Chapter Sixty-Four Aurora #2
“A shipping and logistics network,” he said. “Ports. Freight. Supply chain control on three continents. It’s… large.” He said it like that. Large. Like calling an ocean ‘a puddle’. “Worth more than I could explain to you over a single dinner.”
My brows knit. I didn’t say anything.
He drew a slow breath. His eyes flicked toward the window.
“I continued building it from my own father’s wreckage,” he said.
“I built it up with every hour I had. I built it with every favour, every contact, every risk. I missed dinners. I missed birthdays. I missed my own son’s firsts.
And I told myself it was justified because I was building him a future. ”
His jaw tightened for a second.
“And I wanted,” he said quietly, “to give Sofia a life surrounded by safety and comfort. So she’d never have to worry again.”
He exhaled, and this time it hurt to hear.
“I forgot,” he said slowly, “that she didn’t want marble and glass. She wanted me.”
Something in my throat pinched.
He didn’t look at me when he said, even softer, “By the time I realised, she was gone.”
He swallowed as if it burned. Then, finally, he looked at me again. His gaze was steady.
“I know what my son believes about me,” he said. “And I won’t insult you by pretending he’s wrong. I was not there. I was not kind. I was not a good husband, and I was worse as a father. I am not asking you to fix that.”
I blinked.
Oh.
He leaned back a fraction. The CEO crept back into his posture, not cold, just… controlled.
“But I am asking you for something,” he said.
I straightened a little.
He watched me for a moment, studying. “Joshua,” he said quietly, “is clinging to an orphanage that bears his mother’s name like it’s the only thing he’s allowed to love.”
Sofia’s orphanage.
The one he and his aunt run.
The one he fights with his dad about.
“He’s turned his grief into purpose,” John said.
“And I respect that. God knows, if Sofia could see him now, she’d be proud of him.
She’d be proud of the way he throws himself into those kids and that place.
She’d be proud that he is soft with people who need softness.
” His voice dropped. “He gets that from her. Not me.”
I pressed my lips together.
“But,” he went on, voice low but sure, “that is not all she would’ve wanted for him.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I did not build what I built,” he said, and his eyes were suddenly sharp, “for shareholders. I built it for my son. I bled myself for him. I broke my marriage for him. I lost my wife for him. And I will not stand by and watch him walk away from his birthright because he thinks hating me is more noble than inheriting what I made for him.”
The words weren’t angry.
They were… begging. Hidden under steel.
“I don’t want him to drown in Sofia’s ghost,” he said.
“I don’t want him to live in grief forever and call it loyalty.
I want him to have more than pain. I want him at the helm of something powerful.
Something that will let him take care of himself, and you,” his gaze flicked to me, quick and pointed, “and whoever else he decides is his.”
Heat flashed up my face.
Oh.
He kept going.
“He can still fund the orphanage. He can still run it. He can still honour her. I would never take that from him. But it doesn’t have to be all he is.
” His jaw tightened. “Sofia wouldn’t want him to chain himself to loss.
She’d want him to be… successful. Safe. Respected. Untouchable, if he wants to be.”
Successful. Safe. Respected.
Untouchable.
He means powerful.
He means protected.
He means no one can ever touch him again.
I swallowed and finally dared to speak. “M-May I say something?”
His mouth twitched, the corner, as if he almost smiled. “Please.”
I wet my lips. “Maybe he doesn’t w-want the empire,” I said softly.
John went still.
I was shaking a little, but I forced myself to keep going. “M-Maybe he just… wanted a dad.”
Silence.
Like actual silence.
Like the whole castle held its breath.
His eyes locked on mine. Hard. Not threatening, just stunned. Stopped.
“I’m not trying to be rude,” I added quickly, cheeks burning. “I—I’m not. I’m sorry if that sounded—”
“No,” he said, voice low.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek.
He exhaled, slowly, as if that one sentence had cut straight through his ribs. He leaned back, hand over his mouth for a moment. Then he dragged his palm down his face and let out something that wasn’t a laugh and wasn’t a sigh. Somewhere in between. Raw.
“You’re honest,” he said finally, looking at me again. There was something almost… relieved in his eyes. “Good.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
He studied me for a long, quiet second. Then, more quietly, “He talks to you?”
I blinked. “A-About…?”
“Anything,” he said.
My lips parted. “Yes.”
His throat moved. For a split second, he had to look away.
“I thought so,” he muttered.
He rubbed a thumb over his jaw, then leaned forward again, elbows on knees, hands hanging between them. When he spoke next, it wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t CEO-cold.
It was… a father.
“I’m going to ask you something,” he said. “And I need you to know I’m asking because I love my son. Not because I want to use you.”
I nodded. Small. “Okay.”
“I want Joshua to take what I built,” he said simply. “Not because I need him to validate me. I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes. I don’t need validation anymore.”
His mouth tightened. “I want him to take it because it is his. It was always meant to be his. I shaped it to fit his hands. I want him to have security. Leverage. Freedom. I want him to be untouchable in a world that eats men like him alive. I want him to be able to protect what he loves without bleeding for it every single day.”
My chest felt hot.
“I don’t want him to forgive me,” he said quietly. “I know better than to ask for that. He doesn’t owe me a single thing. But I want him to accept what’s already his.”
He paused.
“And I think,” he said, eyes steady on mine, “you are the only person he would listen to.”
My breath caught.
Oh.
Oh God.
“I’m…” I swallowed. “I’m not powerful. I don’t—I’m not—”
“You’re the first thing,” he cut in softly, “that my son did not push away.”
I froze.
My heart tripped over itself so hard it hurt.
“He wouldn’t date,” John said simply. “Wouldn’t entertain introductions. Wouldn’t tolerate anyone using his name. Wouldn’t let anyone near him long enough to see him bleed.” His eyes flicked to me. “And then I hear that he has a girlfriend.”
My face went hot.
“He chose you,” John said. “That means something. To him, it means everything. So, I’m asking you to try. Talk to him. Tell him he doesn’t have to give up his mother’s work to take what I built for him. He can carry both. I want him to carry both.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. “And if… if I can’t convince him?”
His jaw flexed. “Then you can’t convince him.”
I blinked.
He held my gaze. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “Do not break what the two of you have because an old man asked you for help. Do you understand me?”
I stared at him.
“You don’t push him so hard that he thinks you’re choosing me over him,” he said.
“You don’t make him feel cornered. You don’t become my messenger.
I don’t want that. I want my son to be happy.
I want my son to be loved. I want my son to keep whatever he’s found in you.
That comes first. Above the company. Above the board. Above me.”
Something stung behind my eyes.
He noticed. His expression changed, just a flicker softer. It did something to my chest I wasn’t prepared for.
“I’m selfish,” he said, almost gently. “But not that selfish.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “O-Okay.”
“Good.” His shoulders dropped a fraction, like a weight let go. “Then we understand each other.”
I nodded again. My fingers were twisted in my own sleeves. We just sat there for a second. Just breathing in the same quiet room.
And it hit me, kind of all at once: this house was huge, and there were staff in it, and every surface gleamed, but he was alone.
Actually alone.
No wife. No son. No laughter in the halls.
Just him and a wedding portrait the size of a wall.
“Mr Lockhart?” I asked softly.
He huffed, just barely. “John is fine.”
“John,” I tried, and he nodded as if that mattered.
“I’ll try,” I whispered. “For him. I’ll try. B-But not if it hurts us.”
His mouth curved, finally, into something that almost looked like a real smile. Tired, yes, but real. “Fair,” he said quietly. “More than fair.”
I nodded.