Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Lucas
Manhattan was always damp in the rainy season.
I stood at the desk, watching the storm hammer the massive windows. My mood was suffocating.
Even weather this violent couldn't shake this ancient, grand manor an inch.
This was my home. Also the gilded cage my grandfather built with his own hands.
Grandfather sat behind the desk in his wheelchair, reading glasses perched on his nose, his gaze severe as he studied VitaGen BioTech's financial statements.
A man who'd ruled the business world his entire life—even past eighty, supposedly retired—still had eyes and ears everywhere in the company, interfering at every turn.
I'd always respected him, but I couldn't deny it: his methods felt like a threat.
This reunion after two months apart was less a warm family gathering, more the final critical meeting about the acquisition.
"You visited three VitaGen branches and four labs. What's your assessment?" Grandfather's tone was like interrogating a hostile intruder.
I was ready. I dropped the first bomb, voice calm: "Their equipment reeks of mold. Their business logic is antiquated. Makes me sick. After the acquisition, I'm firing the entire executive team."
"Replace them with who? Fresh MBA grads who only talk futures at PowerPoint presentations?"
I knew it. Grandfather and I never agreed.
"Better than old bloodsuckers glued to balance sheets."
"Lucas, those middle-aged executives have twenty years in the industry. They're the company's foundation!"
I kept my tone level: "You know why VitaGen's going bankrupt? Management spends seventy percent of revenue on dividends instead of R&D. Those middle-aged men aren't the foundation—they're termites."
"A middle-aged man means a family behind him!" Grandfather slammed the thick report. "That's two thousand three hundred families!"
I'd anticipated this conversation.
"So you want me to make business decisions with sympathy?" I suppressed my irritation. "Sorry, Grandfather. Business is business. It requires rational judgment."
"Rational!" Grandfather roared. "You cold-blooded bastard—not just with business, but with family too. Two months without coming home. What do you think this place is, a hotel?"
Grandfather was picking at wounds again. Venting his inability to wield power.
I fired back calmly: "You should ask yourself why."
"What should I reflect on? I built everything for you. Rockefeller Group, and a traditional, obedient wife!"
When Grandfather deployed that line with such practiced ease, I knew. Here we go again. He always did this—turned what he thought were gifts into shackles around my neck. This pathological need for control was endless kidnapping.
Two months of negotiations had already exhausted me. Coming home, I'd wanted a little family warmth. That's why I came to see Grandfather. But his mind was always on work, treating me like a puppet for his commands.
I wanted to resist him, even if it meant mutual destruction.
"Wife?" I made my tone deliberately caustic. "You mean the care aide?"
I watched Grandfather's face flush instantly. No satisfaction, just numb self-destruction.
"Regardless, Lucas—Ella loves you very much."
Grandfather retreated. Good. I relaxed. To keep him from second-guessing my work, I had to redirect the conversation to Ella.
"I don't deny that." I saw the light in Grandfather's eyes, pressed harder: "But I think Ella loves my money more. Doesn't she?"
Even I felt that was too far. I added quickly: "Because my money can save her sister."
Truth was, I knew Ella wasn't like that.
She'd never asked me for a dime. Her personality was so gentle it had no edges, always gazing at me with those beautiful, adoring eyes.
I resented most of Grandfather's arrangements, but Ella was the exception.
She was the traditional, tender wife—like a vast, mysterious ocean.
Whatever I said, whatever I did, she never got angry.
"That's Ella's sister—your sister too!" Grandfather grabbed his water glass and hurled it at me. "You're a married man! Spend your time and energy on family, not tangled up with some random woman!"
I dodged just in time. The cup missed.
Random woman? Who was Grandfather talking about? Before marriage, sure, I'd had female companions. But after marriage, I'd followed the rules. Stayed faithful.
"You mean Vivian?" She was one of the few women around me. "If that's who you mean, I'm not letting her go."
After all, training a new chief assistant would devastate work efficiency.
"Vivian—your college girlfriend?" Grandfather frowned.
That was ten years ago. If Grandfather hadn't mentioned it, I wouldn't have remembered that brief fling with Vivian. But now that Grandfather brought up my relationship with Vivian, rage surged from deep inside: Grandfather had been investigating my privacy!
"I've known Vivian a long time," I said. Normally, my impression of Vivian was purely professional, but now she became a convenient weapon against Grandfather. "Compared to Ella, she'd actually make a better wife. Wouldn't she?"
"That's what you think!" Grandfather finally surrendered. He closed his eyes, like a general who'd lost his final battle. "Remember this: Ella is your wife. Don't forget your wedding vows."
Of course I wouldn't forget.
Ella was my wife. She'd be my only wife.
She always had that sweet mint scent. Two years ago, in that kidnapping case that shocked New York, I fell for her at first sight. I couldn't imagine how a woman fragile as a lily in the wind could stand before Grandfather's wheelchair, staring down a gunman's barrel.
If angels existed, she had to be one.
She was stunning. When I grabbed her thin shoulders, even through rough fabric, my fingertips felt the delicate skin beneath. My forearm alone could circle her entire waist. When my thumb brushed the softness there, I had the perverse urge to let my hand wander deeper.
In the middle of armed combat, bullets flying, a sexual thought invaded my mind—I wanted her.
After the kidnapping ended, before I could ask Ella on a date, Grandfather beat me to it: did I want to marry Ella?
My instinct was yes, but anger followed immediately: Grandfather had seen right through me!
He knew what type I liked! Not just work—now my marriage too!
My wife became a chess piece Grandfather planted to monitor me.
That realization was cold water dousing the heat in my veins.
"Since I was a child, you've arranged everything for me." I took a deep breath. My briefcase phone rang, breaking the quarrel's momentum.
I accelerated: "But I'm telling you now, I don't like anything in this manor!"
I stopped.
Grandfather's face had gone white. His hands on the desk—covered in age spots—were trembling.
I'd said the wrong thing. I shouldn't have spouted nonsense just to win an argument. But pride blocked my throat like a stone. I couldn't say a single word of apology.
At least I had an escape: answering the phone.
I grabbed my phone and went to the balcony.
Vivian's voice came through, "The investors want to modify some legal clauses last minute. I'm planning to discuss it with you at tonight's dinner..."
Vivian's businesslike tone was my escape hatch from reality. Only work—those cold numbers, rigorous logic, clear profit calculations—could quickly free me from this suffocating family atmosphere.
The call lasted half an hour. Legal clause details were tedious and complex. During that time, Mrs. Hughes came in once to clean up broken glass, but soon returned, looking at me with hesitant eyes.
Only after I warned her with a sharp glance did she reluctantly leave.
This was one reason I hated coming back to the manor.
Every old servant here thought they had the right to lecture me.
Mrs. Hughes had been at this manor for forty years.
Whenever Grandfather and I fought, she appeared right on cue to remind me I should yield.
In her logic, truth and right never existed—only hierarchy.
I hung up and returned to the study.
Grandfather's emotions had settled considerably. He looked at me with new exhaustion. "Lucas, are you truly unhappy with this marriage?"
I paused, my voice dropping, "I made vows at the wedding. I'll be with Ella forever. As Rockefeller's heir, I'd never gamble with the family's reputation."
Grandfather sighed. "Then I'm relieved."
I checked my watch. One hour until the gala. I straightened my tie and left the study, nearly colliding with Mrs. Hughes.
"Lucas," she looked panicked. "Ella... she doesn't seem well."
I frowned.
Driving from the manor to the gala took forty minutes. That left me under twenty minutes to prepare. If I checked on Ella, I'd have no prep time at all. Tonight's gala would host VitaGen's investors, lawyers, and scheming board members—all sharpening their knives to take me down.
As for Ella, what could possibly be wrong?
She spent all day at the manor. Besides helping Grandfather with physical therapy, she had nothing to worry about. Unlimited time. Unlimited credit card. And now she wanted to steal my golden moments before the acquisition gala—moments when I was like a soldier loading weapons before battle?
I'd seen this cheap trick with other women. Pretending illness to trap men with pity.
Had Ella learned that, too?
I wanted to refuse.
But the words caught in my throat.
Maybe Ella just wanted to see me. She was so shy, so introverted. That's why she'd asked Mrs. Hughes to tell me.
And I hadn't touched her in two months.
She had blonde curls, full lips, skin so tender a pinch left marks. Beneath her simple dresses, her soft, supple backside perfectly bore my madness on every uncontrolled night.
As her husband, I should support her financially—and meet certain other... physiological needs.
Once that thought emerged, it devoured my reason.
My cock hardened in my suit pants.