Chapter 824

Lucian's breaths came in short, uneven gasps.

Through the phone, Reginald's voice carried confusion. "Lucian? Why the silence? What's happening? Your breathing sounds..."

Lucian's vision blurred with unshed tears. "We'll be ready shortly..."

A knowing chuckle echoed through the line. "Ah! I always pegged you as the monastic type. Color me surprised when you actually got involved with someone..."

The words dissolved into static as Lucian's world narrowed to a single point of white-hot intensity. Then - fireworks. A supernova behind his eyelids.

His forehead dropped onto Rosalind's bare shoulder.

"Lucian?" Reginald's voice pierced through again.

Gravel scraped Lucian's throat as he gripped the phone. "Later."

"Understood."

The call ended. Lucian's lips found Rosalind's skin - tracing constellations across her cheekbones, charting courses down to her parted lips.

She was his first. His only. The delicate socialite with steel in her spine. He'd been a boy when they met. Three years apart had forged him into something hungrier, more dangerous. The craving bordered on violence.

Rosalind matched his hunger. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

But duty called. With Herculean effort, Lucian broke away. "Reginald's waiting."

Rosalind nodded. "There's something I must ask him."

"Whatever you need," Lucian rasped, "it's yours."

She understood Everett Sinclair, the scholarship student. But Lucian Graves - the tech titan with blood on his hands - remained an enigma.

Another nod. "I know."

They dressed in silence. The restaurant hummed with discreet luxury when they arrived.

Reginald had chosen a Francais-inspired establishment. As servers presented the third course, Rosalind straightened her spine.

"Mr. Blackwood, I'll be frank - tonight isn't purely social."

Reginald's fork paused mid-air. "Whitmore Holdings, I presume?"

Rosalind's lashes fluttered. "You're aware?"

"Lucian briefed me." A knowing smile. "The Whitmore heiress, correct?"

She shot Lucian a startled glance. He'd laid all their cards on the table.

Reginald continued, "Whitmore's instability concerns me. By all rights, I should terminate our merger."

Rosalind's knuckles whitened around her wineglass. "Please, if you'd just-"

"No need for dramatics, Ms. Fairchild." Reginald swirled his Bordeaux. "Lucian made a compelling case. We'll proceed."

Hope ignited in her chest. No termination?

"That's... incredible! Thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet." Reginald's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Clean house quickly, or we all drown."

"Absolutely. We'll safeguard your interests."

"Excellent." Reginald raised his glass. "To partnerships."

Crystal chimed as Rosalind joined the toast. "Thank you!"

Reginald chuckled. "Save your gratitude for Lucian. I wondered why he suddenly developed a passion for golf."

The unspoken truth hung between them - every favor came with strings attached. Rosalind just hoped the price wouldn't destroy them both.