Chapter 16 – Lance
Chapter Sixteen
Let's Get Married
Lance
La Table Ronde felt like neutral ground, which was exactly what we needed for this conversation.
The private dining room Atticus had reserved was tucked away at the back of the restaurant, accessible only by key card and facial recognition software hidden in the ornate mirror by the elevator.
Round table, of course. Twelve chairs upholstered in deep burgundy leather.
Soft lighting from wrought-iron chandeliers.
More importantly, it was swept for bugs twice daily and had enough ambient noise and electronic countermeasures that allowed us to talk freely.
No surveillance. No listening devices. No way for my grandfather's people to eavesdrop on what was about to become a conspiracy against one of the most dangerous men alive.
I sat between Morgan and Atticus, hyperaware of every micro-expression on Morgan's face, every shift in her posture.
We were going to have to sell this relationship hard, even here among family.
My grandfather had eyes everywhere, and if even one person in this room had doubts about us, word would get back to him.
And then we're all fucked.
The urge to touch her was driving me insane. To slide my hand up her thigh, mark her neck with my teeth, make it crystal fucking clear to everyone in this room that she belonged to me.
Even if it is all pretend.
"Before we begin," Atticus said, settling into his chair with Ava sleeping peacefully in her carrier beside him, "Lance, I think introductions are in order." His gaze shifted to Silas, who'd arrived separately and taken a seat across from us.
I felt my spine straighten automatically. Even after all these years, Silas commanded that kind of respect from me. The closest thing to a father I'd ever had. The man who'd helped me become someone other than the weapon my grandfather had tried to forge.
"Everyone, this is Silas Beaumont," I said. "He was my mother's bodyguard and closest confidant. Before that, he was an enforcer for my grandfather."
Pierce leaned forward, his tactical mind immediately engaged. "How long were you in the family business?"
"Twenty-three years," Silas replied, his French accent subtle but unmistakable.
His voice carried the weight of those years—gravelly, measured, like every word was carefully considered.
"I started when I was eighteen. Worked my way up through the ranks until Christiane—Lance's mother—requested me as her personal security. "
The way he said my mother's name hit me in the chest like it always did. Even now, years after he'd first told me the truth about their relationship, it still caught me off guard sometimes.
I'd had no idea when I was growing up. To me, Silas had just been my mother's bodyguard—professional, distant, always there but never personal. It wasn't until after she died, when he'd found me half-dead in that Prague safe house, that he'd revealed what she'd really meant to him.
"She was everything to me," he'd said that first night, stitching up a knife wound while I fought off fever. "And you're all I have left of her."
Another fucking secret. Another truth that had been kept from me, even by the people who loved me. Though in this case, I understood why. In our world, love was vulnerability. Love was a weapon that could be used against you.
"And now you work with Lance," Rowan observed.
"Now I try to undo some of the damage I helped create," Silas said simply. "When Christiane died, I made her a promise. To protect her son. To help him become the man she wanted him to be, not the weapon his grandfather tried to make him."
My jaw tightened at the mention of my mother. Even after all these years, thinking about her death—about how alone I'd felt, how lost I'd been until Silas found me—made something raw and jagged shift in my chest.
She would have fucking loved Morgan. Would have seen what I see in her. The fire. The strength. The refusal to take shit from anyone.
Before I could respond, Silas reached into his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box. "Before we continue," he said, setting it on the table in front of me, "to make this official. The old man will recognize it."
My breath caught. I knew what was in that box without opening it.
"Lance," Morgan said softly, confusion clear in her voice.
I picked up the box with hands that weren't quite steady.
Inside was my mother's engagement ring—a fucking masterpiece that had belonged to DuLac women for generations.
The center stone was a 4-carat oval diamond with the faintest pink hue, surrounded by smaller diamonds in an intricate vintage setting that caught the light like captured fire.
It looked like something out of a fairy tale, delicate and powerful at the same time.
"How the fuck did you—" I started.
"I saved what I could," Silas said simply. "Kept it safe, hoping someday you'd have use for it."
The weight of the moment hit me like a freight train.
This should have been private. Intimate.
I should have been down on one knee telling Morgan how much she meant to me, how I couldn't imagine my life without her, how she made me want to burn down the world just to keep her safe.
Instead, I was putting my mother's ring on her finger in front of an audience, for show, to keep her alive.
If this were real, I'd tell her she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
That she made me want to be a better man.
That I loved the way she argued with me, the way she never backed down, the way she looked at me like I'm worth saving.
That I'd kill anyone who tried to take her from me.
I took Morgan's left hand in mine, my thumb tracing over her knuckles. The contact sent electricity straight to my cock, a reminder of everything I wanted and couldn't have.
"Morgan," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "Will you marry me?"
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I saw something vulnerable there before she covered it. Something that looked almost like want.
"Yes," she whispered.
I slipped the ring onto her finger, and it fit perfectly. Like it was meant to be there. Like she was meant to be mine.
The pink-hued diamond caught the chandelier light, throwing rainbows across her skin. It was stunning on her. Made her look like the queen she was.
"It's beautiful," she said, and I caught the slight tremor in her voice.
I fucking hate this.
Hated that our engagement is a performance.
Hated that I couldn’t say what I really feel.
Hated that I couldn’t drag her onto this table and show everyone exactly who she belonged to.
But I leaned over and kissed her anyway, soft and brief, tasting the lie we were both living. She melted into me for just a second, and my control nearly snapped.
Careful, asshole. Save it for when you're alone.
"Now that that's settled," I said, trying to refocus on the reason we were here before I did something stupid like pin her against the wall, "let me explain what we're up against."
I activated the app on my phone, and the wall screen came to life, displaying the DuLac family tree—though this one was marked with dates, locations, territories, and power structures.
"We have two primary objectives, both already in motion. The first is protection. Once Morgan is officially a DuLac, that protection extends to her family as well." I met Gwen's eyes. "You, Atticus, Ava—you'll all be untouchable under family law."
It was the one rule my grandfather had never broken. Blood and marriage were sacred. It was the only thing I could count on, the only shield strong enough to protect them from him.
"And the second objective?" Micah asked, leaning back in his chair with deceptive casualness.
"Take my grandfather down."
Gwen choked on her wine, coughing as she set down her glass. "Are you planning on killing him?"
Yes.
"No," I said, though the part of me that was still the French Devil whispered that it would be easier. Cleaner. More permanent. "But if we do this right, I won't have to."
I clicked to the next slide, showing two distinguished older men. My great-uncles. Men I hadn't seen in over a decade but whose faces were burned into my memory from childhood family gatherings that had felt more like board meetings.
"These are my grandfather's brothers—Henri and Claude. They live in France and have been in a power struggle with him for decades. Old grudges, territorial disputes, and philosophical differences about how the family business should evolve."
"And you think they'd move against him?" Atticus asked, his instincts fully engaged as he studied the screen.
"With the right incentive, yes," I confirmed. "Family loyalty only goes so far when billions of dollars and generational control are at stake. They've been waiting for an opportunity to unseat him for years."
Silas cleared his throat. "For the past few years, Lance and I have been working on two levels. To the public, we've been paying restitution for damage his family has caused—anonymously funding victim compensation, scholarship programs, anti-trafficking organizations."
Morgan’s eyes widened reassessing me. It made some of the tension seep out of my chest. It had been my idea initially.
A way to balance the scales, to try to make amends for the blood on our hands.
We'd funneled millions into victim funds, organizations that helped people like the ones my family had destroyed.
It didn't erase what had been done, but it was something.
"But beneath that," I picked up the thread, "we've been gathering ammunition. Following money trails, documenting operations, looking for leverage we can use against him."
"What kind of leverage?" Pierce asked.
"Proof that my grandfather has violated family law. There are two things that would tip the balance in our favor with his brothers, proof that he's overstepped his boundaries into his brothers' territories, or proof that he's caused unnecessary exposure."