36. Chapter 36
C rispin
The office lights burned overhead long after the others had gone home.
Crispin stared at the spreadsheet without really seeing it. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the numbers merged together, irrelevant next to the one thing he couldn't quantify-loss.
He had started at the very bottom. That was his father's one condition.
If he wanted to work at Du Valares Holdings, he had to earn his place. There would be no handouts or fast-tracking on account of his surname.
So, Crispin made the coffee. He carted boxes of audit files across the city in the rain and sat through endless meetings where he wasn't allowed to speak, only listen and take notes.
Everyone either hated him for being the heir or avoided him like a walking HR liability.
He knew what they called him behind his back: "the crown prince," "Simon's golden boy," "the ticking time bomb. "
But he kept his head down and worked harder than anyone else. He had outperformed, outstayed, and outlasted his rivals.
And slowly, begrudgingly, he won them over .
His father, Simon Du Valares, had been openly proud as he moved up the ranks. Crispin still remembered the rare smile on his father's face the day the board had voted to make him managing director.
But the title meant nothing now when his father still held the board in his pocket. Not when power was still tethered to inherited shares and loyalty bought in silence. His father thought he was being subtle in his preparation, but Crispin had learned at the feet of the master.
That same father had summoned him to the house two nights after the dinner where everything fell apart.
Crispin had walked into his father's study like a soldier entering hostile territory.
Simon had been waiting, fury simmering just below the surface. "Do you understand what you've done?"
Crispin's expression did not change. "I stood beside the woman I love."
"You're putting everything at risk," Simon hissed. "Your position, your future..."
"Then fire me," Crispin said evenly. "But unless you have a legitimate reason, I'll sue the company and you personally. So, unless you're prepared to explain to the board why you're ousting the managing director without cause, I'm not going anywhere. "
His mother had been there, sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch. She hadn't spoken a word, just watched the slow, brutal unravelling of father and son.
Simon's tone shifted, suddenly smooth, almost conciliatory. "Helga is a good match, Crispin. Powerful family, clean reputation. You're too emotional to see it now, but in time-"
"Oh, I see it just fine," Crispin cut in. "You want me to marry Helga and keep Aria tucked away like some after-hours indulgence? Like you do with Lauren?"
There was an audible intake of breath from his mother. Crispin turned and met her wide eyes. For a second, regret flickered in his chest, but only for her pain, not for what he'd said.
He looked back at his father and saw the flicker of something he had never seen before. The pride of years past had vanished, replaced by a glare full of venom and rage.
"I'm sorry, Mum," Crispin said quietly. "Sorry that you have to put up with this from the man who should cherish you.
You've always have known what was going on right under your nose, yet you just prefer to bury your head in the sand.
I know you love me and think you know what is best for me, but I can barely look at you after the way you have treated Aria. "
He reached for his coat. "You may be able to live like that, but I can't. "
His mother had tried to talk to him the next morning. She always had a softness he didn't inherit. But this had become a cold war between him and his father. And now there were whispers of shares being bought up behind his back. He wasn't stupid; he'd heard the rustle of rebellion.
Later that night, a knock sounded at his apartment door. Reluctantly, he opened it.
"Say what you want to say, Dorian," he muttered, making no attempt to hide his disgust. "Then, fuck off."
Dorian stood awkwardly on the threshold. "Can I come in first?"
Crispin hesitated before stepping aside.
They sat with the distance of strangers who once called each other brothers. Wordlessly, Crispin poured him a peg.
Dorian fidgeted for a long moment. Then finally, the words tumbled out. "I've been a complete arse," Dorian said, a tumbler of whisky in his hand. "And if Aria makes you happy, then I want to stand by you. I don't want to lose you, mate."
Crispin hadn't said anything, just stared at the bottle between them .
"I said things...cruel things," Dorian continued. "To her. About her. I am ashamed. She had done nothing to deserve that. I talked to Ophelia, and she-" he stopped for a second before continuing. "She looked at me like I was something the cat dragged in. I haven't felt that small since I was nine."
Crispin took a long drink, the whisky searing down his throat.
"She's like a grandmother to me," Dorian whispered. "I can't stomach knowing I let her down."
Crispin's jaw tightened. "You let me down."
Dorian nodded. "I know."
Crispin looked up sharply. "Aria came here as a refugee, Dorian. She dropped out of school to raise her sister. You and I...we wouldn't have survived what she did. And we sit in our towers judging her."
Dorian bowed his head. "I told your mum about the two of you when it all first started."
Of course he had.
"Didn't mean to mess things up," Dorian added. "Road to perdition's paved with good intentions and all. I am sorry; truly, I am. "
They stared at the amber swirl like it might offer absolution. For a long time, neither said a word.
Then Dorian exhaled, swirling the amber in his glass. "I've been hearing things..."
Crispin didn't look up. "Don't we all?"
"No, I mean, about your father. Quiet buyouts. Minor shareholders getting very generous offers for their votes."
Crispin's eyes flicked to him, and for the first time that evening, a cold smile curved his mouth.
"Let him," Crispin said, his voice dangerously soft. "He can do his best. I've worked in this company for fifteen years. I know every corridor, every off-the-books clause, every blind spot."
He downed the rest of his whisky in one motion. "And even if he pulls the rug out from under me, I'm not broke. I didn't spend a decade just getting coffee and carting audit boxes. My trust fund isn't all I have; I've built my own."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "So, you've got a plan? "
"I always have a plan." Crispin refilled his glass with steady hands.
"I'm my father's son, Dorian. I know exactly how to weaponize information.
And I know the board. I know every shareholder's weakness.
Their gambling habits. Their mistresses.
Their offshore accounts. If he wants a war, I'll give him one. "
They finished the bottle in silence.
A few days later, Alice had come by, her presence unexpected. He hadn't realised how thin and guarded she looked lately.
"I didn't know about Aria," she'd said quietly. "Not until that awful dinner. But Mum...she knew."
He hadn't replied.
"I'm just glad you're not with Helga," she added. "She was vile in school. I never told you what she did to me; I thought you were in love and wouldn't listen. But I can't forget."
"There were pictures of me. I was heavier back then, and...it got out. There were comments, messages. I nearly... I thought I wouldn't survive it."
His heart clenched. How did he not know?
"What kind of pictures?" he asked finally .
"Nothing explicit," she said softly. "Just bra and knickers, but it was enough. Who enjoys doing things like that? The boy who leaked them took care of it in the end."
Crispin stared at her, rage blooming hot in his chest. "You should have told me."
"I got therapy. I'm stronger now," she said. "I won't go back to who I was. Ever."
And Crispin realised how deeply he had failed the women who mattered most.
He'd been sending messages to Aria, leaving groceries at her door. Once, he sat in the corner of the breakfast shop across from her building just to catch a glimpse of her leaving. He felt like a stalker, but he didn't know what else to do.
The wait was endless and all his fault. All his sins had come back to roost at his doorstep.
Why hadn't he just told her what she meant to him? Why had he rationed his time with her like she was a craving to be suppressed instead of a woman to be cherished?
She brought out the best in him, yet he had treated her like she was nothing.
Now his nights were haunted-some filled with dreams of her, soft and sweet, in his arms again; others were darker, visions of her laughing in someone else's bed. He hated Jacob, the man from the café, for no good reason. Except that he smiled at Aria like he knew her better than Crispin ever had.
And then she'd called, only to say goodbye .
He knew something had gone wrong at work-maybe more than one thing. But she would never accept help, would never take his money. The last time he'd tried to pay her rent, she'd iced him out for two weeks until he'd broken and apologised just to hear her voice again.
Now she was leaving for Oxford.
His birthday was two weeks away.
He'd waited this long.
He could wait a little longer.