49. Lucy
49
Lucy
V isiting Dad at his apartment feels worlds different from those tense, grief-stricken vigils at the hospital. He’s still moving slowly, still complaining about the bland food and lack of decent scotch, but the oppressive fog of crisis has lifted.
He’s parked in his favorite leather armchair, wearing actual clothes instead of a hospital gown, and looking slightly less likely to keel over if I accidentally use a corporate buzzword.
My security detail, Frank and Maria, wait discreetly outside. Still feels profoundly weird having people shadow me, but apparently, dating a man whose net worth rivals a small country’s GDP comes with accessories. Guess it beats the alternative: winding up duct-taped in the back of an unmarked van while someone sends Christopher my freshly severed ear with a Bitcoin ransom demand stapled to it.
So yeah, maybe the polite, well-armed chaperones are a necessary evil.
“So,” Dad says, after I give him the latest ( carefully curated) update on the company’s stabilization now that Mark’s takeover bid is effectively dead. “The sharks are retreating. For now.”
“For now,” I agree. “We’re shoring up defenses. Implementing the restructuring plan. Things feel… cautiously optimistic.”
“And Christopher?” he asks, his gaze surprisingly direct. No judgment, just… curiosity.
I take a breath. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid. “We’re… figuring things out. He was instrumental in stopping his father’s bid, Dad. More than instrumental. He actively worked against him.” I hesitate, then add, “I agreed to move in with him.”
There. Said it.
I brace myself for… well, I don’t know what. Disapproval? A lecture about the Blackwells?
Christopher mentioned Dad gave him his blessing already, but this feels different. Moving in... makes it incredibly real.
And maybe Dad might be having second thoughts now that the crisis dust has settled.
Please don’t suddenly decide Christopher is the devil incarnate again.
But Dad just nods slowly, looking thoughtful rather than angry.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Like I told Christopher, he’s proven he’s not his father. Took me nearly dying to finally let go of that old bitterness, but he’s shown his character these past weeks.” He sighs, looking out the window briefly before turning back. “He’s honorable, in his own way. More importantly, he looks out for you. And he clearly respects what you’re doing with the company. That counts for a lot.” He offers a faint, tired smile. “Maybe a Blackwell and a Hammond can actually build something together after all. About damn time.”
Wow. There it is. I needed to hear it for myself. My father’s blessing.
And somehow, hearing those words, feeling that decades-old animosity finally dissolve… it feels like another heavy weight lifting off my shoulders.
Back at Hammond he bought back a piece of my family’s soul, a piece of my soul, protecting it because he knew it mattered to me .
Not as an asset, not as leverage, but as history.
As art.
As legacy.
“Oh Christopher…” I whisper, speechless.
He steps closer, gently wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb .
“No more fear of failure, Lucy,” he murmurs. “Not about the company. Not about us.”
And looking around this beautiful, historic space, feeling the solid weight of the key in my hand, the solid presence of the man beside me… I realize he’s right.
The deep-seated fear of failure, the inadequacy that’s haunted me for years… it’s gone. Replaced by a quiet certainty.
We faced the worst. Betrayal, sabotage, family warfare, financial ruin.
And we came through it.
Together.
“You’re right,” I say, my voice clear and strong, meeting his intense gaze without flinching. “I’m not afraid anymore. How can I be?” I reach up, framing his face with my hands. “With you beside me, Christopher Blackwell, I can take on the whole damn world.”
He leans down, his lips finding mine in a kiss that feels like coming home.