47. Christopher
47
Christopher
H er lips are soft against mine, yielding yet resolute.
She tastes like forgiveness.
Like possibilities I’d almost stopped believing in.
I debate whether I should take her right there. As I’ve done in the past.
I decide to wait. Her and her legal team need to process what happened with my father.
Hell, I need to process it.
I pull back, and I see a momentary flash of disappointment in her eyes.
“Okay, Ms. CEO,” I murmur. “Back to work.”
She laughs softly. “Don’t call me Ms. CEO.” She gently pushes my chest. “But you’re right. I need to get back in there with my legal team. We need to figure out the next steps…”
“Dinner?” I ask, releasing her reluctantly. “My place. Tonight. We have… things to discuss. Properly.”
A slow smile spreads across her face. “Yes. Properly.” She hesitates. “I need to stop by the hospital first, check on Dad again…”
“Of course.”
She gives my hand a quick squeeze, before opening the door and heading back towards the conference room. Already shifting back to CEO mode.
I watch her go, a complex mix of possessiveness, pride, and… something else… churning inside me. Hope?
Fuck.
It’s a dangerous commodity.
The ride downtown is quiet. Victor navigates the city streets with his usual unflappable calm. My security SUV follows like a silent shadow.
Inside the sedan, my mind races. The recording. My father’s forced retirement. Lucy. The framework we agreed on. It’s a whirlwind, but underneath it all, there’s a strange sense of… clarity. Like shedding a heavy, suffocating weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying until it was gone.
My phone buzzes. It’s Dominic Rossi.
I pick up.
“Heard the news,” Dominic says immediately, a note of something almost like awe in his voice. “Mark Blackwell, retired? Effective immediately? Forced out of his own company? Holy shit, Chris. What did you do ?”
“Leveraged a strategic vulnerability,” I reply dryly. “Exposed a pattern of behavior detrimental to shareholder value.” Corporate speak for ‘caught the old bastard admitting his crimes on tape and used it to hang him’.
Dominic whistles. “Ruthless. Even for you. Especially against family. ”
“He made his choice when he came after Lucy,” I state flatly. The protective instinct surges again, fierce and absolute. “Some lines shouldn’t be crossed.”
“The Executioner is back,” Dominic chuckles. “And he’s bigger, badder, and meaner than ever!”
“No,” I retort, irritated. “He’s become someone else. Someone he was always meant to be.” I pause. “You asked me before if she had influenced me. Changed my approach.” I stare out at the blurring cityscape. “She has. Fundamentally. Made me realize building something, protecting something worthwhile, might actually be more satisfying than just… winning.” The admission feels strange, like speaking a foreign language. “The only way I could do that was to shed everything I was before. I had no choice but to sever ties with my father.”
There’s a long pause on the line. Finally:
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dominic murmurs. “Christopher Blackwell, discovering his inner philanthropist. Or maybe just his heart.” There’s no mockery in his voice this time. Just… surprise. “Good for you, Chris. Seriously. Let’s grab a drink soon.”
We disconnect.
Back at Blackwell Innovations, the atmosphere is buzzing. News of Mark’s spectacular implosion at Blackwell Holdings, coupled with his resignation from my board, has sent shockwaves through the executive floor. There are power vacuums to fill, alliances shifting.
I spend the afternoon in ruthless efficiency mode, restructuring committees, consolidating control, cutting out the last vestiges of my father’s loyalists. It needs to be done swiftly, decisively. Cleaning house. Ensuring my company, my empire, is secure.
But the work feels… different. Less about co nsolidating power for its own sake, more about clearing the decks, securing the foundation for the future I’m starting to build.
A future that includes Project Nightingale.
Includes her .
By evening, I’m back at the penthouse. Emilia has prepared dinner but has discreetly departed, along with the rest of the household staff. Privacy is essential tonight.
Lucy arrives shortly after seven, coming straight from the hospital. Her bodyguards remain downstairs. I still feel somewhat slighted that she dismissed Darius and Rebecca and hired her own rent-a-cops. My people are the best, handpicked for discretion and lethal efficiency. But I get it. Boundaries. Doesn’t mean I have to fucking like it.
“How’s Richard?” I ask as I pour her a glass of wine.
“Better,” she says, sinking onto a stool at the kitchen island, looking tired but relieved. “Grumbling about the food, ordering the nurses around. Definitely recovering.” She takes the wine with a grateful smile. “Thanks for… everything today, Christopher. The recording… it changed the game completely.”
“You’re welcome,” I state simply.
We eat casually, leaning against the island, the city lights a glittering backdrop. The easy domesticity feels both strange and right.
We talk about the company, the next steps in the SPE cleanup now that the external threat is almost gone. She tells me about her plans to oust Morgan.
She sounds confident. Capable.
Every inch the CEO.
Then, inevitably, the conversation turns personal. Back to us .
“I meant what I said, Lucy,” I begin, turning to face her fully, needing her to understand the depth of the shift within me. “About respecting your role. About finding a way for this to work.” I hesitate, the next words feeling unfamiliar, vulnerable. “But I also need you to know… this situation with my father… it dredged up a lot of old shit.”
Her expression softens with concern. “What do you mean?”
I sigh. “When my mother left, my father always blamed her weakness, her inability to handle his world. He used that excuse today, justifying his attack on you as saving me from repeating her mistakes.” I look down at my glass, then meet her eyes. “For years, I bought into that narrative. Feared connection. Equated vulnerability with abandonment. Built walls so fucking high no one could get through.”
“Until now?” she whispers, her eyes searching mine.
“Until you,” I admit, the confession raw. “You didn’t just get through, Lucy. You fucking demolished them.” I take a breath. “And it terrifies me. The thought of history repeating. Of messing this up. Of becoming him .”
My deepest fear, voiced aloud for the first time.
She reaches out, her hand covering mine on the cool marble countertop.
“You’re not him, Christopher,” she says softly but firmly. “Look at what you did today. You chose differently. You protected instead of attacked. You respected my position instead of trying to control it.” Her eyes hold mine, filled with unwavering belief. “And I’m not your mother. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her simple declaration, the absolute certainty in her voice, settles something deep inside me. The fear doesn’t vanish entirely, as old wounds run deep, but it recedes, overshadowed by the profound sense of connection, of being seen, truly seen, for the first time.
“I know,” I murmur, my thumb stroking the back of her hand.
And I do know.
Deep down, I trust her in a way I’ve never trusted anyone.
The time for hedging, for holding back, is over. She deserves the whole truth.
I deserve to give it.
“Lucy,” I say, my voice rough with emotion I no longer try to suppress. “I love you.”
The words hang in the air, simple, terrifying, liberating.
Fuck.
There, I said it.
Every goddamn defense I have is down.
Part of me wants to snatch the words back, rebuild the walls brick by painful brick.
But the rest… just waits.
Exposed. Utterly.
Time seems to stretch, and the entire fucking world narrows to her face.
Then tears well up in her eyes. She’s smiling. A radiant, watery, beautiful smile.
“Oh, Christopher,” she breathes out, her grip tightening on my hand. “I love you, too.”
Relief, potent and complete, washes through me.
It feels like finally reaching solid ground after decades adrift.
I pull her closer, kissing her deeply, pouring all the unspoken emotions, the fear, the hope, the absolute certainty of my feelings, into it .
She kisses me back with equal fervor.
When we finally break apart, breathless and clinging to each other.
I love you, too.
She said it. She actually said it.
I almost can’t believe it.
Fuck yes.
Time to make it real. Her, here, with me. Every night. Every morning. No more distance than necessary, no more walls than the ones we agree on together.
Time to ask again. Time for the answer I want.
“So,” I murmur against her hair, my voice husky. “About moving in…”
This time, she doesn’t hesitate. She pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, her expression absolutely certain.
“Yes,” she says softly. “Yes, Christopher. I’ll move in.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
Yes . A simple word that changes everything.
It cements our future, intertwines our lives beyond the corporate battlefields.
It’s a commitment I never thought I’d make, never thought I’d want to make.
But with Lucy?
It feels like the only logical step.
The only path forward.
A slow smile spreads across my face, mirroring hers. The future is still uncertain. Challenges remain. But facing them together? With her? Suddenly, anything feels possible.
“Come here,” I whisper, my voice imbued with a deliberate tenderness that surprises even me.
I gently pull her away from the kitchen island, towards the bedroom.