45. Christopher
45
Christopher
L ucy left early. Excused herself politely after our tense dinner, saying she wanted to check on her father again before visiting hours ended. Understandable. Admirable, even.
But the empty space she left in that private dining room, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the expensive restaurant air… it felt like a goddamn chasm.
She agreed to the framework. The protocols. The firewalls designed to let CEO Hammond and CEO Blackwell coexist without igniting mutually assured destruction, while still allowing Lucy and Christopher… something.
A possibility.
But her hesitation lingered. The shadow of that professional boundary she felt compelled to draw still hung between us. The ease we’d found, the raw connection, felt… buffered. Muted by responsibility and the ghosts of corporate warfare.
Back in my penthouse, scotch in hand, I replay the evening. Her confession. The fear of failure, the weight of the CEO title, the terror of repeating her father’s mistakes, it made a twisted kind of sense.
I pushed her towards this role. Now she feels she has to sacrifice us to fulfill it properly. Irony is a fucking bitch.
My first instinct, the old instinct, is to protect myself. Wall off. She drew a line, fine. Respect it. Maintain distance. Focus on crushing my father’s remaining takeover attempts purely as a business maneuver. Treat Project Nightingale as just another strategic investment.
Forget the rest.
Forget the way she felt beneath me, the way she looks when she smiles, the way she challenges me without calculation.
But… fuck. It’s not that simple anymore. She’s burrowed too deep.
That conversation with Richard Hammond, his unexpected blessing… it highlighted the stark absence in my own life. The gaping void where paternal support should be.
Lucy, with all her complications and anxieties, represents something… real. Something worth fighting for, beyond just market share and quarterly returns.
The conflict churns inside me. Self-protection versus… this. This terrifying potential for something more. Something I never thought I wanted or deserved.
On impulse, I do something I haven’t done before. I seek advice. Not from my usual circle of lawyers or strategists or even friends.
I call Gideon King .
King. Our past interactions have always been edged with rivalry. Respect, maybe, for a fellow predator who built his own empire. But mostly competition.
Yet... Lucy trusts his wife, Ava. Implicitly.
And Lucy mentioned Ava’s perspective on navigating… similar complexities.
Maybe King, having traversed this territory himself, has some insight beyond the usual cynical bullshit.
Sounding mildly surprised, he agrees to meet. We convene in the restrained atmosphere of his private club. I leave my security detail at the front door so they can shoot the shit with King’s detail.
“Blackwell,” he greets me, his handshake firm, his gray eyes assessing. No warmth, but no overt hostility either.
“King.” We settle into the chairs, drinks ordered and delivered with unobtrusive efficiency.
The initial conversation is stiff. Market trends. A potential downtown development he’s eying. The usual sparring, testing the waters.
Finally, I cut through the crap.
“I need a perspective outside my usual echo chamber,” I state bluntly. “Regarding… navigating a personal relationship complicated by conflicting professional positions. Specifically, when one party feels obligated to create distance for the sake of professional integrity.”
I keep the details vague, but he’s sharp. He knows who I’m talking about.
The Hammond gala wasn’t exactly subtle.
King swirls his drink, studying me for a long moment. I expect a cynical remark. A barb about letting emotions interfere with business. Instead, he surprises me.
“Ava,” he says quietly, his gaze distant for a second. “When we first got married… the power imbalance, the wealth, my own fucking relationship issues… I nearly destroyed it. Tried to control everything. Assumed her motives were suspect. She pushed back. Hard. Created boundaries I wasn’t used to encountering.” He looks back at me. “Sometimes, King, distance isn’t about a lack of trust in you . It’s about her need to trust herself . To prove she can stand on her own, especially when the world expects her to lean on someone powerful.”
He takes a drink before continuing. “Lucy Hammond just became CEO of a legacy company under siege, thanks largely to your father. She’s got the weight of history, her father’s failings, and every vulture in New York watching her every move. Her needing to project absolute independence right now? It’s not about you. It’s about survival. Her survival. The company’s survival.”
His words land with unexpected force. Fear. Not lack of faith. Her boundary wasn’t a rejection of me, but a defense mechanism born of overwhelming pressure and her own deep-seated insecurities.
It’s all starting to click into place.
“Funny,” King remarks, a wry smile touching his lips. “Us. Fierce rivals for years. And now…” He gestures between us. “Brought together, in a way, by the women we… care about.” He raises an eyebrow. “You love her, don’t you, Blackwell?”
The question hangs in the air. Love. The word itself feels foreign. Dangerous. Associated with weakness, abandonment, my mother’s departure, my father’s bitterness .
But thinking of Lucy… her fire, her vulnerability, the way she makes me feel something other than calculating rage or cynical amusement… the way the thought of losing her feels like a physical fucking amputation…
The realization crystallizes, sharp and undeniable. Stripped bare of defenses, of cynicism.
“Yes,” I admit, the single word feeling heavier than any multi-billion dollar deal.
Yes.
Fuck me, I do.
King nods slowly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “Then give her the space she needs to be CEO. But don’t mistake distance for dismissal. Find ways to support her without undermining her. It’s a trickier game than hostile takeovers, but the payoff…” He shrugs. “A thousand times better.” He finishes his drink. “Seems we’re not rivals anymore, Blackwell. Not really.”
“No,” I agree.
Leaving the club, my mind feels clearer. Calmer.
Gideon King, of all people, offering perspective that cuts through my own bullshit.
Love.
Fuck.
The admission settles, heavy but… not entirely unwelcome.
It clarifies things. Sharpens the focus.
Back at the office, an urgent message awaits from my legal team.
They’ve found it.
A critical vulnerability in Mark’s remaining takeover strategy.
Apparently, the shell corporations he’s using for financing have ties back to offshore accounts with questionable FBAR reporting history. Exposing that could trigger regulatory scrutiny, freezing his assets, effectively killing the bid for good.
My first instinct is to forward the intel to Lucy immediately. Give her the weapon she needs. But… no.
Not yet.
Gideon’s words echo.
Support her without undermining her.
Dropping this bombshell into her lap right now might feel like another intervention, another instance of me riding to the rescue, potentially reinforcing her fears about needing me to succeed.
And besides. There’s one last piece of business I need to attend to first. One final move in the long game against my father.
The game to remove his corrosive influence from my life, and my company, for good.
I drive out to the estate myself this time, leaving Elijah and the team at the gate. Just me.
And the micro-recorder concealed in my cufflink.
Mark is in his study, same bullshit posture of arrogant authority. He looks surprised to see me back so soon.
“Come to your senses?” he sneers.
“Hardly,” I reply, taking a seat opposite him. “I came to understand your motivation.”
“My motivation is clear. Protecting the family name. Protecting my company’s interests. Protecting you from repeating your mother’s mistakes.”
There it is. The opening.
“My mother,” I repeat neutrally. “What mistakes are those, exactly?”
“Her weakness!” he spits out, falling into the trap. His face contorts with old bitterness. “Letting sentiment, emotion, cloud her judgment! Just like you are now! She couldn’t handle the pressure, the realities of our world. So she ran. Abandoned her family. Abandoned you . Because she was weak. And I see the same weakness in you now, falling for Richard Hammond’s daughter.”
“So this takeover,” I say quietly, wanting the recorder to capture every word. “This attack on Hammond & Co., using Lucy’s appointment as an excuse… it’s not about business opportunity. It’s about punishing Lucy for being a Hammond? About trying to ‘save’ me from repeating my mother’s perceived weakness?”
“Yes!” he admits, practically spitting the words. “Fuck business opportunity! It’s about revenge! Crushing Richard Hammond for what he did to me, finally! And it’s about teaching you a valuable lesson! Your mother’s pattern stops here! Cut out the sentiment before it destroys everything!”
“What Morgan has done for you is illegal, you know that, right?”
“Illegal? It’s called strategy, Christopher! Long-term planning! Seeing the weaknesses and exploiting them! Sure, he might have fudged a few Hammond & Co. property valuations, but that’s par for the course on these sorts of things. You know that. Come on! What happened to the son I know? The one who understands strength lies in control! In ruthlessness! Not in… sentiment, or attachments!” He jabs a finger towards me. “When you come to your sense, you’ll thank me for this.”
“No, Father,” I say, standing up slowly. I have the final piece of leverage I need. “Strength lies in choosing your own path. In building something real, not just tearing things down out of spite and fear.” I look at him, at the bitter, lonely man trapped in his own gilded cage. And for the first time, I feel… nothing.
Not anger.
Not hurt.
Just a vast, empty distance.
Pity, maybe.
“You taught me ruthlessness. Control. How to win at any cost.” I shake my head. “But you never taught me what any of it was worth. Goodbye, Father.”
I walk out of the study, leaving him sputtering impotently behind me. Shouting at my back, he disowns me yet again, and hurls every curse in the book at me.
But his words don’t effect me anymore.
I walk out of the oppressive house, and the air outside feels cleaner. Lighter.
Victor drives me toward the city.
On the ride back, the weight I’ve carried for decades feels… lifted. Severed. Not just by his choice, but by mine.
I have the leverage I need to finally excise him from my board, from my business life. The recording is damning proof of his personal vendetta.
The path forward is clear. Professionally, I’ll dismantle his influence, and support Lucy’s defense of Hammond without interfering directly, respecting the space she needs.
And personally?
The ache is still there. The fear of abandonment hasn’t vanished entirely.
But Gideon was right.
Love isn’t about control or weakness .
It’s about choosing connection despite the risks.
And I choose Lucy.
Now I just need to show her, patiently, strategically, that she doesn’t have to choose between her ambition and me.
We can have both.