers, profit projections—all of it irrelevant.
When I finally gathered my things, the city outside was grey and drizzling. Garrett opened the door as I stepped out, the quiet hum of the car swallowing me whole. Neither of us spoke. There was no need.
Through the window, I watched the world go on without me—couples walking hand in hand beneath umbrellas, a mother pushing a pram, a boy tugging at his father’s sleeve, laughing about something small.
All the things I’d never noticed before seemed louder.
When the car rolled up to the house, I hesitated before getting out. The lights inside were off, the windows dark. Garrett mumbled a good night that I barely heard.
The echo of my shoes followed me down the hallway. No smell of dinner. No soft laughter.
Just the hollow quiet of too much space.
I loosened my tie and stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at the marble counter—the same counter where she’d once stood, reading the back of a carton, sleeves rolled up, bare feet on the tiles.
I turned away from the harsh reality.
Lucia had taken her light away.
?? ?? ??
The ice rattled in my glass as I swirled it, watching the amber whirl. I’d retrieved our videos from the deleted folder but stopped watching them. I didn’t need footage to remember how soft her skin felt, or how she smelled. Some things were seared into memory.
The phone rang.
I didn’t check the caller ID.
“I think we found her.”
The glass hit the table with a crack. I sat forward, pressing the phone tight to my ear.
“Say that again,” I rasped.
“In Carlisle. Near the train station. She was caught on CCTV.”
“You’re sure it’s her this time?”
“Yes. And… you were right—she looks pregnant.”
“Her location?”
“That’s what I’m working on.”
He kept talking—details, methods, names I didn’t care about. All I could think of was Lucia.
“…I’m emailing you the pictures,” he said finally.
I hung up and waited.
Each heartbeat pounded against my ribs. I took a few deep breaths, but the urge to drive straight to Carlisle didn’t fade. I reached for my scotch, drained the glass, and stared at the melting ice cubes.
Could it really be her?
After five months that had felt like five years.
That smile… the way she’d—
My phone chimed. Then again.
Emails.
I opened the one marked Digital—better quality. I’d been down this road of false hope before.
The image loaded slowly. I zoomed in, pulse climbing with every pixel that sharpened.
There she was.
Not in heels and a suit this time, but trainers and a hoodie. I lifted the phone closer. Beneath the baggy fabric, the gentle curve of her belly.
Proof.
My child. My blood.
I calmly messaged the lead PI.
Find her and every single detail of her new life.
Cost was never an issue, only results.
I poured myself another drink, the ice cracking like fission in my head.