Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lucas
Manhattan winter cut like a blade.
I sat in my office on the top floor of Rockefeller Group headquarters, staring out at Central Park through the floor-to-ceiling windows. This building was the heart of the commercial empire my grandfather built, and I was about to walk away from it.
"Finance needs your signature on these reports."
"Legal needs you to review the merger documents."
"The board wants you at tomorrow morning's meeting."
Work kept piling up. My new assistant was a middle-aged man, efficient and no-nonsense. He didn't try to cross boundaries like Vivian had. Didn't look at me with those suggestive eyes while I worked.
Exactly what I needed.
I turned and took the files he handed me. Twenty-seventh document today requiring my signature. I checked my watch. Three p.m. Twenty-eight days since I'd promised Ella I'd finish the transition in a month.
Two days left. Just two more days, and I could fly back to Rochester.
"Take these." I handed the signed documents back. "How many more?"
"About fifteen documents need your review." He paused. "Also, Mr. Hill wants to have dinner tonight to discuss transition details."
I rubbed my temples. I hadn't slept properly in a month. Office by six a.m., didn't leave until eleven p.m. Weekends spent in meetings, reviewing documents, and meeting clients. I wanted to stretch each day into forty-eight hours.
But it was worth it. As long as I could get back to Ella, be with her through the pregnancy, watch our child be born—this was nothing.
"Tell Hill seven o'clock at the French restaurant downstairs," I ordered. "And bring me the rest of those files. I want everything handled by the end of the day."
"Yes, sir." The assistant left.
That afternoon, I headed down to Legal to sign some urgent documents. Turning a corner in the hallway, I ran into Vivian.
Since her demotion, we worked on different floors.
Hadn't seen her in weeks. After I found out she'd been spreading rumors about Ella and me divorcing, I'd stripped her of the chief assistant position and dumped her into a support role.
That kind of position was basically exile at the Rockefeller Group.
With the new CEO Hill and his ambitious team moving in, someone like her who wasn't part of the inner circle would never touch core business again.
She stood directly in my path, lips trembling, eyes begging. She looked haggard, that impeccable makeup unable to hide the exhaustion and anxiety underneath.
I didn't slow down. Walked right past her without a glance.
What did she want to say? Complain about the new team freezing her out? Sorry. Zero interest. To me, she was just a bug in the system waiting to be deleted. Not worth a second of my time.
That evening, I spent three hours with Hill at the French restaurant for final transition talks. He was a capable professional manager—twenty years on Wall Street, experienced, ruthless. Grandfather had personally selected him. I trusted him completely.
"You're sure about leaving for two years?" Hill cut into his steak casually. "Two years is a long time. Business landscape changes fast. You might miss some major opportunities."
"I'm sure." I sipped my wine. "I trust you to handle everything."
"I will." He smiled. "But honestly, Lucas, I respect you. Not many men at your level would walk away from their career for family."
"Some things matter more than career," I said. "Took me a long time to figure that out."
Hill nodded and said nothing more.
After dinner, I went back to the office to work. The team had organized a small farewell party. They'd ordered champagne and cake, and decorated the conference room with balloons and streamers.
"To our boss!" Someone raised a glass.
"Hope the boss has a baby soon!"
"Family happiness!"
Glass after glass of champagne went down. I rarely drank, but today I couldn't refuse. The party lasted over two hours. By the end, my head was spinning.
"Mr. Rockefeller, let me help you to the lounge." Someone supported me.
I mumbled something. Stumbling, half-carried to the lounge attached to my office.
The bed was soft. I collapsed onto it and lost consciousness almost instantly.
The next morning, a shrill ringtone jolted me awake.
My head felt like it was splitting. Mouth dry as cotton. I fumbled for my phone, squinting at the screen.
Ella.
I answered immediately.
"Hello?" My voice came out hoarse.
"Lucas." Her voice was calm, but that calm made my scalp prickle. "What did you do last night?"
"Last night?" I struggled to remember. "I went to the farewell party, had some drinks, then went back to the lounge to sleep. Why?"
"You sure that's all you did?"
Her tone snapped me awake. I sat up abruptly and realized I wasn't wearing clothes.
My shirt and jacket were scattered on the floor. Unease crawled through me.
"Ella, what's going on?"
"Check your phone." She said. "I sent you some photos."
I opened the messages.
Blood rushed to my head. It was an extreme close-up—Vivian leaning down to kiss my cheek, her red lips pressed against my alcohol-flushed skin while my eyes were closed, looking defenseless, almost like I was enjoying it.
The second photo showed her unbuttoning my shirt in an intensely suggestive pose, her fingertips teasing at my collarbone.
The lighting was deliberately dark, and the photographer clearly crouched by the bed.
"Fuck!" I roared, threw off the covers, and jumped out of bed.
Not caring about my nakedness, I slammed the intercom button and snarled: "Get Vivian into my office right now!"
I threw on my shirt and pants, buttons misaligned, but no time to fix them. I called Ella back, this time on video.
When it connected, I saw Ella sitting on the couch in the Rochester apartment. Her face was ghostly pale, hands clasped over her swollen belly. Her eyes were calm, unreadable. That lack of control terrified me more than anything.
"Ella, listen to me, the photos aren't real!" I explained carefully to the screen, cold sweat sliding down my neck. "I was drunk last night. I didn't know anything. I swear to God, I didn't do anything."
Ella watched me silently.
That silence was worse than any accusation. I felt my world collapsing. I'd worked so hard to earn back her trust, convinced her to give me another chance, and now—everything was ruined.
"Ella, please believe me..."
"I believe you." She finally spoke.
I froze. "What?"
"I said, I believe you." She sighed. "Lucas, I know Vivian did this. The photo angles are too deliberate. And if something really happened between you two, she wouldn't just take these photos, and she definitely wouldn't send them to my phone. This kind of provocation is too obvious."
My eyes suddenly burned.
"Ella."
"But I'm not letting her get away with it this time." Her voice turned serious. "Lucas, keep your phone on. Don't hang up. I want to confront Vivian myself."
I'd just positioned my phone on the desk stand when the office door opened.
Ella heard it too. She raised a finger to her lips.
Vivian walked in on red-soled stilettos. She'd clearly dressed up—silk blouse with a plunging neckline. Without invitation, she sat down, abandoning her usual sweet act for a triumphant smile that made my stomach turn. If Ella hadn't asked, I'd throw her out right now.
"Lucas, you're awake?" She leaned forward on my desk, that cloying perfume invading my space. I suddenly understood why Ella wouldn't even touch the passenger seat after Vivian had been in my car.
When I didn't respond, Vivian's voice turned more suggestive. "You drank so much last night. I had such a hard time getting you settled. Don't you remember how tight you held me?"
My hand clenched into a fist on the desk, jaw locked. "Vivian, are you bored with how smoothly your life's been going? Looking for some excitement?"
The anger in my voice was unmistakable. Vivian heard it—she was smart enough—but instead of fear, her smile deepened.
She laughed softly, walked around the desk, and reached for my shoulder.
"Those were just capturing our intimate moments. Lucas, stop pretending. It's not like we haven't been together before. Remember at Harvard? In that Boston apartment, you always said you loved it when I wore that black lace—"
"Shut your mouth!" I shot up, shoving her hand away hard enough to make her stumble.
"Vivian, do you have amnesia? We broke up years ago.
You've never been short on men. Stop playing the devoted lover.
To me now, you're just an employee. Who gave you the nerve to sneak into my lounge and take that disgusting shit? "
Vivian's expression twisted instantly. Her eyes went wide, that elegant mask cracking to reveal the greedy, unhinged reality beneath.
"For work! Lucas, I gave up everything in Europe for Rockefeller Group, spent two entire years with you!
I worked late with you, cleaned up your messes, and turned down every personal engagement for you!
And what? Now you're abandoning everything you have in Manhattan for that woman, for that cheap caregiver who can't do anything but pop out babies?
Are you insane! What spell did she cast on you? "
"Because she's my wife," I said coldly. "And you, you get a hefty salary. This was all your job!"
Then Ella's voice came through the computer.
"Since Ms. Vivian Harrington claims this is all about work," Ella's voice was clear, cold, sharp as a blade, "then why did you recite Lucas's private phone call logs to me in the manor garage?
Why did you read me his text messages one by one?
Why did you tell me that after you two had sex, you'd lie in bed and laugh at my texts together? "
Vivian froze like she'd been struck by lightning, neck stiff as she turned toward the phone on the desk.
I picked up the phone with a cold laugh, pointing the camera at her ashen face.
"You." Her voice trembled. "Why are you..."
Ella didn't give her a chance to breathe.