Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Lucas
"Sign it."
I pushed the final document across the signing table. VitaGen's legal representative was drenched in sweat, hand trembling as he took the pen.
Everyone in the ballroom watched in silence.
The champagne tower glittered beneath the crystal chandeliers.
People held their glasses. Conversations stayed hushed.
All eyes locked on the signing table, bearing witness to the acquisition.
That's the Wall Street game—dress up a hostile takeover as a social event, make bloodshed look like an elegant waltz.
When the signature appeared at the bottom of the page, applause erupted.
Six months. Finally done.
"Congratulations, Lucas." Vivian glided through the crowd in her red dress, champagne in hand. "Six months to take down VitaGen. Tomorrow's Wall Street Journal front page is all yours."
I kept my voice flat. "The credit belongs to Rockefeller Group. Not to me personally."
"You masterminded everything." Vivian pressed the glass into my hand, her elaborate manicure grazing my knuckles. "The board, those dinosaurs—they wanted your grandfather's slow-play strategy. But your plan won."
"The plan isn't perfect."
I stepped back.
Vivian moved closer, nearly pressing against me.
Her chest brushed my arm through the thin fabric of her dress. Too intimate for a public setting.
I stepped back again, deliberately creating distance.
"Tomorrow, VitaGen's going to be a circus." She sounded almost gleeful.
Warning bells went off in my head. Fifty percent staff turnover would trigger chaos. I needed to finish the restructuring fast and seize complete control.
Fast?
Start now, then.
"Back to the office." I checked my watch. Midnight. "We need the restructuring draft finished by dawn."
Vivian seemed to snap back to reality. "Now? But the party's not over. You're the guest of honor. You're just leaving?"
"I have zero interest in social events." I set my glass on a passing waiter's tray. "If it weren't for VitaGen's major shareholders, I wouldn't have stayed one minute."
I glanced back at the ballroom. Under the gaudy lights, faces caked in makeup looked even more fake through the alcohol haze.
Everyone spouting insincere bullshit, making me sick with their flattery.
Better to get back to Ella than waste another second here.
This acquisition had already eaten too much of my personal life.
I needed to wrap this up so I could take Ella on a proper vacation.
The Rockefeller Group headquarters in Midtown Manhattan blazed with lights even at night. The elevator shot straight to the top floor. Doors opened. I walked straight to my office, Vivian right behind me.
"Pull up files on all VitaGen department heads." I rattled off the requirements. "I need to assess everyone's value."
Vivian sat at her workstation and started typing.
The next forty-eight hours felt like a marathon.
Restructuring plans, retention evaluations, equity distribution—everything had to be finished before VitaGen's board of old foxes could react. Documents piled up. Conference calls back to back. My coffee cup never stayed empty.
Normally, acquisitions this size trigger resistance from the target company. I'd expected VitaGen to pull the same shit—media backlash, resignations, protests, lawsuits. But surprisingly, everything went smooth.
I'd planned two scenarios: fire all senior management, or meet Grandfather's demand to keep them all.
I compromised—kept fifty percent. Not getting chewed out by the old man while maintaining some of my own judgment.
The decision made me feel weak at first, but after two days of integration, I had to admit the old man knew his stuff.
VitaGen's management didn't stage a mass walkout.
The department heads who could've been obstacles were actively cooperating with the restructuring.
"Lucas, you've slept less than three hours in two days." Vivian brought me an espresso. "I'm worried about you."
I downed the coffee in one gulp.
"One more asset divestiture report." I rubbed my throbbing eyes, refocusing on the screen.
Day three, 1 a.m., my body finally revolted. Dizziness hit hard. The ceiling started spinning. I gripped the desk edge, forcing myself toward the private lounge.
The lounge was through my office, practically my bedroom now. Spare suits hung in the closet. Full toiletries in the bathroom. Business analysis reports stacked on the nightstand. Over the past six months handling this acquisition, I'd slept here more than at home.
I stripped off my jacket and tie and collapsed onto the bed. My body sank into the softness. Muscles finally relaxed. I closed my eyes, ready to let my brain shut down, even just for ten minutes...
Click.
The door lock turned.
I opened my eyes. Vivian walked in carrying something steaming.
"Warm milk. Helps you sleep." She approached the bed, holding out the cup.
I sat up and took it, sipped. The warm liquid slid down my throat, actually easing my frayed nerves a bit.
"Thanks." I handed back the empty cup, my look telling her she could leave.
She didn't.
She set the tray on the nightstand, eyes locked on my throat. I felt her gaze track my swallowing motion. The scrutiny made me uncomfortable.
"Something else?" I asked warily.
Vivian answered with action.
She perched on the edge of my bed, hand landing on my shoulder, starting to massage. "You're exhausted. Let me help you relax."
I should have stopped her. Logic said this wasn't appropriate. But exhaustion dulled my reflexes, and her technique was actually professional—the sore muscles loosening under her fingers.
"Remember Harvard?" Her voice dropped low, almost hypnotic. "When you were pushing through papers, I used to... help you relax like this."
Her cool fingers slid from my shoulder to my neck, pressure hitting just the right spots. I kept my eyes closed, my tense spine easing slightly under the massage. These past days of back-to-back overseas calls had wrung me out. I didn't refuse this level of service.
But gradually, the massage changed.
Her fingertips stopped working pressure points and slipped inside my collar, undoing my shirt buttons one by one, sharp nails scraping skin with a sting. Her touch burned too hot.
My eyes snapped open. The relaxed nerves went taut.
"What are you doing?" I warned her.
"Lucas." Vivian let out a sticky-sweet laugh, her breath damp against my ear. She extended her tongue, licking my earlobe. "I can make you feel even better than a massage..."
Vivian wrapped her arms around me from behind, body pressed tight. That's when I felt it. She'd unhooked her bra. Two soft mounds pressed directly against my back, hardened nipples rubbing along my spine through the thin fabric.
My exhausted brain finally caught up. Vivian was trying to seduce me. Working me like a hooker, trying to drag out my desire with her body.
"Enough!"
I shoved Vivian's hands away, stood up fast, putting distance between us and the bed. I turned back to see her kneeling on the mattress, legs spread, blazer hanging open, face flushed nearly purple, but with a flash of sober embarrassment in her expression.
The exhaustion at the bottom of my soul turned to complete irritation. I'd thought Vivian was just doing her job—she was a meticulous assistant after all. But her overstepping revealed ulterior motives. This forced demand felt like a violation.
"Get out." I kept my voice low, just wanting her gone so I could rest. I could pretend this never happened.
"No—"
The word seemed to wound and humiliate Vivian. The color drained from her face instantly.
"Lucas..." Tears welled in her eyes. "You can't lose yourself over an arranged marriage..."
"I made vows at my wedding." I strode to the door, yanked it open, voice hard. "I'll be faithful to my wife. I mean what I say."
"That was just formality!" Vivian's composure was finally shattered. She raised her voice, pissing me off more. I should be grateful this happened at night with no one else in the office, or I'd have fired her on the spot if anyone heard.
Vivian kept babbling. "Arranged marriages aren't love! You and Ella have nothing between you..."
I stared at Vivian, suddenly wondering if she'd lost her mind. She seemed to be trying to salvage her dignity as a rejected woman by convincing me.
"If I didn't love Ella," I lowered my voice but enunciated clearly, "why the hell would I have married her?"
Vivian froze, like the words had hit her in the face. She gaped at me, disbelief written across her features. "You love her?"
The tone—like I'd told the world's biggest joke.
I tamped down rising irritation. To prevent this from happening again, I forced myself to explain. "If it wasn't love, why would I agree to the marriage? The Rockefeller heir—what kind of match couldn't I find? If I really didn't want it, how could Grandfather possibly force me?"
"But—" In her agitation, Vivian blurted out, "Everyone says you're not right for each other..."
The second it left her mouth, her face changed. She realized she'd said the wrong thing.
I froze.
What the hell did she mean 'everyone says'?
My voice turned cold. "Who told you that?"
Vivian bit her lip. No answer.
Confusion hit me hard. Why would Vivian think this?
I'd entrusted Ella with my assets, my grandfather, even the responsibility of raising future children—that was a carefully considered decision.
And two years of marriage had only confirmed I'd made the right call.
Ella's calm, steady nature, like a quietly growing plant, was my only anchor in this circus of fame and fortune.
And now Vivian, an outsider, had the audacity to tell me I wasn't compatible with my own wife?
"Listen, Vivian." I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice from going ice-cold.
"This is my fault. I should have stopped you from getting close.
I carried over some habits from our student days.
Didn't maintain proper boundaries. Tomorrow I'll have someone delete your facial recognition from the lounge access system.
From now on, without my permission, stay away from the private lounge. "
Vivian looked slapped. Disbelief flashed across her face, like only now realizing I was serious. She opened her mouth, seemed to want to say something, but ultimately said nothing.
She ran.
I slammed the door hard. The anger in my chest kept burning. If even Vivian had this warped perception, what about others?
The thought made my chest sink. I suddenly remembered what Grandfather said three days ago. "Lucas, you're married. You shouldn't be putting your energy into other women."
So it wasn't just one person.
If even my grandfather who raised me, and my assistant who worked alongside me, both misjudged my feelings for my wife...
What about Ella?
What does she think?
The thought dumped ice water over my head, instant panic.
I'd never considered this from Ella's perspective.
In my mind, work required contact with other women.
No Vivian meant someone else. My conscience was clear.
My only mistake was that heated argument with Grandfather, comparing Vivian and Ella in anger.
Sudden guilt hit me. Had I done other things, said other words that made Ella insecure without realizing it?
My feelings for Ella had never wavered. I was certain of that.
But did she know?
A sudden, powerful urge—I should call Ella.
But the clock on the wall warned me I couldn't. 2 a.m. Ella would be fast asleep.
She kept regular hours. Waking her from deep sleep now, she'd be groggy, unable to absorb anything.
More importantly, I couldn't be sure if Vivian's words were truth or deliberate manipulation.
I needed a quiet, proper moment to really talk with Ella.
But not now.
I lay back down on the bed, stripped off my clothes, and closed my eyes again.
Half-asleep, half-awake, Ella's face appeared in my mind.
She had shimmering golden hair, eyes pure as a doe's. When I entered her, those eyes widened, then slowly lost focus. Her body arched with pleasure, her pussy tight and hot, clenching and trembling with each thrust...
My fingers hooked my waistband, yanked down hard. My cock sprang free, thick and flushed, precum already glistening on the head, wet streaks against my stomach.
I stroked my shaft with my palm, using my thumb to spread the precum over the entire head.
Damn.
Just thinking about fucking Ella had me ready to come.
I closed my eyes, imagined my cock wrapped in that pink, wet mouth.
Her blowjob technique was clumsy. She still couldn't control her teeth, so at first I had to move slowly.
But as the rhythm picked up, I imagined the squeeze when she took me deep in her throat.
She'd gag, but her throat would suck even tighter.
I jerked faster, obscene wet sounds filling the room. My head pressed into the pillow, the cool Egyptian cotton a sharp contrast to my burning skin. I imagined her naked, kneeling before me while I ate her out, her hand plunging deep into her soaked pussy, desperate to be filled by me...
Finally, my balls tightened, pressure building, orgasm coiling at the base of my spine, exploding.
"Ella..."
I came, calling her name, thick ropes of cum shooting onto the sheets.
But it wasn't enough. I didn't just want to jerk off fantasizing about her. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to bury my face between her thighs and feast, wanted to hear her scream my name during sex, wanted to mark her, claim her, make sure she could never question my feelings for her.
After the orgasm, a strange emptiness wrapped around me in the dark. I stared at the ceiling, breathing refusing to steady.
When daylight came, first thing I'd do was go home to Ella.