Chapter 9 – Lance
Chapter Nine
Grenades, Proposals, and Family Reunions
Lance
The thing about throwing a grenade into a room is you want to map out your exit strategy.
Not me. Tonight, I'd have no escape.
I was about to detonate the carefully constructed life I'd built, and the shrapnel would hit everyone I cared about. Starting with Morgan.
Gwen and Atticus's penthouse was my second home, the warm sanctuary where I'd almost convinced myself I could be normal. Jazz playing softly through hidden speakers. Ava's baby giggles. The scent of Magda's cooking from the kitchen. It was the perfect life I'd never deserved.
Time to burn it all down.
Atticus lounged against the window, nursing a scotch, relaxed in a way he only ever was at home. Gwen sat cross-legged on the floor with Ava, laughing as Micah and Morgan staged an elaborate puppet show battle for the baby's attention.
"She's clearly looking at my dragon," Micah insisted, wiggling the plush toy.
"In your dreams," Morgan shot back, dangling a sparkly unicorn that had Ava's tiny hands reaching upward. "She has taste, unlike her uncle Micah."
Their playful bickering filled the apartment with warmth, the kind of easy familiarity that had made this place a sanctuary for me. Even now, with destruction riding on my heels.
Gwen glanced up when I entered, a genuine smile lighting her face before she clocked my expression.
"Lance! Didn't expect you tonight." Her smile faltered slightly. "Everything okay? You sounded weird when you called to check if we were all home."
I caught Morgan's eyes across the room. She looked away immediately, but not before I saw the wariness there. That familiar mix of hurt, anger, and something else I couldn't afford to analyze too closely.
She's going to fucking murder me when she hears my solution.
"Just needed to talk," I said, moving further into the room. "To all of you."
Micah set down his dragon puppet, the playfulness gone. "Is this about what happened at the co-op?"
I exhaled slowly. No point dragging this out. The sooner I ripped off the bandage, the sooner we could deal with the aftermath.
"I know who's behind the attacks," I said, my voice harder than intended. "The hospital. The co-op."
Morgan went still, the unicorn puppet slipping from her fingers. Her expression wasn't shock—it was dread. A quiet realization dawning across her face as she met my eyes.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head slowly.
"My family."
The silence that followed was fucking deafening. I could hear my own heartbeat. The ice melting in Atticus's glass. Ava's soft breath.
"Your family?" Gwen frowned, confusion etched across her face. "But you said they?—"
"I lied," I cut her off. No time for delicacy. "Almost everything I've told you has been a lie."
Atticus set his glass down with deliberate control, but I caught the subtle warning in his eyes. He already knew, of course. Had known for years. But we'd both agreed to keep my secrets buried.
Until now.
"My name isn't Lance Lakewood." The admission tasted like blood on my tongue. "It's Lance DuLac."
Micah straightened, recognition flashing in his eyes. "DuLac," he repeated. "As in?—"
"The DuLac family. Yeah." I kept my gaze locked on Atticus, silently apologizing for blowing up the careful facade we'd built. "French assassins who went legit. On paper, anyway."
Morgan's face was a blank mask, but her white-knuckled grip on the unicorn puppet betrayed her. She knew. Not everything, but enough.
Gwen looked completely lost. "I don't understand."
"The DuLacs are one of the oldest crime families in Europe," Atticus explained, his voice precise.
Like he was explaining a hostile takeover to a board, not exposing my family's bloody legacy.
"They started as assassins, sanitized their image by moving to America, investing in legitimate businesses. But underneath?—"
"Underneath, they're still in the game," I finished, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Assassinations. Weapons. Drugs. If it bleeds money and breaks laws, my family has a piece of it."
Gwen tightened her grip on Ava, instinctively shielding her daughter from the violence of my words. "And you're... you're one of them?"
"Born and bred," I said, the admission coming easier now that the first was out. "I was trained since I could walk. By fifteen, I'd already—" I stopped abruptly. Some sins were too dark to voice aloud. "I left. Ten years ago. Cut ties. Changed my name. Built this life."
"So you've been lying to us," Gwen whispered, betrayal etched across her face. "This whole time."
I met her gaze, refusing to look away from the hurt blooming there. "Yes."
She turned her face, but not before I caught the flash of pain in her eyes. Like I'd reached inside her chest and crushed something vital.
I'd been prepared for anger. For shouting. For being thrown out.
The silent hurt was worse.
"Why now?" Gwen asked, her voice tight with fear. "Why would they come after us after all this time?"
"My grandfather never accepted that I left," I explained, keeping my tone flat, factual. Professional. "He's been trying to lure me back for a decade."
Morgan's eyes narrowed at that, a flash of recognition crossing her face. She knew some of this already. Had seen Hector herself.
When the elevator dinged a few minutes later, everyone's head turned in surprise.
Pierce, Gavin, and Rowan stepped out, their expressions unusually grim.
"I called them," I said before anyone could ask. "Asked them to come up."
Atticus exchanged a look with Gavin. "What's going on? You've got my entire team here on a Thursday night."
"Because we need them all for this," I said simply.
"So let me get this straight," Morgan finally spoke, her voice icy with that razor-sharp control that made my cock harden even as she was flaying me alive. "Your family, sent men after me? They're the ones who stormed the co-op? Who tried to get to Gwen during labor?"
"My brother, Hector, specifically," I continued, watching Morgan's reaction carefully, "acting on my grandfather's orders."
Morgan obviously wasn’t surprised at the name. Just grim at the confirmation.
"You have a brother?" Gwen looked like I'd slapped her. "Just how many lies have you told us, Lance?"
"More than I can count," I admitted, refusing to sugarcoat it. "I did what I had to do."
"To keep everyone safe," Morgan finished, voice dripping with venom. Her reaction was too measured, too controlled. She already knew more than she was letting on. "Stellar job there."
I deserved that. Deserved worse.
"But why Morgan?" Gwen asked, her voice shaking as she looked between us. "Why would they target her specifically?"
I hesitated. Some truths felt too raw to expose.
Micah leaned forward, his expression sharp despite his casual tone. "Isn't it obvious? They went after Morgan because she's his weakness." His eyes flicked between us. "Because he loves her."
The room went uncomfortably silent. Gwen's expression darkened with understanding - this wasn't news to her, just confirmation of how dangerous our connection had become. Pierce suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. Rowan shifted his weight.
Morgan's knuckles went white around the unicorn puppet she'd retrieved.
"I'm his weak point?" Her voice rose, disbelief and fury intertwining as she pushed to her feet. "So this is my fault?"
"No," I snarled, the word ripping from my throat. "This is on me. All of it. I did this. I brought this to you." I ran a hand through my hair, fighting to control my voice. "It's up to me to fix it."
"Then explain it to me," she demanded, those golden eyes flashing fire. "Because from where I'm standing, I'm being hunted because I was with you."
The deliberate distance in her words – referring to us as simply "with" each other – hit harder than any crudeness could have. The image of her beneath me, around me, taking all of me—slammed into my gut with the force of a wrecking ball.
"My grandfather wants me back in line," I said, strangling my voice into submission. "As his heir. And anything I want for myself—anything outside his control—is a threat to that fucking plan."
"So I'm a distraction," she bit out. "A complication."
"You're a target," I growled, control slipping. "Because he knows I—" I stopped myself, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.
Her eyes narrowed. "Because he knows you what ?"
"Because he knows you're mine," I said, the possessive declaration escaping before I could stop it. "And he'll use that against me."
A flush crept up her neck. "I am not yours."
“Spitfire, you’ve been mine since the moment I touched you. We can argue the point later. To him, you are." I was losing control, my voice dropping to that register I knew made her shiver. "That's all that goddamn matters."
"The hospital, the co-op—those were warnings?" Atticus's voice cut through the tension between us like ice.
"Yes," I confirmed, forcing myself to focus. "My grandfather isn't subtle."
"And Ava? Gwen?" The barely perceptible tremor in his voice betrayed the fear beneath his CEO facade. "They're targets too?"
The question hung in the air like a blade.
I refused to lie. Not anymore. "If they think it'll hurt me or control me, yes. They'll use them too."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Gwen whispered, her face pale as she clutched Ava tighter.
"So everyone I care about is in danger," Morgan said, her voice shaking with fury, "because of you ?"
I could have apologized. Could have begged forgiveness. Could have thrown myself at her feet.
Instead, I squared my shoulders. "I'm going to fix this."
"How?" Morgan shot back. "How exactly do you plan to fix the fact that your psychotic family wants me dead?"
I met her gaze head-on, unflinching.
"We get married."
The bomb detonated in the silence.
Morgan stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "What the fuck did you just say?"
"We get married," I repeated, each syllable deliberate. "It's the only way to protect you."
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" She stumbled back a step, like I'd physically struck her.
"The DuLacs have one sacred rule," I explained, my voice ruthlessly controlled despite the storm raging inside me. "Family is untouchable. By blood or by marriage. As my wife, even my grandfather wouldn't dare touch you. And anyone who is an extension of you."
I pushed off the wall, running a hand through my hair. "I tried to keep you safe by staying away. Thought if I denied how I felt, kept my distance, they'd never find you. But that failed. They found you anyway."
The bitter irony wasn't lost on me. The very name I'd been running from, the legacy I'd tried to protect her from, was now the only thing that could save her.
"If we're together – officially, publicly – you get the DuLac name. He'll stop hunting you to get to me. You become untouchable."
Morgan laughed, the sound harsh and brittle. "You can't be serious."
"Deadly."
"This is insane," Gwen protested, her voice cracking. "You can't honestly expect Morgan to?—"
"It's the only option," Pierce interrupted, his voice clinically detached. "The DuLacs won't stop. They'll keep coming until they get what they want."
"Unless she becomes a DuLac," I finished.
Morgan shook her head, backing away from me until her spine hit the wall. "No. Hell no. Absolutely fucking not."
"There's no other way," I said, leaving no room for argument. My voice had gone to that place that made grown men tremble. "My grandfather has billions at his disposal. He has people everywhere. Private armies. Government contacts. Safe houses, security details—none of it would be enough."
"So I'm supposed to just surrender my entire damn life?" Morgan's voice broke, the first crack in her armor. "Sacrifice my future because you lied about who you are?"
The accusation hit like a physical blow because she was right. I was offering her a prison disguised as protection.
But the alternative was worse. Far worse.
"I wouldn't ask if there was any other way," I said, the closest I'd come to an apology.
"Lance." Atticus's voice cut through the room like a blade. "A word. Now."
He didn't wait for a response, just turned and stalked toward his office, fury radiating off him in waves.
I looked at Morgan one last time. She'd gone utterly still, shock and betrayal etched into every line of her body. Eyes that had once looked at me with heat and trust now showed only horror.
"Don't leave," I told her, not a request but an order. I softened at her flinch. "Please."
She didn't respond.
As I followed Atticus, every step felt like walking through concrete. My chest burned with a truth I couldn't deny, couldn't escape.
If— if —Morgan agreed to marry me, it wouldn't be because she wanted me. It would be because I'd forced her hand.
She'd be mine, but only because I'd trapped her.
Doesn’t matter. She loved you once. She can love you again.