Chapter 940

Lucian Graves let out a dark chuckle, his fingers drumming against the polished mahogany desk. "This is going to be absolutely spectacular."

Meanwhile at the Fairchild estate, Rosalind sank into the steaming marble tub, letting the lavender-scented water soothe her aching muscles. As she toweled off, the door creaked open to reveal Victoria holding a delicate porcelain bowl.

"Darling, you must try this," Victoria murmured, offering the creamy bisque.

Rosalind took a tentative sip. "Mother, this is divine!"

Victoria's eyes softened with maternal pride. "Only the best for my first grandchild." Her manicured fingers brushed a damp curl from Rosalind's forehead. "Though I suppose technically, I made it for the baby."

Rosalind's throat tightened. As the Fairchild heiress, she'd been coddled since birth - private tutors, debutante balls, summers in Santorina. Meeting Reginald had been like lightning striking her perfectly curated world. Everyone assumed he was the obsessed one, but without him, her gilded cage would have remained...comfortably empty.

She leaned into Victoria's shoulder. "You're incredible."

"Flatterer." Victoria tapped her daughter's nose playfully. "Finish every drop. I'm preparing more in the kitchen. Even if you're not hungry, the baby needs nourishment."

After Victoria left, Rosalind cradled the bowl in her lap, her free hand drifting to her still-flat abdomen. "Be patient, little one. I meant to tell your father today, but he was...preoccupied." Her lips curved as she imagined Lucian's reaction. "Do you feel him too? That wild energy even when he's standing still?"

The golden afternoon light caught her lowered lashes, painting feathery shadows across her cheekbones. For the first time, she understood the quiet ferocity of motherhood.

The spell shattered when her phone buzzed violently on the vanity.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Fairchild." The voice was clipped. "It's Reginald."

Her pulse stuttered. "Reginald? Is everything alright?"

"I need to see you." The words carried an unfamiliar edge. "Today."

"Me?" Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Why?"

"As Lucian's closest friend, we're overdue for a conversation."

Rosalind had noticed Reginald's growing hostility. Perhaps this was her chance to clear the air. "I'll come now. Where are you?"

He rattled off an address at The Velvet Lounge. Twenty minutes later, she spotted his rigid silhouette in a corner booth.

"Reginald." She slid into the plush seat opposite him.

His whiskey glass clinked sharply against the table. "Let's not pretend. Lucian nearly killed Julian Blackwood at the hospital today because of you." His glare could have frozen the Mediterranean. "End this. For his sake."

Rosalind's nails bit into her palms. "That's not your decision to make."

The table shuddered as he slammed his fist down. "When will you stop destroying him?"

"I don't understand your hatred," she countered evenly. "After three years, what exactly have I done to deserve this?"

Reginald's laugh was bitter. "You really don't know?" He leaned forward, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Let me enlighten you, princess. Three years ago, Lucian's face was carved up because of you."

Rosalind's breath left her in a rush. The world tilted. She'd never known the origin of Lucian's scars - he refused to speak of them.

"What...what are you talking about?"