Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Luca’s POV
Present Day
I stared at the dinosaur, Labubu, on my desk like it was a ticking time bomb. Small. Grinning. Big yellow eyes, round and wild, stared straight through me—mocking me. No—judging me for what had happened at the cafe yesterday.
My thoughts drifted back to her face as she hastily packed her things into her bag.
Her movements had been rushed, jerky, like she was trying to outrun the humiliation.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line to keep it from trembling.
Her lashes were damp and her gaze glassy, just in the way someone would look if they were trying like hell not to break down in public.
Or trying not to cry in front of the very people cutting them open.
And I’d been the reason.
I kept staring at it, like I could explain myself. Like I could somehow make that toy understand that none of it had been my fault. That I didn’t know three gossip-hungry assholes would walk into the cafe and turn what was meant to be a civil wedding planning meeting into a public spectacle.
Okay—fuck it.
Who was I kidding?
I could’ve scheduled that meeting anywhere. Even in an overbooked five-star restaurant. One call from me, and they’d be clearing tables and pulling strings.
On paper, Elvis Cafe was a convenient, central, public meeting space.
But deep down? It was a test. A part of me—the hurt and bleeding part still nursing old wounds—chose it knowing exactly what it would do to her. The rest of me knew it was a low blow, but I let the bitter part win.
I wanted to see what she’d do when she walked in.
Would she smile like before? Would she avoid my eyes, like she’d been doing since the moment we ran into each other again?
Would she remember how we used to sit tucked in the back booth, her feet brushing mine under the table, laughing over boba teas I pretended to like but in actuality thought tasted like death?
I wanted to see if the past haunted her the way it still haunted me—or if she’d moved on so cleanly, so coldly, that what we had really had meant nothing.
And maybe—just maybe—I wanted to remind her of what we used to be.
Before she fucked it all up.
What I didn’t expect was to feel this much regret.
The colder part of me had told itself she deserved this.
That if she felt even a fraction of the pain she’d caused me, it would be fair.
But the second I saw her face, saw the way her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, something twisted in my chest. I didn’t want her to feel pain.
I didn’t want to be the reason she cried.
No matter what had happened between us…I still didn’t want that.
I’d fired them, by the way—the ones who couldn’t keep their goddamn mouths shut at the cafe.
Vaughn Industries didn’t have room for employees who gossiped about my personal life like it was sport, especially if it was related to her. I didn’t care how competent they were.
I’d told myself I was keeping it to return out of courtesy.
But really? I just wanted a reason to see her again.
A knock sounded at the door before it creaked open. Charles stepped in.
“I’ve got the revised Q3 projections for VaughnTech’s launch quarter,” he said, cutting to business as he dropped a folder on my desk. “Numbers are steady, but if we don’t smooth out the supply chain in Europe, we’re looking at a seven percent dip by November. The Moreau line’s still stalling.”
He froze as his eyes landed on the Labubu lying on its side. He tilted his head, stared at it for a beat, then narrowed his gaze at me.
“You redecorating?”
“With a Labubu? Fuck no.” I pushed up from my chair and leaned over the desk.
“Then what’s it doing here?” he asked, suspicion crawling across his face.
I met his gaze and didn’t blink. I also said nothing. Charles had learned not to probe into my silence.
I picked up the folder, flipped it open, and skimmed the numbers.
“I thought things with Sterling Moreau were solid,” he continued. “Why’s he stalling on the logistics?”
“You tell me,” I muttered. “Old man’s got trust issues.”
“Can you blame him?”
I looked up, meeting Charles’s eyes. My voice went colder. “If you’ve got something to say, say it. Stop dancing around it.”
Charles lifted his hands in mock surrender.
“Hey, I’m just telling you what I’m sure he’s thinking.
Moreau’s not stalling over shipping delays—he’s playing chess.
This is leverage. He smells hesitation. He feels you slipping.
The moment he suspects you’re not all in on Elena, he pulls the plug on the tech.
And with it? Your position as Alpha. Your shot at Alpha Regent. ”
“I never said I wasn’t all in,” I replied, tight-lipped.
Charles raised a brow. “Then why’d you ask me to find her address?”
“To return this damn Labubu,” I snapped.
The irritation came fast and hot. I was tired of the reminders. Everyone seemed to think I needed to be reminded of what I had to lose if I didn’t marry Elena—as if I didn’t already wake up every day with that weight pressing against my throat like a collar.
“Do you have it?” I asked.
He nodded. “I do.”
Charles pulled a small folded slip of paper from his pocket and handed it over. I glanced at the address, then slid it into my own pocket.
His gaze lingered. Too long.
“Quit staring at me like that. Don’t you have better things to do?”
“I’m still waiting for your directive on the information I brought.”
Right. The Q3 projections.
“I’ll set up a meeting with Sterling Moreau to discuss the terms of our agreement and revert things back to you. In the meantime, shore up the projections. Stabilize the PR narrative. And tell legal to prepare a version of the contract that doesn’t hinge on my wedding to Elena—just in case.”
Charles narrowed his eyes. “Just in case what?”
“Just do as I say, Charles.”
I grabbed my suit jacket, the Labubu, and my car keys, then walked out of my office without another word. Once inside my car, I punched the address into the GPS and let the voice guide me toward Leila’s house.
After an almost two-hour ride, I pulled over on the side of the road beside the house.
Her house…it was small. Modest. A neat little building with a front yard just big enough to accommodate garden beds.
The red brick exterior had seen better days, and the walkway was cracked in several places, like the house had aged faster than it should’ve.
There was a toy tricycle tipped on its side near the porch and a green ball resting in the grass like it had just rolled to a stop.
First the Labubu, then the tricycle…now a ball? Was Leila collecting toys for kids? On second thought, she had mentioned picking up her neighbor’s kid—Ollie, I think—when I cornered her at the Moreau Estate bathroom. That must explain the toy.
I killed the engine and reached for the Labubu still sitting in the passenger seat when I heard it—running footsteps.
A boy bolted from the back of the house, chasing after the green ball. Small, fast, barefoot. His hair was a mop of dark curls, bouncing with every step, and when he caught the ball and threw it in the air again, he laughed. Loud, carefree. His eyes—steel gray—sparkled with mischief.
He couldn’t have been older than four. Maybe five.
And just like that, everything in me stilled.
Not just a pause. It was a full-body jolt.
My wolf went quiet—dead quiet. No growling, no pacing. Just stillness. Watching.
Something was off. I couldn’t explain it. I’d never seen this kid before in my life. But the moment I laid eyes on him, something inside me pulled taut. Like I was remembering something I’d never known.
My gaze tracked his movements—sharp and precise for his age. The way his little fists clenched around the ball, the determined set of his jaw.
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until my chest burned.
Something about him felt…familiar. Not in the way of déjà vu, but in a deep, primal way—something my mind couldn’t place.
The boy scooped up the tricycle along with the ball and headed toward the house, disappearing inside the house.
I don’t know how long I sat there after that. My fingers clenched the steering wheel, mind spinning with thoughts. When I finally remembered what I came here for, I grabbed the Labubu, stepped out of the car, and made my way toward the front door.
I hit the bell and heard it ring. Once. Twice.
“Ollie, is that you?” Leila’s voice floated from inside.
Ollie? That name sounded familiar. I recall it was the kid she mentioned she was picking up from school. Her neighbor’s kid. Though it hadn’t made sense why she tensed as she explained it, like she was guilty of something I hadn’t even accused her of.
I ignored the thoughts and made to knock again, but I heard another voice.
“No, Mom! I’m in my room!” the kid shouted.
Mom? Did he just call Leila mom?
Ten seconds later, the door flew open. The little boy stood there, his wide, questioning eyes flicking up to me like he was trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted.
Leila appeared behind him, and the second her eyes landed on me, she froze.
All the color drained from her face.
She was wearing a worn T-shirt that was clinging to her in wet patches. It was soaked around the collar and across her chest, where the red of her bra faintly showed through. A faded skirt clung to her thighs, and her hands were covered by yellow gloves. She was holding a wrench.
I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t stop myself when my gaze dipped lower, lingering on her chest, on that red lace fabric that was teasing me.
I felt it then, a twitch in my pants. Leila looked like a goddamn mess with her hair dripping with water and her clothes clinging to her skin, yet it did something to me.
As if she noticed me staring, she crossed her arms against her chest and shifted on the spot.
Her gaze bounced between me and the boy. Then back again.